In
1962 my father sold his precision-plastics business. He had worked extremely
hard to make a success of it and nearly ruined his health doing so; the doctor
ordered him to take some time off and relax. So that summer our family took the
vacation of a lifetime.
We
left Southern California shortly after school was finished in mid-June and
headed north, destination: World’s Fair in Seattle. My first memory of the trip
is crossing the Golden Gate Bridge; I was in the very back of the station
wagon, looking backward at San Francisco as we crossed.
It
took several days to get to Seattle, where we did all the World’s Fair stuff —
went to the top of the Space Needle, rode the monorail, etc. I remember
thinking the monorail at Disneyland was cooler.
Summer Nights That Lasted
Forever
An
old friend of my mother’s lived in Seattle, and her family owned a cabin in the
San Juan Islands. It had no electricity, an outdoor privy, and a propane stove.
It was wonderful. So was the weather. That far north, at that time of year, the
warm summer nights seemed to go on forever. It was light past ten o’clock, and
sunrise was early, which was a good thing. Who could sleep?
Then
we headed north for a leisurely drive through British Columbia before dipping
down through Montana and Idaho to Jackson Hole, WY. We spent a couple of days
at a cabin on a cattle ranch there, then another couple of days on a ranch
owned by the daughter of another of mom’s friends. (How did she meet all these
people?)
At
the second ranch the son-in-law took a day off work and took his son and me
fishing. We got into a Jeep and went miles up a dirt road, swerving off it
whenever a logging truck came the other direction, finally ending up at a
stream where we were the only people for miles around. All my previous fishing
had been at more crowded places, and this was a revelation. I don’t believe we
caught any fish, but the sense of being alone in the wilderness (except for the
stray passing logging truck) was unforgettable.
After
that, it was an anticlimactic journey back to Southern California, with a
desultory one-night stop in Las Vegas the last night before we got home. I
remember standing outside a casino on the sidewalk, in sweltering heat, while
mom played out her slot-machine budget. It didn’t take long.
Before the Chain Restaurants Took Over
The
trip lasted a month overall, and beyond the specific places we visited, I still
have some powerful general impressions. The food, for example. This was just
before chain restaurants really took hold, so when you got to a town at
mealtime, you had to figure it out for yourself. Dad had several strategies,
applied with varying degrees of success.
At
lunchtime in Kelso, WA, we stopped at a café Nelson Algren would have advised
against. I can still see, smell and taste the sour yellow grease that dripped
off the inedible hamburger on to the bun. At that age, nothing was inedible, so
it must have been really bad. Fortunately most restaurants we tried were better.
Other
things I remember: Long, warm nights everywhere; Dad fiddling with the car
radio dial, trying to find a local station in time for the hourly news; the
most powerful thunderstorm I’d ever seen, while we were in Canada; being
constantly forced to pose for photos when I didn’t want to. I don’t know where
that photo album is now, but it doesn’t really matter. I carry my own set of
pictures inside my head.
