The Best Trip Ever by Bob Johnson

I think everyone, and I mean everyone, can quickly conjure up the memory of travels in their lifetime.  But can you remember THE trip, the one experience of going from your home to another place in hopes of new adventure. The time when everything was wonderful and new and exciting and awesome.  Where the food would be much different than the usual fare at home. Maybe the language was foreign and communication was difficult but overcome with smiles and sign language and pictures. Or perhaps seeing firsthand the wonders of the world, Old Faithful gush at its appointed time in Yellowstone Park, or standing outside in the freezing cold just to see the Northern Lights put on their amazing dance of colors.

Oh course you can. And that moment in time is revisited with a discovery of snapshots in the bottom of a box rescued from the attic, or seeing a television program and suddenly telling the room of uninterested people, I’ve been there! Or having your children, who flew from the nest long ago, come back and reminisce around the packed dinner table about their youth. And one of them begins a sentence with Remember the time that. And it all comes flooding back. And most times the conversation usually ends with That was the best trip ever.

I just hung up the phone from a cousin who has lived in California since the early fifties. She reminded me of an event long, long, ago. A visit.

The memory of my first trip, first big trip, traveling from Montana to California was brought to mind.

I grew up the only son of a dry land farmer in northcentral Montana. My father was a veteran of World War II, a second generation farmer, and a lover of beer. Hamm’s, Great Falls Select, Pabst, Grain Belt, or Schaefer. He wasn’t particular. Just whatever was cheapest at the time.

Farmers, or maybe just my Dad, never wanted to leave the home place for any reason. I didn’t know if maybe he would miss a rain storm, or a weed sprouting, or possibly, God forbid, hail. Or maybe with five small children, the oldest being ten years old, the hassle would not be worth it.

In 1952 he bought his first new car, a Desoto Custom Sedan with fluid drive. I remember the morning he drove into our driveway with the car. We ignored the fact that he had left the night before to pick the thing up. One look at his face and us older kids immediately knew he had had a rough night.

Anyway, that Desoto was built like a tank, had a huge chrome front end that we fantasized to be a grinning monster with enormous silver teeth.  The car was roomier than our bedrooms. It was big.

Weeks later, my cousin little Bobby and I, named by the family as big Bobby, discovered a cool cigarette lighter and was amazed to see  that it heated up even without the car running. We, needless to say, burned about a dozen small circles in the plastic plate covering an area that would have held an optional purchase of a clock.

My Dad was philosophical about the incident when he announced the fact that sooner or later every vehicle gets a ding or two, or a rip somewhere.

And that nobody really ever looked at the damaged area anyway, except maybe Mother. He said that, of course, after he was done walloping my behind.

He never replaced that plate. It was a reminder of my youthful curiosity until he finally sold the car twenty years later.

Anyway, my Mother finally convinced Dad to take a week and travel to California, to a town named Fremont. Our young minds figured it must be a magical place since it was so far from home.

We loaded up, the huge trunk held suitcases, a stroller for the twins, a gallon Coleman water jug, sleeping bags, and a good size cooler full of ice and beer. We backed out of the driveway and were off.

My oldest sister, Alice, had, the night before, set out the different road maps that were to be used. She spent an hour measuring and looking for numbers then measuring again as the next sister, Helen, and I looked on. We were going to drive over one thousand miles! We jumped around and screeched for a while, not knowing in our exuberance that all of these miles would be in a sedan with seven people. Our first big trip, anywhere.

Within two hours we all were farther from our home that we had ever been. We drove right through Helena, the state capital, and home to many relatives, then south to Idaho. There were several stops along the way but only to use a facility, or get beer out of the trunk. We ate fried chicken and chomped on assorted vegetables during the entire day. We drank water.

Somewhere in the middle of Idaho, we finally stopped for the night. The excitement had turned to boredom to all out tiredness. We kids slept in our assigned areas that night. My older sisters side by side on the back seat, the twins fit nicely on the floor with the transmission hump dividing them, and I in the back window. The folks took up the front seat. We were all covered with blankets or sleeping bags. Perfect.

Breakfast consisted of cold cereal out of one of the new single use boxes. I had Rice Krispies. We didn’t have milk so water had to suffice. We were used to making do.

We took off again by five the next morning, gassed up the brand new car with the burn holes in the dash and were off. My Dad said it was going to be a long day because we were going to make it to Fremont come hell or high water, by God.

Traveling with five kids in the car was probably a real challenge for our parents. Generally one or the other of us tried to raise a ruckus in the back seat so we could be punished by being put in the front between our parents. Then, of course, the lucky villainous child would turn around to give a last insult by sticking out their tongue.

We all had imaginary lines on the huge expanse of the back seat. It was our private designated area that no one could touch. If one did trespass the immediate whine or scream or slug would be forthcoming. The twins, both girls, were so small they didn’t count in our space management. Then a window would roll down or up, always just the opposite of the sibling next to us desired. There was always a few back hands meted out from the front seat. The more beer my Dad drank, the easier it was to rile him so we had to be aware.

Somewhere along the way we stopped at grocery store. You kids stay in the car was the expected order.

In a few minutes the folks came out with a bag or two of groceries. I imagined apples, and sodas, and really good stuff that any six year would want. The beer cooler was refilled, and we drove away.

Needless to say, the air conditioner was non-existent, so four windows fully down, through Nevada, in early July, was supposed to keep us cool. Mom handed back grocery goodies to her expectant children. A slice of bologna between two slices of Wonder Bread. That was it. No mustard, no mayo, no nothing. She passed around a cup of water filled from the thermos to get the fine cuisine down.

When my older sister complained, she learned she could have had thuringer, or head cheese, or, gag, olive meat loaf. They were all Dad’s favorites. We were used to it. The good news, we got a handful of green grapes for dessert.

For supper, we had the same thing. The Wonder Bread, left open during the hours of driving through the desert didn’t fare well. So dry bread and bologna and a handful of grapes for supper.

How many more miles? Are we there yet? One of the twins has a dirty diaper. I’m thirsty. I need to use the bathroom..bad.

Shut up and sit back. We’ll get there when we get there. You girls can change that diaper. You just went.

I imagine that might sound familiar to most kids.

Car games got old, we cheated if someone guessed too quickly on I Spy, my older sisters could read books they brought along, I could only bother them to tell me what the words meant.

At long last we got to California. Almost there right, Mom. Yes she would say, in about six hours. We groaned, moaned, and whined until we were all asleep in the back.

Suddenly the car stopped, awakening us. We had arrived. It was late, or early, depending on which side of midnight it was.

We grabbed our sleeping bags, threw them on the living room floor and I was out like a light..

Early the next day our cousins woke us up. They were in swimsuits! They had a pool in the back yard! Our spirits soared!

Forget breakfast, forget everything.

 Mom, where’s my swimming suit!

I will always remember climbing into the beautiful blue colored water. I immersed myself completely. I slowly brought my head out of the water and looked at the Southern California sunshine sparkling on the top of the water. At that moment I forgot everything that had happened in the last couple of days. It was, I decided right then and there, the best trip ever.