Writing Friday - The Road Trip
A Child’s Perception of Distance
The little boy knew that this particular trip would be a long one. His mother and father had been planning it for a long time. It was a vacation back to where most everyone in the family was born...South Dakota. It would take three long days of driving across the country from California to get there.
He and his two little sisters shared the back seat of the station wagon, as well as the “way back” section for naps. The “wayback” was behind the back seat, mostly filled with luggage on a trip like this. At nine years old, he could still curl up beside the suitcases and sleep.
Route 66 stretched out across the desert in front of them, endless miles of two-lane highway back then. Sometimes it divided into two lanes each way. The billboard would say, “Your tax dollars at work. Route 66 Improvement Project 175.. To be completed in 1961”
They would drive until sunset, then start looking for a motel. The roads in those days still passed through the towns. Not like today, the giant interstates located several miles outside of the towns. The kids would start looking and pointing and suggesting, “There, Dad...there’s a good one! Let’s stay there”. The father would mumble something under his breath and tell the children to “pipe down”, then keep driving, looking for a motel with a “Vacancy” sign.
The little boy just hoped the motel had a swimming pool. It was summer, it had been a long hot drive through the desert. He loved to swim.
The motels lined the highway in the New Mexico town. They were only one-story then, layed out in a U-shape with the swimming pool in the middle of the parking lot.
They found a suitable one, a motel with a “Vacancy” sign and a swimming pool. The family stayed there for the night. Before going to bed, the little boy’s father went out to bring back dinner, usually hamburgers and fries and cokes. The children went swimming for a while until dinner returned.
The next morning, they got up early, and went to breakfast at a local cafe. It wasn’t a fancy place, just a roadside diner. The pancakes the little boy had weren’t very good, not at all like his Mom would make at home. They were kind of cold and kind of stiff, the syrup didn’t taste the same either.
The little boy, his two sisters, mother, and father all piled back in the station wagon and continued their long trip to South Dakota. They would try to drive 500 miles today.
The next evening, as the sun began to lay low over the Nebraska prairie, they started to look for that night’s lodging once again. From the back seat, the little boy tapped his mother on the shoulder and said, “Mom...where ever we stay tonight, let’s not eat breakfast in the same cafe we did yesterday...their pancakes were yucky!”
The little boy knew that this particular trip would be a long one. His mother and father had been planning it for a long time. It was a vacation back to where most everyone in the family was born...South Dakota. It would take three long days of driving across the country from California to get there.
He and his two little sisters shared the back seat of the station wagon, as well as the “way back” section for naps. The “wayback” was behind the back seat, mostly filled with luggage on a trip like this. At nine years old, he could still curl up beside the suitcases and sleep.
Route 66 stretched out across the desert in front of them, endless miles of two-lane highway back then. Sometimes it divided into two lanes each way. The billboard would say, “Your tax dollars at work. Route 66 Improvement Project 175.. To be completed in 1961”
They would drive until sunset, then start looking for a motel. The roads in those days still passed through the towns. Not like today, the giant interstates located several miles outside of the towns. The kids would start looking and pointing and suggesting, “There, Dad...there’s a good one! Let’s stay there”. The father would mumble something under his breath and tell the children to “pipe down”, then keep driving, looking for a motel with a “Vacancy” sign.
The little boy just hoped the motel had a swimming pool. It was summer, it had been a long hot drive through the desert. He loved to swim.
The motels lined the highway in the New Mexico town. They were only one-story then, layed out in a U-shape with the swimming pool in the middle of the parking lot.
They found a suitable one, a motel with a “Vacancy” sign and a swimming pool. The family stayed there for the night. Before going to bed, the little boy’s father went out to bring back dinner, usually hamburgers and fries and cokes. The children went swimming for a while until dinner returned.
The next morning, they got up early, and went to breakfast at a local cafe. It wasn’t a fancy place, just a roadside diner. The pancakes the little boy had weren’t very good, not at all like his Mom would make at home. They were kind of cold and kind of stiff, the syrup didn’t taste the same either.
The little boy, his two sisters, mother, and father all piled back in the station wagon and continued their long trip to South Dakota. They would try to drive 500 miles today.
The next evening, as the sun began to lay low over the Nebraska prairie, they started to look for that night’s lodging once again. From the back seat, the little boy tapped his mother on the shoulder and said, “Mom...where ever we stay tonight, let’s not eat breakfast in the same cafe we did yesterday...their pancakes were yucky!”
posted by James | 7:12 AM
1 Comments:
Nice! Is this something you do every Friday?
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