The Roy M. Lilly Memorial Travel Tag

This trackable is being released in memoriam of my grandfather, Roy M. Lilly. It's goal is to get back to my home state of West Virginia and get its photo taken with a few things. First and foremost, the Roy M. Lilly Memorial Bridge (latitude: 37.573413, longitude: 81.359147) leading into Corinne Bottom, Mullens. Roy's grave, on top of the hill at the Blue Ridge Memorial Gardens in Beckley. And the rest are just for fun, and to take whoever's got this bug to some cool places...the New River Gorge Brige, Babcock State Park Old Grist Mill, the Tamarack, a whitewater rafting trip, an atv adventure on the Hatfield McCoy Trail, a day at the Beckley Exhibition Coal Mine, a ride on one of the many scenic railroads in WV, and whatever else you can think of in the good old mountain state.

It had always seemed to me that life in Corinne Bottom, Mullens was timeless. That forever the coal trains would haul themselves down the tracks, clanging and rattling past our house, shaking its very frame. That forever the bridge swaying back and forth over the churning waters of the Guyandotte River would be the main transport from the Bottom to the outside world. And that forever, my grandfather's old blue truck would rattle down the worn grey roads of Corinne Bottom.
All of that has changed now. The trains only run every now and then, due to the dwindling number of mines. In 1998, they took the bridge down because it was deemed unsafe. And, on March 04, 2005 at 4:32pm, my grandfather passed away, after a lifelong battle with black lung disease. We could never again go fishing along the banks of the Guyandotte River. His old blue truck was no longer his. It was just another inheritance, lacking the spirit and life it once had with him behind the wheel.
It was snowing on March 08, 2005 as we followed the jet black hearse down the winding roads to Beckley, passing the bare, snow covered trees...like something out of a postcard. I always think of this trip as my grandfather's last ride to Beckley, as he rode in his blue casket. A deep, mysterious blue that reminded me of his truck.
Roy M. Lilly was not a mayor, a business man, or even the first to accomplish something of great importance. He was just a simple man who led a simple life. But on the day of his funeral, one might have thought differently as they saw the dirge line of cars following the hearse, despite the bad weather. The attendance at his funeral was great. All the people who cherished and adored him showed up to bid their farewells. And, after a quick final service, he was buried on top of the hill at the Blue Ridge Memorial Gardens, under a blanket of fresh fallen snow.
Now, nearly 7 years later, I still think of this event frequently. I guess these kind of things are hard to forget. Since his passing, I got the little one lane bridge leading into my hometown of Corinne Bottom named in his honor, the Roy M. Lilly Memorial Bridge. I know that I will forever miss his love of fishing, hunting, and gardening. Most of all, I will miss his old blue truck rattling down the worn grey roads of Corinne Bottom, past the houses across from the railroad tracks, past the church, and across the bridge that is now his.