Last month I traveled to Tom’s Place in the Sierra to celebrate the Centennial of Riters visiting Rock Creek. Back in 1925, Dad traveled up the washboard dirt road of 395, and 100 years later I drove my F150 the 300 miles up the paved highway. The fishing, while very good, didn’t match earlier years, but memories and retracing his steps again brought joy to my soul. Sleeping in the Ford’s bed found me tossing and turning, and looking out the window prompted…