371: I PACKED FUDGE IN URANUS DURING MY FIRST PRESIDENTIAL EXCURSION OF 2026

At 9:33am on Thursday April 16, 2026, my photographer’s wife was behind the wheel of our Jeep Grand Cherokee L as Tom, Vicki, and I headed out of town on a rainy, 62-degree morning. Even though my first adventure of 2026 was only scheduled to be a short, four-day trip to Indianapolis, Indiana, it seemed good to be on the road again. After all, it had been a long, cold Winter; and I had been standing on a shelf since we returned home on December 2nd following our trip to Georgia to visit Jimmy Carter’s gravesite.

While Tom’s agenda had one of our days filled with Presidential sites, some of which we had already visited during our first two trips to Indy in 2014 and 2022, the primary reason for the five-hour drive to Central Indiana was to watch my travel companion’s grandson, Bo Watson, play in a baseball tournament with his new team, the Saginaw Bay River Dawgs.

For most of our entire drive along Interstate 69, which took us around Lansing and towards the Southern part of Michigan, the rain never let up, which made navigating the minefield-type road surface in our state a challenge. But by the time we crossed the Indiana border at 12:35pm, however, the weather had improved and so did the driving conditions.

Thursday was intended to be our travel day, with only a few antique malls and a stop for lunch sprinkled in to break up the long drive. Although my photographer likes to go treasure hunting inside antique shops and flea markets as it’s a trip down memory lane for the nostalgic goofball, Tom includes those stores in our agenda primarily for Vicki, who typically does her best to tolerate our Presidential stops.

After we had lunch at Don Hall’s Hollywood Drive-In diner in Fort Wayne, the three of us browsed through the aisles at Vintage Treasures, an antique mall located down the street, and then we saw some cool things at the Markle Antique Mall in downtown Markle, Indiana. It was no surprise when Tom and I walked out of each store emptyhanded, even though we spotted a section in one store called ‘The Presidential Library’ and we saw vintage duck decoys in another store. The two of us scoffed at the decoys as they paled in comparison to the decoys Tom’s grandfather, Walter Struebing, had carved and painted by hand between the 1920s and 1950s.

It was late in the afternoon when we arrived in the Indianapolis area. After a quick and unsuccessful visit to the Carmel Antique Mall, located about 25 miles North of downtown Indy in the trendy town of Carmel, we finally made it to the Airbnb Vicki had reserved in Westfield, Indiana. That large, three-bedroom home was not only located just a few miles from the Grand Park Sports Complex where Bo’s games were scheduled to be held, but the place was also big enough to accommodate the other members of the family who came to support the eleven-year-old ball player. Those members included Bo’s twin brother, Rory, and their parents Tom and Meghan Watson; along with Meghan’s parents Ann and Greg Keenan.

Although the house featured a game room which kept the kids busy playing foosball, ping-pong, and Hot Shot basketball, my photographer was miffed by the lack of television stations available to watch at night. In fact, the only station Tom found on Roku featured a never-ending streaming of episodes of the 1960s sitcom Leave it to Beaver. That meant during our entire three-night stay, my camera guy and I watched a countless number of shows featuring Barbara Billingsley as June Cleaver; Hugh Beaumont as her husband Ward Cleaver; Tony Dow as Wally; and Jerry Mathers as The Beaver. I also got very familiar with the boy’s friends as well, including Larry Mondello, Gilbert Bates, Whitey Whitney, Lumpy Rutherford, and of course, Eddie Haskell.

Once the other members of the family had arrived between 9:30 and 10 o’clock, Tom and Vicki retired to the Master Bedroom while I stood alone on a shelf in the living room with only my thoughts to keep me company. I was excited for the following morning as Friday was designated by my photographer as Presidential Day. Since Bo’s first game of the tournament wasn’t scheduled to start until 8am on Saturday, that meant Friday was our only day to visit every Presidential site on Tom’s agenda – and the weather was projected to be ideal, which was something that unfortunately couldn’t be said about Saturday.

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Tom and Vicki woke up on Friday April 17, 2026 at roughly 7am, but we didn’t leave the house until 9:45am. There was no reason in particular for the later than usual departure except my photographer knew we had all day to visit a handful of scheduled sites and we were only 30 miles North of downtown Indianapolis.

