Crossing the bridge

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The Lincoln Memorial Bridge

The new year’s arrival is drawing near. It is the time of year I like to plan adventures–at least the non-spontaneous ones.

One simple yet life-changing adventure stands out in my mind. Almost every Memorial Day weekend, my family and I would visit the Spirit of Vincennes Rendezvous, a Revolutionary War reenactment on the grounds of the George Rogers Clark Memorial in Indiana’s oldest town–Vincennes.

I was nine years old, and I had never been outside of Indiana. Well, my maternal grandmother was going to remedy that. She took hold of my hand and told my mom and dad that we were crossing the Lincoln Memorial Bridge to Illinois. Upon crossing, my usually-shy shell shattered, and I began to jump up and down. “I’ve crossed the border! I’ve crossed the border! Look! One foot’s in Indiana and the other’s in Illinois!” And from that day forward, I was infected by a chronic travel bug.

My granddad was in the U.S. Air Force for 21 years, and after he retired, my grandmother never lost her hunger for adventure. However, after moving from state to state in the U.S. and living three years in Warrington, England, my grandfather resolved to never travel so far that he couldn’t return to his own bed by nightfall. My grandma had the opportunity to travel with us over the years, and I am so thankful to have those memories.

Do you remember when you were bitten by the travel bug? I’d love to hear your story!

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Happy Trails!

Petiteloulou 🙂

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