It's Fourth of July weekend and most people have either traveled, are traveling or planning to travel. A near certainty of any number of these plane, bus, train, or car trips is a story will emerge. Over time the story will grow arms, legs and a life of its own and become a cherished part of family lore.

In our book of family trips there are many stories. Most probably embarrassed the heck out of my parents at the time, but now are warm memories of that special time spent together.

Whoever initially suggested we all enjoy the journey wasn't kidding.

Take for instance a trip to the Black Hills of South Dakota in about 1974. The trip started at about 4 a.m. from the Twin Cities. My brother and I were piled -- still clad in pajamas -- into the 1971 Plymouth Cruiser Wagon, wood grain included. For the two of us, however, sleep was not an option.

As the sunrise broke on the Minnesota prairie, passing cars began to honk and irritate the heck out of my father. After about 10 cars my mother turned around and was shocked to find her two sons showing off their naked butts to passing motorists. We'd just learned about mooning from a baby sitter days before, he shall go nameless because I'm not sure the statute of limitations has passed.

Needless to say we were quickly scolded and clothed. Only in later years would we learn my parents spent half the night rolling with laughter about their two sons.

Move ahead on the same trip to a Flintstone Campground near Chamberlain, S.D. An innocent one-night stay, on the road to our destination, turns ugly when then 3-year-old brother freaks out on Barney Rubble and tackles the poor mascot-wearer to the ground.

Two years later in the Wisconsin Dells, the same brother takes out Yogi Bear at the Yogi Bear Campground. In future trips we avoided campgrounds with wandering mascots.

Both times brother was severely reprimanded, but today it's the stuff legends our made of.

In 1977 there was what has now been coined the puking incident. This time in the 1975 Ford Grand Torino Wagon, wood grain included, my brother and I barfed simultaneously on Hershey Bars.

We were returning from a weekend at grandma's house, near Aitkin, when the violent episode took place. The violent nature of the puking nearly caused my dad to lose control of the car, and his insides. He made it to the side of the road. We all disembarked and swore off bad Hershey Bars. Even though it was 100 degrees out, the air conditioning stayed off and the windows open for the remainder of the trip home.

Then there was the 1981 summer trip aboard Amtrak to Glacier Park. My brother, now a banker and a singer in a rock band, demonstrated his future musical talents to the amusement of many on the eight-car train.

He was a stitch and by the second day the bartender in the beverage car had a spot set up for him along with a tip jar. By the end of the trip nearly all had met the wandering, singing,10-year-old ukulele player.

Along the way of all those summer trips there were also countless stops for Dairy Queen sundaes in the replica baseball helmets, the pictures in front of fiberglass dinosaurs, walleyes, otters, Vikings, Jolly Green Giants, etc., and the much-anticipated stops at the fireworks stands.

Now years later I'm glad my parents enjoyed the journeys and, despite how embarrassing it must have been at times, allowed my brother and I to do the same. The destinations always proved worthwhile, but the journeys produced the stories and memories.

Enjoy the ride.