Our scheduled Presidential stops on the day included the Benjamin Harrison Presidential Site, which was his home on North Delaware Street; the Presbyterian Church located three blocks North of Harrison’s house; Crown Hill Cemetery where the President was laid to rest in 1901; the Soldiers and Sailors Monument where President Eisenhower was photographed in 1952; and the Henry Lawton statue, which was a bronze likeness of the Indiana-native war hero and was dedicated by President Theodore Roosevelt and Vice President Charles W. Fairbanks in 1907. And if that wasn’t enough, Tom also planned to take his wife and me to the Southport Antique Mall, all before we ended our day of scheduled sites at the Steer-In, a diner featured in an episode of Guy Fieri’s Food Network show called Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.

The sky was partly sunny, and the temperature was in the low 70s at 10:20am when Vicki parked the Jeep on the Eastside of North Delaware Street directly across from the Bejamin Harrison Home. Upon our arrival, I noticed there was already a small group waiting near the Visitor Center to begin their tour of the historic home.

Vicki decided to stay in the vee-hickle while her husband and I headed for the house. Her decision was made easier when Tom mentioned he didn’t plan on partaking in a full-fledged tour, but instead, he only intended on visiting three areas of the home – the front parlor where Harrison had laid in state following his death; the dining room, which was under renovation during our last visit in 2022; and the library where Benjamin Harrison kept his most-prized possession – a document signed by President Lincoln in March 1865, just a few weeks before he was assassinated at Ford’s Theater.

Before we attempted to arrange a tour, Tom decided to have me pose near the exterior of Harrison’s three-story, 16-room home, which was constructed in 1874-75 and was where the President lived until his death in 1901. As soon as we had finished our outdoor photos, the two of us ventured behind the house to the Visitor Center where my photographer arranged for a personalized tour of Harrison’s home. I was amazed by the hospitality Tom and I found there; the staff was very accommodating to Tom’s request for an abbreviated, private tour of three rooms inside Harrison’s home.

Minutes after we met our docent, the three of us headed for a back entrance to the home where our guide unlocked a door and led us inside. It was an incredible feeling to once again be in the private sanctum of President Benjamin Harrison; the home where he lived, worked, loved, and ultimately died.

Without further delay, please check out the photos Tom captured during our private visit to the Benjamin Harrison Presidential Site on April 17, 2026.

When our abbreviated tour had ended, Tom thanked our private tour guide for his time and the two of us returned to the Jeep where Vicki patiently waited for us. While the home of our 23rd President may not be as famous as Mount Vernon, Monticello, Peacefield, Montpelier, or Sagamore Hill, it still remained one of my favorite Presidential homes I’ve had the pleasure of visiting.

During our tour, my photographer axed the docent if the church where Harrison’s funeral service was conducted in 1901 was still in existence today and his answer was no, it has been demolished shortly after the President’s death. A week or so before our trip, however, Tom found an on-line source which stated the current Presbyterian church on North Delaware Street was in fact the one that hosted the President’s funeral – and that church was the next stop.

But as soon as we arrived at the site, and after I had posed for a couple of photos, there was a huge discrepancy. The date on the building’s cornerstone read ‘1902’, which meant the structure was built a year after Harrison had died. Upon further review of on-line resources, the tour guide was correct – the First Presbyterian Church which hosted Harrison’s funeral was located in downtown Indianapolis and it no longer stands – the property was used for a new federal building. However, President Harrison, as a ruling church elder and Sunday School Superintendent, was instrumental in relocating the church, which ended up just three blocks North of his home on Delaware Street. The cornerstone of the building was laid on June 16, 1902 and the church opened on October 4, 1903, over two years after Harrison’s death.

Finished at the church that didn’t host President Harrison’s funeral, it was time for the three of us to make the four-mile journey North to Crown Hill Cemetery where Benjamin Harrison was laid to rest alongside his first wife, Caroline Scott Harrison, on March 17, 1901.

First Lady Caroline Harrison had passed away from tuberculosis inside the White House at the age of 60 on October 25, 1892 during her husband’s re-election campaign. After she laid in state in the East Room of the White House, Caroline’s remains were transported to Crown Hill Cemetery in Indianapolis where she was interred.

