Road Trips

My first memories of going on vacations were from the back of a station wagon. We lived near Houston, Texas, and our grandparents were in Arkansas. I recall the day school let out for Thanksgiving, seeing our green 1960 station wagon pull up to pick me up. The day had gotten cold, and I could not wait to get inside the warm car. Johnny, my older brother, and Donny, my younger brother, were already in the back seat. I climbed to the back of the wagon, my preferred place to ride, to dig out a spot for me to ride for the next eight hours or so. Since all of our luggage and other things were in the back where I rode, I made a fort of everything. Back in the 1960s, there were not many freeways for us to travel on, so most of the trip was on two-lane roads. We had no cell phones or electronic games; those would not be invented for another 20 years, so books, magazines, and imagination occupied our time. I remember facing the rear window, pretending I was flying an airplane. Another time, I had everything arranged where I was sitting in the middle, facing forward, pretending I was riding a chopper motorcycle. When the road curved, I would lean into it. When we took off from a stoplight, I would pretend to shift through the gears. Funny how I pretended to do those things when 50 years later, I have never flown a plane, and the only motorcycle I have driven is a Trail Bike, which I enjoy riding today.

Dad told us later that he had taken the station wagon to get it serviced before he picked us up from school. The guy who checked over the car pointed out how worn out the tires were. Dad told him we would be fine on those tires on our eight-hour trip.

One thing I remember clearly is that the floorboard in front of the back seat was rusted, and we could see the road passing beneath the car. Dad had cut some plywood to put over the rusted-out floor. My brothers and I had the bright idea to lift the plywood and drop marbles through the rusted holes in the floor. We would watch out the back window to see where the marbles went. They could really catch air as they bounced down the road.

As the hours went by, my brother and I always ended up getting into trouble for something. Of course, it was always their fault. When the station wagon quickly stopped on the road shoulder, we knew we had to get out for our spanking. I am so thankful for parents who loved us enough to spank us when we deserved it. My brothers and I take responsibility for our actions today because of the discipline we grew up with.

As the trip progressed, the day turned into night. We all fell asleep where we were riding and had full trust in Dad to get us there safely. One time, I recall waking up to find we were stopped at a truck stop somewhere in Louisiana while Dad went inside for a cup of coffee. Later, he told us that he asked for a cup of coffee, and the waitress asked if he wanted dark or regular. He asked what the difference was. The waitress responded, “You want the regular.” He did not know about the strong Louisiana coffee called Chicory.

We always arrived in what seemed like the middle of the night. We all unloaded the car, and after a few minutes of talking with our grandparents, we were off to bed.

On other trips, I recall Mom reading to us as we traveled. We listened as she read many different books to us. One time, she read a book called “God’s Smuggler” by Brother Andrew. I was locked onto what Mom was reading. It was a fascinating story that we had to visualize as she read. Young people today seem to lack the creativity that comes from having to see in their mind the story that words on a page are telling. One time, she read about a missionary who drove a VW Beetle through the rough wilderness of Africa. When the missionary reached his destination, he had a mechanic inspect his car before his return trip. The mechanic said there is no way this car will run, that the carburetor is so full of dirt, and that he cannot explain why the car even starts. The missionary said it is a miracle of God since he is on a mission for God. That has always stood out to me, and I think it is one of the reasons I like VW Beetles to this day. I have a ’73 Bug that I enjoy driving.

Looking back at those road trips seems like a lifetime ago, and it was. With safety placed so much emphasis today, it is a wonder we all lived through those trips. Maybe today we are overly cautious and miss out on such adventures. I think so.