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refleXions - updated November 15, 2001
Road Trip
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Me and The Rambler, possibly 1963.

THE RAMBLER

 My family owned a succession of station wagons over the years - The Rambler was foremost, then there was an evergreen colored wagon with (gasp) faux wood sides, a cream-colored Malibu and a brick-colored Taurus. None ever matched the affection we held for The Rambler. When we traded it in, my mother had to wipe away a few tears. It was like putting down  a beloved family dog.

ROAD TRIP

At least twice that I can remember, once around 1967 and again around 1975, my father packed us into the family car (which we affectionately remember as as "The Rambler") and we left at 5 a.m. on a road trip to Florida because everybody knows, if you are going to drive to Florida from Massachusetts, you have to leave really early. 

The kind of gas you WANT on a road trip . . . (wait for it . . . )I remember the 1967 trip vividly. When it was dark, my sister and I slept in "the way back".  There were no seat belt laws at the time and children were allowed in the back of a station wagon.  I remember laying in the back of the car early on in the journey, sleepily watching the street signs. I saw a brightly lit gas station sign, which prompted me to ask,  "Are we in Texaco already?"

When it was light, we alternated between playing and fighting.  Mom had a strategy for this, however, and each time we began to fight, she threw back tootsie pops or gift-wrapped presents for each of us.  We got wise and began fighting whenever we wanted a present.

There were wonderful things to play with in the back of the Rambler.  We had politically incorrect plastic Cowboys and Indians and little red plastic boxes with puzzle cubes that made 6 different designs. We had crayons and coloring books, which I don't believe melted, even though we were in a black car that did not have air conditioning - that would have been considered a luxury.  But  back then, the window of "the way back" could be rolled down for a great breeze.  This feature was also done away future models.

This is obviously a "happy car".This is a "sad car".We used to watch the cars going by -- cars in the 1960's featured a lot of chrome on their front and rear bumpers, which combined with their head or tail lights, resembled a face.  My sister and I would determine which cars were "happy cars" and which were "sad cars" based on the grillwork.

Our next favorite thing to do was torture our brother and his girlfriend (who he later married) in the back seat.  She wore sleeveless tops and inevitably, the shoulder would slip, exposing her bra strap.  I felt it was my personal duty to tell her each time this happened.  I got confused, however, and ended up telling her "your girdle strap is showing".  I was quite vigilant.  To her credit, she was very patient, and even said "thank you" each time. 

It was always very exciting to get to Virginia, because this meant we were halfway there.  There was always a little discussion as to whether we should "drive right through" to Florida or stop and stay at a Holiday Inn.  Mom usually prevailed on this and we stopped for the night.  We would get a room with double beds and once, we stayed in  a hotel with a bed that had "magic  fingers".  You put a quarter in the slot on the head board and the bed jiggled. That was a thrill.

Another privilege occurred when mom decided to take a nap in the back and I got to go up front and be "the Navigator".  Being up front was especially exciting because there was a little triangular-shaped window next to the full size window that could be cranked open. The Navigator also got to hold the map and trace our progress because we usually got lost at least once. During these times, my father would fume because "making good time" was very, very important.  This was one of the few times when my father would swear or call himself names.  His favorites were "jerkimo" (JERK'im-o), "stupnagle" (STOOP'nay-gul) and "jackass" (JACK'ass), which told us he was really angry with himself.

Ah, life as viewed through the rear-view window of memories . . . The trip was fun except for car sickness, which I suffered from now and then.  I must have been a thrill to take on a road trip. Dramamine helped, and so did potato chips, for some reason. But for the most part, I remember the actual trips down in the car more vividly than the visit to Florida. It was an adventure, with family dynamics magnified in a small space and excitement around every turn.

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Me in Florida.

 


Unless indicated otherwise, Copyright © 2001 by Sandra J. (Hiersche) Murray. 
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