Shortly after Vicki had navigated our Jeep through the ornate entrance gates of Crown Hill Cemetery at a few minutes past eleven o’clock, it didn’t take long to discover the burial ground was in need of some lawn care. The grass was long and weeds were sprouting up everywhere, which gave the huge cemetery an unkempt appearance. When we made the long journey up the hill and had arrived at the back of the cemetery where the Harrison’s were buried, the landscaping hadn’t improved and a sense of disappointment filled my resin heart.

Tom carried me from the Jeep to the Harrison’s family plot where I posed for several pictures – first on the President’s small headstone, and then in front of the large, granite monument. It appeared some greenery had been planted on the four burial plots, but it was still too early in the season for the plants to thrive and fill the entirety of the rectangular graves – which made the Presidential plot appear neglected.

The four graves at the Harrison family plot were occupied by the President and First Lady, as well as Harrison’s second wife, Mary Scott Dimmick Harrison, who died on January 5, 1948 at the age of 89. The final grave at the site was where the last surviving child of Benjamin and Caroline Harrison was laid to rest. He was Russell B. Harrison, and he died on December 13, 1936 at the age of 82.

Once we had finished paying our respects to President Harrison and his family, Tom had a surprise for me and his wife. There was another gravesite he wanted to find, and unfortunately that one was a bit harder to locate in the humungous 555-acre cemetery. During our first two visits to Crown Hill, my photographer and I had found the final resting place of gangster John Dillinger – so I thought perhaps we were headed there again. But I was wrong.

It turned out Charles W. Fairbanks, the Vice President during Theodore Roosevelt’s second term in office, was buried somewhere on the grounds and Tom was hell-bent in finding out where. After a 20-minute search of blindly driving around looking for the grave, my photographer came up with the brilliant idea to use the aid of the on-line site called Find a Grave, and it worked to perfection. Moments later, I found myself posing at the final resting place of Vice President Fairbanks.

In the past, my photographer hasn’t taken the time to visit the gravesites of our Vice Presidents; unless, of course, they had also served as President of the United States. But for some reason, likely because the grave was located in the same cemetery as President Harrison’s gravesite, he decided to pay a visit to the site of Charles Fairbanks’ final resting place. Will that be a new trend – to visit the graves of every Vice President? That would be awesome, in my opinion, but it’s getting late in the game to begin a new quest!

When we finished our visit to Crown Hill Cemetery, Tom barked out directions to the next Presidential site on his agenda – a site that took us into the middle of downtown Indianapolis. After a four-mile drive South through the mid-day traffic, we arrived at Monument Circle – a brick-covered circular road that surrounded the Indiana State Soldiers and Sailors Monument.

The 284-foot-tall monument, which was dedicated on May 15, 1902, looked spectacular as it rose up above its surrounding waterfall and fountains. When the Indiana State Soldiers and Sailors Monument was erected, it was the second-tallest monument in the country behind the Washington Monument; and is only 21 feet shorter than the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor. Over the years, the monument has become the iconic symbol of Indianapolis, the capital city of Indiana.

But seeing the impressive Soldiers and Sailors Monument wasn’t the reason for our visit. It turned out the monument was a Presidential site and was connected to at least two of our Chief Executives. On August 22, 1889, during the laying of the monument’s cornerstone, President Benjamin Harrison delivered a speech at the site. Then, on September 9, 1952, General Eisenhower was in downtown Indianapolis and arrived at Monument Circle where Ike delivered a campaign speech in front of thousands of supporters gathered near the monument.

When we arrived at Monument Circle, parking was non-existent. Vicki drove the Jeep around the circular road twice, then she parked illegally between two service vehicles and waited for Tom and me to do “our thing”. That “thing” was to replicate an image of Dwight Eisenhower from 1952, which meant my photographer wanted to find the precise spot where Ike was photographed by lining up the tall buildings in the background.

And sure as heck-fire, he did it! Although I wasn’t able to stand in the street where Eisenhower was photographed without the possibility of being killed or smashed to pieces by distracted motorists, I posed near the monument, which was when the 1952 photo suddenly came to life before my painted resin eyes. While I love to visit every site associated with our Presidents, it’s those times when Tom uses a historical photograph to accurately place me in the footsteps of our Chief Executives that I love the most. For me, it’s incredible to see how the site had changed, or not changed, over the years.

