Last weekend, I drove to Charlottesville, VA from CT on Saturday to see my brother who was in a hospice with an inoperable brain tumor, then drove back to CT on Sunday. We went via I-81 - a more pleasant trip than I-95 and I-66 from the Beltway. About 900 miles in all. My brother Barry was fading fast and I didn't think he would last another week. On the way back, we stopped at the Southern Kitchen in New Market. VA and I had their fried chicken (some of the best I've had and only $10.75 with 2 sides) and a mediocre piece of lemon meringue pie. Wife had a BLT for $4.75, about half of what you'd pay where we live. While eating, two groups of motorcycle riders complete with black outfits, beards and fat women covered with tattoos, came in. They were well-behaved, sort of like Heck's Angels. On Tuesday, I got the call from his daughter. He had passed away that morning, aged 84. He was a sweet guy who never hurt anyone in his life; a car guy who had a MGA and long afterwards, a Mercedes 450 SL and an Isuzu Trooper. His youngest daughter just had a baby boy out in Seattle that he never saw. Life goes on.