SOL25-0729

This post on social media triggered my memories of childhood road trips. You’ll want to get your second cup of coffee before you begin reading.

I remember this kind of travel.

Every summer we made a road trip from Attica, Indiana, back East to New Jersey to spend two weeks with relatives. It was about 800 miles and at an average of 50 mph, Dad often stretched the trip over two days.

Our route. We were thrilled with the PA Turnpike. Back then, it had seven tunnels Allegheny Mountain,
Tuscarora Mountain, Kittatinny Mountain, Blue Mountain, Laurel Hill, Rays Hill, and Sideling Hill.
They were awesome to a kid who grew up on the flat farmland of the Midwest.

That meant a night in a roadside motel or traveler cabins. We loved it when we got a room that had a TV, the kind that had a tiny black and white screen with rabbit ears perch on the top. It was a novelty because we didn’t have a TV at home.

Sometimes Dad would start our trip in the late afternoon and drive all night because it was cooler, the tires didn’t heat up and blow out as much, and the five of us kids would sleep. On those trips we did not stop at a motel.

In the back of our Willys Jeep, pushed up against the back bench seat, we had a red Coke-a-Cola metal ice chest with a chunk of ice–not cubes, not a bag, but a chunk–to keep our bologna and mustard, mayo, pickles, tomatoes. That ice chest also served as the most desired kid’s seat in the car. One of us kids sat on it while the other four squeezed onto the bench seat. I don’t think I ever got to sit on it because I was “the girl.” Of course, there were no seat belts.

There were very few fast order eating places back then. So when it was time to eat lunch, Dad would find a shady, grassy spot alongside the highway. Mom would spread a blanket. Dad would stretch out for a nap while Mom made plain bologna sandwiches and passed them out to us kids with a caution to be quiet or to find a spot away from the blanket, but still close by, so we wouldn’t disturb Dad’s nap with our chatter and laughter.

We had water, sometimes cold but sometimes warm, in a gallon thermos with a spout that dripped. All of us kids drank out of the same Tupperware glass while a different one was reserved for Dad. Usually Mom rationed the water. After all, Dad didn’t want to make too many pit stops. The water ritual began with the oldest getting a glassful to drink. He’d draw it out as long as he could while the rest of us sat with our tongues hanging out to emphasize our parched state. You can’t imagine how parched you can get by riding at 50 mph on a hot summer day with all the windows rolled down. When that brother finished, he’d pass the empty glass back to Mom who would fill it again and pass it to the next one in birth order until we all had a drink.

Speaking of windows rolled down, one of the hazards of driving through farming country was the chance that a gigantic grasshopper or beetle would be sucked into the car to land on one of us kids. Sometimes a bee or wasp would get sucked in. That usually caused a big enough commotion to get a strong reprimand from Dad.

When it was really hot, Mom hung a wet cheesecloth towel in her main door window and then angled the vent window (we called it the wing window) so as the air blew in, the damp cloth would cool the air and add some moisture. She’d laugh and say, “We look like gypsies.” (She should know because gypsies camped along the river where she lived as a child in the old country.) The cloth in the window was similar to what we did at home on a hot day, fasten a damp cloth on the front of a fan and let the air blow through to be cooled and humidified… you know, the principle used for swamp coolers.

When we were bored, which was a lot of the time after the first hour of travel, we’d play one of our road games we’d invented, or was it Mom who invented the games? One game was to count the number of different state car tags you could spot during a specific time. This game was good when there was lots of traffic. Another game was to guess the make/year of a car that approached or passed us. Back then car designs were very distinct by make and by year.

One of our longer lasting competitive games was the alphabet game. Using print on road signs, billboards, car tags, etc., we would each go through the abc’s. So we had to find an “a,” then a “b,” then a “c,” etc. until we got to “z.” As we found a letter we would call it out. Whoever got to “z” first was the winner. The abc game worked well at the speeds we drove with the hundreds of billboards along the highways back then. Can you imagine five kids calling out the alphabet? We usually were limited on how many time we could play it.

When we passed a freight train or stopped for one at a railroad crossing, we counted he train cars and stretched our necks to be the first on to spot the caboose. Speaking of counting, sometimes we counted telephone poles. That one could put you to sleep. I think the only reason we played it was Mom or Dad would tell us “no talking for the next 30 minutes.”

And we were always delighted when we saw the first Burma-Shave sign–a small rectangular red sign with white letters that you could easily read from a moving car. The signs were posted low, about 5 foot off the ground. They were in a series, usually along a the edge of the road alongside a farmer’s fence. We’d compete out loud to be the first one to read each sign and then in chorus we’d say, “Burma Shave.”

In case you’ve never read a series of Burma-Shave signs, each line was a different sign. The punch line was always on the same on the last sign: “Burma-Shave.” Here are a few examples.

Why does a chick
Cross the street?
She sees a guy
She’d like to meet
He uses
Burma-Shave

If a gift
You must choose
Give him
One that
He can use
Burma-Shave

She put
A bullet
Thru his hat
But he’s had
Closer shaves than that
Burma-Shave

Around
The curve
Lickety-split
It’s a beautiful car
Wasn’t it?
Burma-Shave

The bearded devil
Is forced
To dwell
In the only place
Where they don’t sell
Burma-Shave

These signs
Are not
For laughs alone
The face they save
May be your own
Burma-Shave

We always had at least one flat tire during the trip. A car parked on the side of the highway, jacked up and missing a tire was a common sight along highways back then. Anyway, if we had already had one flat and used our spare, Dad would roll the tire to the side of the highway and hitchhike a ride to the nearest gas station. They’d patch the tire, and he’d hitchhike back. Meanwhile we waited along the side of the road. If we were lucky there would be some shade. But there were times it was under a blazing sun. Sometimes there were lots of mosquitoes or flies. We couldn’t get back in the car because it was unsafe in its jacked up state. Besides it would have been like an oven.

Recently, my husband and I made a 10-day road trip, traveling over 3,500 miles. In some respects, not too unlike those of my childhood; in others, vastly different. I loved every mile of it.

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Thank you Two Writing Teachers
for hosting  Slice of Life Tuesday Challenge

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