Downtown Indianapolis was crawling with people around 12 noon, as folks were taking advantage of the 84-degree weather on that Friday. When Tom and I rejoined Vicki, who was still nearby and parked illegally in our Jeep, it was time to head South for our last Presidential site of the day – and possibly the last site of the trip.

Since traffic was hectic, it took my photographer’s wife a bit longer than expected to make the three-mile journey to Garfield Park; a journey that included several road-rage rants and one-finger salutes to a handful of clueless motorists of ethnic background. But as soon as Vicki pulled into the 128-acre urban park, which is the oldest park in Indianapolis, Tom’s precise navigational skills directed her to our intended Presidential site.

Garfield Park first opened to the public in 1876 and was called Southern Park; but five years later, following the assassination of President James A. Garfield in 1881, the park was renamed in his honor. But President Garfield wasn’t the reason we traveled to the Eastern side of the park and in close proximity to the Garfield Park Conservatory. Instead, the motive for our visit was a life-sized bronze likeness of a war hero named Henry Ware Lawton, a man from Fort Wayne, Indiana who served in the Civil War, the Apache Wars, the Spanish-American War, and the Philippine-American War until he was the only U.S. general officer killed in that battle when an enemy sharpshooter shot him on December 19, 1899.

When the state of Indiana decided to honor the native war hero by erecting a statue of him in the center of town on the grounds of the Marion County Courthouse, President Theodore Roosevelt and Vice President Charles W. Fairbanks were on hand for the dedication ceremony, which was held on Memorial Day, May 30, 1907.

The statue of Henry Lawton remained on the courthouse grounds for roughly eight years, when in June 1915, it was moved to Garfield Park where it has remained since – standing as a silent sentinel just waiting for my arrival and its rightful place in my Presidential tales.

A sense of accomplishment filled the air when Tom and I finished our 15-minute photoshoot in Garfield Park. We were done with our Indianapolis Presidential sites, and it was only 12:30pm. That meant one thing – it was time for lunch.

Before we headed to the pre-determined restaurant for our lunch, however, my companions decided to visit one last antique store, which was located nearby on the Southside of Indy. By the time we arrived at the large establishment known as the Southport Antique Mall, which was at a few minutes before one o’clock, I was anxious to see what artifacts of interest Tom and I would find. Since the first three antique shops on the trip had been duds, I figured it was time something in the store, something memorable, would grab my photographer’s eye. While I don’t claim to be the second coming of Nostradamus, my gut-feeling turned into a gut-wrenching reality.

The two of us browsed the aisles for over a half hour, and Tom discovered a few items that piqued his interest. The first was a display piece that featured a photo of the four executed conspirators in the Lincoln assassination, which was accompanied by a few alleged pieces of wood from the gallows. I knew my photographer wanted to add that piece to his collection, but at $225 and without any concrete proof the wood pieces were authentic, he walked away emptyhanded with only a photo to remind him of “the one that got away.”

Finally, when Tom’s legs and back grew weary from walking around the endless aisles inside the store, he found an old church pew near the front entrance where he decided to park his fat rear and wait for his wife to finish shopping. That’s the moment when I looked out from an opening in the camera case and discovered what it was like to stare directly at an eclipse of the Sun without eye protection. For what did my painted eyes see was none other than a one hundred percent dose of 2026 D.E.I. reality in the form of an older guy with bosoms, donned in a hideous sleeveless dress, and a pink wig. I also heard the person speak to another customer, and he/she had an extremely deep voice. At one point, I wanted to yell out in the voice of Jerry Seinfeld as he did in one episode of his show, “She has man hands. The hands of a man!” Let me tell you this, my friends – she likely had more than just the hands of a man!

Don’t get me wrong – I fully believe in the freedom of expression as long as it doesn’t hurt others, but some things just don’t seem right. And dressing like a girl and standing at the urinal is one of those things.

When Vicki finally arrived at the scene, the three of us left the building and returned to the Jeep. Tom couldn’t wait to axe his wife if she noticed anything out of the ordinary at the church pew, but Vicki said she hadn’t. My photographer was stunned, and replied, “How could you have NOT seen that ugly version of RuPaul seated right next to me?” While each of us left another antique store emptyhanded, one thing was for certain – Tom and I exited the store with a new source for a funny story, as well as a potential nightmare.

