The Gold Cadillac Memoir

         NOTE:  I am in the process of editing this story.  Presently it is a bit rough and needs some reworking.  You are welcome to read it if you like, but I hope to improve on it as I polish it up in the editing process.  Please keep this in mind if you decide to read and review the story.

         Thanks.

Gold Cadillac Memoir

         Our family summer vacations could be summed up in two words:  unpredictable adventure.  The years we drove about the continent in that early 70's model gold Cadillac were especially so.  To understand these stories, you have to understand a few things.

         First, my father:  Dad never believed in buying new cars. 

         "As soon as you drive it off the lot it looses half its value," he'd explain to Mom as he twisted one end of his handlebar mustache.

         He also never believed in changing the oil, doing regular maintenance, or having repairs done until they were required by law or necessity; 'necessity' meaning the car was broken down along the road someplace and the only way to get it to go any further was push it or walk to the nearest gas station and ask for a tow. 

         Most people planning a road trip would make sure their car was in good working order before leaving home, but not Dad.  When we took off on vacation there was no telling what would happen; when, or where.

         The family dynamic was another factor in the equation.  With no seat belt laws you could crowd as many people as you wanted into a car.  Just imagine seven kids from 6 months to 16 years in one car with two adults for three weeks straight.  Among the seven children there were three individual groups:  the two oldest boys were "the big kids" the next two, me and my brother, were "the middle kids" the last three, two girls and a boy, were "the babies".  My brother Andy and I were born on the same day, two years apart, so we shared a special relationship.

         Unlike the parents of most of our friends, our parents never made "vacation plans".  One summer night Dad would take out a book of maps.  The next day Mom would start washing laundry and hanging it out on the line to dry.  She would spend hours washing, drying, sorting, and folding the clothes into bins that fit under the beds in the camper.  She would stack clothing by entire outfits, and you had to wear them in the order they were packed, no questions.  Each outfit was chosen for its color and placed in the same order on each stack; this was her way of remembering what each child was wearing in case one wandered off.  A few days later, Dad would hitch the camper to the gold Cadillac and we'd all pile in and take to the interstate...for a while.  Dad liked to take three-week long vacations and most of that time was spent on the back roads.
         We never knew where we would end up.  Dad would head off in whichever direction pleased him with no particular stopping point or time frame other than when we had to be home.  His only goal was to put as many miles as he could between where he started in the morning and where he stopped that night.  When we got hungry, Dad would pull into a roadside shelter or onto the shoulder and Mom would make sandwiches from food kept in the cooler.  If there wasn't a restroom nearby, you used "nature's facilities".  I often passed on that choice and miserably waited until we stopped for gas; even a filthy restroom was better than going behind a bush on the roadside. 

         That old Cadillac may have been roomy and comfortable in the front, but with five, sometimes six kids squeezed in the back, the trunk loaded to capacity, and the trailer bumping along behind, the suspension was taking some major abuse and the ride was quite bouncy, creating a lot of jostling, which in turn started plenty of fights.

         "She touched me!"

         "Get away from me!"

         "Stop pulling my hair!"

         "Get your foot off of mine!"

         "What'd you hit me for?"

         "Don't poke me!"

         Mom had the baby on her lap and my two-year old sister beside her so she couldn't do anything about it.  Dad would get annoyed, reach back, and indiscriminately backhand whoever was unlucky enough to be reached; usually me and Andy.  "If you weren't the one causing the trouble," he'd bellow, "pass it on!"  Andy would, but I never "passed it on."  Accepting the blame earned me the nickname "Troublemaker".  But 'passing it on' meant I'd have to deal with my older brothers, who would gang up on me later for hitting them and getting them in trouble.  None of that mattered to my parents, though.  Who was causing the problem wasn't nearly as important as stopping the bickering.  Maybe that's why my older brothers always insisted on sitting by the doors:  Dad couldn't reach them there.

         One particular year, Dad headed west.  We left Colorado Springs behind, crossed over the mountains, and drove towards Mesa Verde.  Crammed in the back of the gold Cadillac, we had a long and dusty ride.  To keep the car from overheating, he drove with the windows wide open and the heat on full blast.  Late that first night we pulled into the campground, stumbled into the camper, and fell asleep.

         The next morning Dad unhitched the camper and we went to the visitor's center to get tickets for a tour.  I loved learning about the Native American peoples even then so I was excited about the tour.  We learned a lot about the Anasazi people and their way of life.  All too quickly the tour had ended and we had to scramble back into that gold Cadillac.  It was then that Dad realized he didn't have his keys!  One of the boys ran in and asked for a wire coat hanger.  Dad was able to get that over the top of the window, hook it onto the door lock mechanism, and unlock the car.  The search of the car was fruitless so Mom suggested they could be in the trunk.  My older brothers pulled out the back seat and I squeezed through as far as I could, reaching my hand around all of the stuff in the trunk until I felt the keys and pulled them out. 

         Back at the campground we hitched up the camper and headed out.  Next stop, who knows?

