| General Fiction posted June 27, 2020 | Chapters: |
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travelling with Mom and Dad
A chapter in the book Attack of the Fifty States
Attack of the 50 States: Arizona
by Bill Schott
As I look back on it now, 1969 was a big year for me. In the fall I would begin my high school career at Lakeville. This would begin my ascension to greatness. Maturity and advanced intellect awaited me in the next decade. Men would soon be landing on the moon; President Nixon was going to end the war in Vietnam; and all of my older siblings had moved out of the house except one. All I had to do now was survive the family trip across the western United States.
Every year since I could remember, our family took a week’s vacation to Oscoda, Michigan. We had a cabin there that sat camouflaged in the white birch and pine trees. The only way to find it was to drive two miles after the last street light and keep looking left.
It was rustic, one-room, with an actual ice box for refrigeration; a hand pump outside that had to be mounted and primed for water; and a pot-bellied stove with which to heat and cook. There was one bed for the parents and the concrete floor for the rest. All bathroom needs were split between a metal wash bowl and the outhouse located about forty feet behind the building.
For me it had always been charming, because I had been the youngest and all the prep work was completed by the others. I merely picked huckleberries, went hiking with my older brothers, and spent the day at Lake Huron.
That was then. This year, with everyone out of the house and on their own, it was just my older brother, Albert, and me to enjoy this special time with our parents.
My dad had decided that we would take a two-week car trip out west. He had planned it on his Rand-McNally Atlas, complete with scheduled KOA campground stops, visits to historic national monuments, and American Express traveler checks to pay for it all.
I'm certain that the position behind the steering wheel was a place where a man could feel pride in his ability to provide his kids with a view of these United States that a lot of folks will never get to do in person. With a lot of planning he was able to cull this vacation time out of his work schedule, save up the money necessary to complete the trip, and plan a route that would not cost an excessive amount of money, but facilitate maximum touring.
I could probably place this preamble in front of many states of which I will eventually mention, as they were a part of this summer expedition. One that pops into my mind now is Arizona.
I had heard of the Grand Canyon, but had never been there. I was only fourteen, of course, and hadn't taken many steps out of my home town. The Grand Canyon was a place that everyone knew about because of the prevailing western television shows of my youth, which mentioned the huge site even if the cowpokes were from Texas or Colorado. The local excursion expert on the Detroit station would have a guest in who brought film taken while visiting the enormous, natural wonder. Still, when we finally arrived, it was beyond explanation.
There had only recently been barriers established to keep curious visitors from taking the gravity tour over the side. That fencing, as I remember it now, was still very near the edge, and only informed people not to move beyond that point. It seems that even today, people will move past sturdy fencing to get an opportunity to fall into the canyon.
There was a lot of climbing and walking involved in the dry, summer heat. There were no places to drink water, so we had brought a thermos with us. It was tall, glass-lined, and the only source of water we had. I'm sure there were vendors around with soda pop for sale, but I didn't have any money, and my father had a negative view of both syrupy, carbonated drinks, and spending money on them. The thermos emptied quickly, making it easier to carry, but left me less enthusiastic to do so.
At the end of our visit, I was truly amazed at the immensity of the Grand Canyon, and happy that I had seen it. I was also dehydrated, and sucked on the faucet of the next sink we came to, like a runt pup on a hind teat.
The other sights I recall were the tall, striated hills, carved out from the vastness of the painted desert. As if by design, the bright rock cliffs sat with multicolored, horizontal swaths of starkly clashing ore presentations. These were majestic and awe inspiring monuments to the movement of God's hand across the planet. Of course, I had to observe them from the crowded back seat of a sweltering vehicle through windows seemingly made to challenge this type of viewing.
After our visit, and a bivouac in the Williams, Arizona KOA campground, we were on our way east to New Mexico. Since I am approaching this anthology of the states alphabetically, it will be a minute before we get there, but it was a watershed moment to be sure.
As I look back on it now, 1969 was a big year for me. In the fall I would begin my high school career at Lakeville. This would begin my ascension to greatness. Maturity and advanced intellect awaited me in the next decade. Men would soon be landing on the moon; President Nixon was going to end the war in Vietnam; and all of my older siblings had moved out of the house except one. All I had to do now was survive the family trip across the western United States.
Every year since I could remember, our family took a week’s vacation to Oscoda, Michigan. We had a cabin there that sat camouflaged in the white birch and pine trees. The only way to find it was to drive two miles after the last street light and keep looking left.
It was rustic, one-room, with an actual ice box for refrigeration; a hand pump outside that had to be mounted and primed for water; and a pot-bellied stove with which to heat and cook. There was one bed for the parents and the concrete floor for the rest. All bathroom needs were split between a metal wash bowl and the outhouse located about forty feet behind the building.
For me it had always been charming, because I had been the youngest and all the prep work was completed by the others. I merely picked huckleberries, went hiking with my older brothers, and spent the day at Lake Huron.
That was then. This year, with everyone out of the house and on their own, it was just my older brother, Albert, and me to enjoy this special time with our parents.
My dad had decided that we would take a two-week car trip out west. He had planned it on his Rand-McNally Atlas, complete with scheduled KOA campground stops, visits to historic national monuments, and American Express traveler checks to pay for it all.
I'm certain that the position behind the steering wheel was a place where a man could feel pride in his ability to provide his kids with a view of these United States that a lot of folks will never get to do in person. With a lot of planning he was able to cull this vacation time out of his work schedule, save up the money necessary to complete the trip, and plan a route that would not cost an excessive amount of money, but facilitate maximum touring.