It was time for lunch, even though my photographer and I had lost our appetites inside the Southport Antique Mall. But since Vicki was hungry, we pushed onward to our final scheduled stop on our day’s agenda – the Steer-In, which was located roughly 15 miles away in the Irvington neighborhood on the Eastside of Indianapolis.

At roughly 1:45pm, my photographer’s wife pulled our Jeep into the parking lot of the Historic Steer-In, which at first glance, looked like a true nostalgic blast from the past. While there were places for patrons to order and eat their food delivered to their cars, the three of us opted to venture inside the diner that had first opened in 1960. The reason for our visit wasn’t for a chance to see Richie, Fonzie, or Ralph Malph hanging around the juke box, it was because the diner was the focal point of a Season 11 episode of the Food Network’s Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives featuring Guy Fieri.

Once seated in a booth, Tom’s appetite magically reappeared and he ordered one of the diner’s specialties, beef and noodles, which was one of the same dishes Fieri had critiqued during his visit in 2011. Vicki, on the other hand, found her taste buds begging for the spaghetti and meat balls. Funny thing was, Guy Fieri also loved the diner’s meat balls, although he had them on a meat ball sub.

Finished with lunch, the three of us returned to the Jeep where we began the 25-mile ride back towards our Airbnb in Westfield. Once we got close to our home-away-from home, however, Vicki decided she wanted to see the baseball fields at Grand Park, which was where Bo was slated to play the following morning.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, my photographer’s wife said something that she would soon regret, “I could sure go for some of that fudge from Uranus.” My initial thoughts took me right back to the church pew at the Southport Antique Mall, but then I remembered all of the billboards along I-69 we saw the previous day as we got close to Anderson, Indiana on our drive to Indianapolis. Each sign featured a catchy phrase for the Uranus Fudge Factory, located in the heart of Anderson. Some of the more interesting slogans were, “The Best Fudge Comes from Uranus”, and “Get Your Fudge Packed in Uranus”, and “Visit Uranus Fudge Factory – Voted Indiana’s #2 Attraction!” That slogan made me wonder whether or not Indiana’s #3 attraction was still seated inside the antique mall.

When Vicki said the fudge factory was likely too far to drive, Tom plugged the coordinates into his GPS and replied, “Siri says the place is only 24 miles away – that’s not too bad. I don’t like fudge, but let’s go get some fudge packed for you. I wanna see what that place is like, especially since Uranus is the number two attraction in the state of Indiana.”

Roughly twenty minutes into our drive, which took us on a zigzag route along the back country roads of Central Indiana, a huge problem arose. My photographer took a glance at his GPS, and a shocked look filled his face – Siri said we still had 23 miles yet to go before we reached Uranus. That news didn’t sit well with his wife, and the scowl I saw on Vicki’s face was priceless – especially after Tom said, “Oh, let’s just relax and enjoy the scenery.” My photographer’s wife shot back with, “Scenery? You call this scenery? All I see is mile after mile of plowed, flat fields of nothing.” That’s the moment I thought to myself, “This better be the best damned fudge on Earth or Tom might get a foot up his anus!”

Thirty-five miles and nearly an hour later, we finally landed on Uranus – and quite frankly, from the outside, the place looked like a tourist trap. And when Tom carried me into the building, my opinion didn’t change – especially when one of the female staff members behind the counter said, “Hi, welcome to Uranus – would you like your fudge packed?” While the popular business featured a smorgasbord of fudge for customers to purchase at roughly five bucks for a quarter pound, I also saw an endless supply of souvenirs as well – everything from tee shirts, plush turds, and butt-themed glassware to jams, jellies, and salad dressing. At one point, I heard my photographer tell his wife, “I don’t think I’d wanna put anything that came from Uranus on my salad!”

There were no butts about it – the Uranus Fudge Factory in Anderson, Indiana will go down in the anals of history as one place I don’t ever want to visit again. While the staff bent over backwards to make us feel welcomed, the aroma I smelled near the back door made me sick to my resin stomach.

After the three of us returned to the Jeep and Vicki carefully pulled out of the Uranus parking lot, Tom did his best to force his Siri GPS app to find a quicker route home – and it worked. We were back home to Westfield by 5:30pm, and soon after, my photographer and his wife joined the rest of the family for some laughs around the campfire. I, on the other hand, stood on my shelf and once again watched the never-ending stream of Leave it to Beaver episodes on the television.

It had been a long and exhausting day filled with great sites, good food, confused people, and some packed fudge. While the 84-degree weather on that Friday was very enjoyable, the forecast for the games the following morning wasn’t good.

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When Tom’s alarm went off at 6am on Saturday morning April 18, 2026, rain pelted the windows of our Airbnb in Westfield, Indiana. Shortly after, we heard Bo’s first game of the 2026 season with the Saginaw Bay River Dawgs, which was scheduled to start at 8am, had been pushed back an hour – and then another hour after the wind and rain didn’t let up. When the first pitch of the game was hurled against the Indiana Bulls, the tournament was nearly three hours behind schedule in the 45-degree, rain-soaked weather. That’s right, it was 39 degrees colder than the previous day, while the 15-mph wind made it feel even worse.

I was fortunate when my photographer decided to let me stay behind with ‘The Beav’ while he and his wife made the short pilgrimage over to Grand Park for a cold and wet morning of baseball. Here are a handful of photos Tom captured of his grandson playing in his first tournament of the year.

When my companions had returned to the Arbnb after dinner at a nearby Chinese buffet, I heard Bo’s team had tied the Indiana Bulls 6-6 and beat the Warriors Baseball Club from Birmingham, Michigan 12-1 in the second game. I also listened as my photographer pissed, whined, and moaned the rest of the evening about how cold he was sitting through two games in the slight drizzle and brisk wind. “That’s the coldest I’ve ever been at a baseball game. With the wind chill, I thought it might start snowing.”

I just smiled and thought to myself, “I was quite comfortable watching Wally and The Beaver playing grab-ass on the TV with Eddie Haskell.”

Before the lights were extinguished and everyone retired to their rooms, I watched in disgust as the entire group gorged themselves on Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. As Tom shoveled spoonful after spoonful of an entire quart of Americone Dream into his face, I couldn’t help but think to myself, “Well, fatso, by the way you’re scarfing-down that Ben and Jerry’s, you must not be THAT cold.”

And with that, he went to bed.

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The final day of our trip began at about eight o’clock in the morning on Sunday April 19, 2026 when my photographer and his wife rolled their old bones out of bed. Since Bo’s team was seeded fifth, their first game of the day was scheduled to start at 12 noon, which made it easy to pack up and vacate the premises by the owner’s 11am departure rules.

Tom, Vicki, and I arrived at Grand Park and made the long hike from the massive parking lot to one of the 26 ball diamonds at the complex. The weather was partly sunny, but the wind made the mid-50s temperature seem colder. It was far from ideal baseball weather, at least for me.

The River Dawgs got behind early in their game against the Ann Arbor A’s, mostly due to their pitcher’s inability to throw strikes and the Dawgs’ infielder’s failure to field routine ground balls. Somehow, the team from the Bay City area rallied to tie the game in the late innings. Then suddenly, an outfield miscue by the River Dawgs on a scorching line drive with two A’s runners on base plated the winning run and the team headed back to Michigan with their tails betwixt their legs.

Please take a look at a couple of the images taken by my photographer during the River Dawgs’ 9-8 loss against the Ann Arbor A’s.

The clock was about to strike two o’clock in the afternoon when Tom, Vicki, and I said our goodbyes to the rest of our gang before we began the five-hour journey home. A little less than two hours into our drive, we hit a massive storm just South of Fort Wayne, which caused the temperature to drop nearly ten degrees. Around that same time, my photographer’s wife said she was getting hungry and axed for ideas on where we could stop to eat. Tom thought for a moment, then proposed another Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives place – this one was nearly two hours away in Potterville, Michigan. When Vicki agreed, we had our GPS coordinates set on Joe’s Gizzard City, which to me, sounded like a very classy place.