I could probably place this preamble in front of many states of which I will eventually mention, as they were a part of this summer expedition. One that pops into my mind now is Arizona.
I had heard of the Grand Canyon, but had never been there. I was only fourteen, of course, and hadn't taken many steps out of my home town. The Grand Canyon was a place that everyone knew about because of the prevailing western television shows of my youth, which mentioned the huge site even if the cowpokes were from Texas or Colorado. The local excursion expert on the Detroit station would have a guest in who brought film taken while visiting the enormous, natural wonder. Still, when we finally arrived, it was beyond explanation.
There had only recently been barriers established to keep curious visitors from taking the gravity tour over the side. That fencing, as I remember it now, was still very near the edge, and only informed people not to move beyond that point. It seems that even today, people will move past sturdy fencing to get an opportunity to fall into the canyon.
There was a lot of climbing and walking involved in the dry, summer heat. There were no places to drink water, so we had brought a thermos with us. It was tall, glass-lined, and the only source of water we had. I'm sure there were vendors around with soda pop for sale, but I didn't have any money, and my father had a negative view of both syrupy, carbonated drinks, and spending money on them. The thermos emptied quickly, making it easier to carry, but left me less enthusiastic to do so.
At the end of our visit, I was truly amazed at the immensity of the Grand Canyon, and happy that I had seen it. I was also dehydrated, and sucked on the faucet of the next sink we came to, like a runt pup on a hind teat.
The other sights I recall were the tall, striated hills, carved out from the vastness of the painted desert. As if by design, the bright rock cliffs sat with multicolored, horizontal swaths of starkly clashing ore presentations. These were majestic and awe inspiring monuments to the movement of God's hand across the planet. Of course, I had to observe them from the crowded back seat of a sweltering vehicle through windows seemingly made to challenge this type of viewing.
After our visit, and a bivouac in the Williams, Arizona KOA campground, we were on our way east to New Mexico. Since I am approaching this anthology of the states alphabetically, it will be a minute before we get there, but it was a watershed moment to be sure.
Every year since I could remember, our family took a week’s vacation to Oscoda, Michigan. We had a cabin there that sat camouflaged in the white birch and pine trees. The only way to find it was to drive two miles after the last street light and keep looking left.
It was rustic, one-room, with an actual ice box for refrigeration; a hand pump outside that had to be mounted and primed for water; and a pot-bellied stove with which to heat and cook. There was one bed for the parents and the concrete floor for the rest. All bathroom needs were split between a metal wash bowl and the outhouse located about forty feet behind the building.
For me it had always been charming, because I had been the youngest and all the prep work was completed by the others. I merely picked huckleberries, went hiking with my older brothers, and spent the day at Lake Huron.
That was then. This year, with everyone out of the house and on their own, it was just my older brother, Albert, and me to enjoy this special time with our parents.
My dad had decided that we would take a two-week car trip out west. He had planned it on his Rand-McNally Atlas, complete with scheduled KOA campground stops, visits to historic national monuments, and American Express traveler checks to pay for it all.
I'm certain that the position behind the steering wheel was a place where a man could feel pride in his ability to provide his kids with a view of these United States that a lot of folks will never get to do in person. With a lot of planning he was able to cull this vacation time out of his work schedule, save up the money necessary to complete the trip, and plan a route that would not cost an excessive amount of money, but facilitate maximum touring.
I could probably place this preamble in front of many states of which I will eventually mention, as they were a part of this summer expedition. One that pops into my mind now is Arizona.
I had heard of the Grand Canyon, but had never been there. I was only fourteen, of course, and hadn't taken many steps out of my home town. The Grand Canyon was a place that everyone knew about because of the prevailing western television shows of my youth, which mentioned the huge site even if the cowpokes were from Texas or Colorado. The local excursion expert on the Detroit station would have a guest in who brought film taken while visiting the enormous, natural wonder. Still, when we finally arrived, it was beyond explanation.
There had only recently been barriers established to keep curious visitors from taking the gravity tour over the side. That fencing, as I remember it now, was still very near the edge, and only informed people not to move beyond that point. It seems that even today, people will move past sturdy fencing to get an opportunity to fall into the canyon.
There was a lot of climbing and walking involved in the dry, summer heat. There were no places to drink water, so we had brought a thermos with us. It was tall, glass-lined, and the only source of water we had. I'm sure there were vendors around with soda pop for sale, but I didn't have any money, and my father had a negative view of both syrupy, carbonated drinks, and spending money on them. The thermos emptied quickly, making it easier to carry, but left me less enthusiastic to do so.
At the end of our visit, I was truly amazed at the immensity of the Grand Canyon, and happy that I had seen it. I was also dehydrated, and sucked on the faucet of the next sink we came to, like a runt pup on a hind teat.
The other sights I recall were the tall, striated hills, carved out from the vastness of the painted desert. As if by design, the bright rock cliffs sat with multicolored, horizontal swaths of starkly clashing ore presentations. These were majestic and awe inspiring monuments to the movement of God's hand across the planet. Of course, I had to observe them from the crowded back seat of a sweltering vehicle through windows seemingly made to challenge this type of viewing.
After our visit, and a bivouac in the Williams, Arizona KOA campground, we were on our way east to New Mexico. Since I am approaching this anthology of the states alphabetically, it will be a minute before we get there, but it was a watershed moment to be sure.
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