We crossed into Michigan and its lousy roads at precisely 4:47pm, and a little over an hour later, we were seated in a corner booth at Joe’s Gizzard City in downtown Potterville. Upon first glance at the interior, it was easy to see which of the three Guy Fieri classifications Joe’s fell into – and that was DIVE. The place didn’t appear overly clean; the smell of grease was only overcome by the odor of someone smoking pot; and the clientele seemed like they were outcasts from a redneck convention. In fact, it was hard to believe Guy Fieri actually came to the small village of 3,000 people where he spent time taping a Season 2 episode of his show in that grease pit.

After my companions had ordered their food, Vicki mentioned a few times that she was uncomfortable and thought we had made a mistake going there. Tom did his best to calm his wife down when he said, “Dang Vick, if this place was good enough for Guy Fieri, then it’s good enough for us. If you don’t look at the filth and don’t pay attention to the smell, it really isn’t that bad.”

Then he made a mistake by axing his wife, “I know this place isn’t a Drive-In, but would you consider it a Diner or a Dive?” Vicki instantly shot back without hesitation, “Are you kidding me right now? This dump is a downright dive, spelled with a capital D-I-V-E! It’s disgusting!”

When our food arrived, I saw the look on my photographer’s face, and it was easy to see he instantly second-guessed his choice. Whenever we visit Triple D places, Tom usually orders the same food Guy Fieri tried on his Food Network show. During his 2007 visit to Joe’s Gizzard City, Guy helped develop a new menu item, which was now aptly named the Triple D Burger in Fieri’s honor. That burger was a 1/3-pound Cheeseburger with pickles, onions and a slice of tomato, deep fried in Joe’s Famous Batter Mix. That’s right, the entire cheeseburger was deep fried and served with a side of French Fries.

Vicki, on the other hand, stuck to a more traditional menu choice – a Patty Melt and fries, which she said was a bit greasy. In my mind, I knew nothing was going to satisfy my photographer’s wife until we walked out of the door and Tom promised we’d never return.

Following their interesting dinner, Tom carried me out to the Jeep where Vicki was poised for the two-hour drive to our house. Luckily, traffic was light and the weather was decent throughout most of the route along Interstate 69. About 45 minutes from home, however, it began to snow. I laughed when I heard my photographer say to his wife, “Well, it’s snowing. We’ve experienced all four seasons during this short trip – welcome once again to Winter. Can you believe it – it was 84 degrees just two days ago and now we’re driving in a blizzard!”

Then out of nowhere, the Jeep’s gas light came on, which meant Tom would get the opportunity to pump fuel while standing in the wind and snow. Initially, my photographer figured we had enough gas to make it all the way from Westfield to our home, but the extra 70 miles of gas they used to get to Uranus and back to the Airbnb had put a crimp in his plans.

My photographer and his wife were still full of grease; the Jeep was now full of high-priced gas; and it was time to finish the final 25-mile leg of our four-day trip.

When Vicki pulled the Jeep into our driveway at 8:53pm, I realized it had taken us about seven hours to get home – which included a stop at Joe’s Gizzard City and a stop to get fuel. The most important thing, however, was we returned safely and our vee-hickle and I were still in one piece.

Except for the horrendous weather during the baseball games, it had been a great trip to Indianapolis – one that racked-up 929 miles. For the record, and for those of my followers who are keep track, I have now traveled a total of 88,432 miles since I began my Presidential quest on July 10, 2013. If one puts that mileage into perspective, we could travel around the entire Earth at the equator in a total of 24,901 miles. That means I have now traveled nearly 3 1/2 times around the entire Earth; and once to Uranus where I saw some fudge packed.

When and where will I go next? My next adventure will be a three-week extravaganza and is scheduled to begin on August 7, 2026. Tom’s highly detailed agenda has him, Vicki, and I traveling through all of the New England states, as well as into Nova Scotia for a few days. That trip features a plethora of Presidential sites for Tom and me, and of course, antique malls for Vicki. Hopefully, we don’t cross paths with a gal like ‘Dixie Normous’ again.

In the meantime, Tom and I will be occupied with our two YouTube shows as we help celebrate America 250. To view our published episodes, search for Through the Eyes of Jefferson on YouTube, then sit back and enjoy the shows.

Thank you everyone for your continued support. And thank you for reading this entire blog post, even though it was longer than normal. So long for now!