         We stopped at just about every Native American cliff dwelling and pueblo ruins between Colorado and Arizona and stayed long enough to go on a tour at each one.  We drove through the Painted Desert and Petrified Forest before heading for the Grand Canyon, Bryce, and Zion.  Then we went across California and saw the Joshua Trees and continued on up through Sequoia, Yosemite, and Redwood until we reached Oregon.

         It was in Oregon, going up the mountain to view Crater Lake, that that old gold Cadillac had finally had it.  The windows were down, the heat was pouring out the vents, but steam was coming from under the hood and Dad finally pulled into a wide spot on the shoulder to give the poor thing a rest.  He grabbed a potholder from the camper and twisted the lid of the radiator and it hissed and bubbled and steamed.  Then he gave my brothers and me some plastic milk jugs and sent us back about half a mile to get some water from a waterfall we had passed.  Once the engine had cooled, we continued on our way, making similar stops twice more before we reached the top. 

         Getting up the mountain was hard enough, but getting down was something else entirely.  Part way down the other side of the mountain the brakes locked up and the trailer started pushing the car faster and faster.  Smoke was coming from the tires and people going the other way would point and honk their horns to alert us of the problem.  I wasn't really scared until I glanced up and saw my Dad's reflection in the rearview mirror.  His face was white and sweat was beading up on his forehead and running down his temples, and it wasn't just from the heat in the car.  Suddenly he raised an eyebrow and gripped the wheel until his knuckles turned white.  I looked ahead and I saw it:  the runaway truck ramp!  My gaze shifted between Dad and the ramp and back.            "Hold on!" he shouted.  I shot a warning look at my brother and we both braced ourselves for what was coming...

         When the sand and dust cleared we realized we had survived, so we got out of the car to survey the damage.  All in all, the old gold Cadillac had taken it pretty well.  We stayed put until a friendly man in a big pickup came by and pulled us out of the sand, first the trailer and then the car.  Then we continued down the mountain and finally ended up in Tacoma, Washington parked in my grandparents' driveway.  By that time, we had spent five days of our vacation.

         We spent two days visiting with family and getting the car repaired.  On the second day we all drove down to Olympia, Washington and took a tour of the brewery there.  Around lunch the next day we headed for Canada and the ferry boat to Vancouver Island.

         It had rained all day, but we made it to the dock in time to catch the last ferry to the island.  Waves were beating against the sides of the vessel and crashing over the railings but the sky was beginning to clear.  I always liked standing up as the boat pulled away from the dock.  Andy and I stood side by side looking out the window towards the ocean.  Just as the boat pulled out, a huge wave slammed into the window.  The whole boat rocked and our knees buckled.  We held on to the railing for support and looked at each other, laughing.  Once we got underway, the waves calmed and it was smooth sailing the rest of the trip. 

         As we pulled off the ferry ramp onto the island there was a tremendous scraping noise under the car.  Mom and Dad looked at each other.  "I think we just lost the muffler," Dad exclaimed.  He drove for about a block before he could stop and pull over to have a look.  Indeed, it was the muffler.  A wire coat hanger from the trailer provided a quick fix until he decided the problem was bad enough to have repaired properly, whenever that would be.

         That night we ate at a Chinese restaurant and my fortune cookie said "You are in for an eventful journey."  I looked at it and shook my head.  "A little late, don't ya think," I mumbled to Andy as I crunched the cookie.  What else could happen?

         The next day we explored the city of Victoria, admiring the turquoise blue streetlamps with their white glass globes and hanging flower baskets.  Later that afternoon we got the last ferry off the island and continued our journey.  We ate at The Old Spaghetti Factory in Vancouver, British Columbia.  It was a rare treat to eat dinner out two times in a row so we savored every bite before heading out of town.  We thought Dad was going to stop for a while, but he kept on driving.  I must have fallen asleep at some point because when I woke up everything was still except for an eerie rumbling in the floor of the car.  When I heard the train whistle I looked out the front and there, heading straight for us, was the lone headlight of a train rapidly growing larger and brighter.  Frantically I shook Dad's shoulder.  His seat was leaned back so he could stretch out a little bit, but as he woke up, he, too, heard the train coming and bolted upright.  His hands gripped the wheel and his foot stomped on the brake pedal.  All the while he was screaming, "We're gonna die!  Oh my God, we're all gonna die!  I can't stop the car!  I can't get it to stop!"

         Mom woke up and grabbed his arm.  Just then, the light of the train veered off to the right and continued on its way.  Soaked with nervous perspiration, Dad fell back into his reclined seat, panting and clenching his hands to his chest.  I stroked his hair and he opened his eyes and gave me half a smile.  "It's okay now.  Don't worry any more," he comforted, more for his sake than for mine.  Dad decided he wasn't going back to sleep after that scare, so he continued driving.

         It was nearing lunchtime when we arrived at Lake Louise, Alberta.  It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  A gorgeous sapphire blue glacial lake surrounded by mountains and a huge lodge that I imagined to be a castle out of a fairy tale.  A Scotsman in a green and black kilt with full tartan regalia strolled along the grounds and played the bagpipes and I thought I was in heaven.  It's amazing how far the music of bagpipes carries over water, and how beautiful it sounds echoing off the mountains!  All too soon we had to continue on.

         From there we drove through Banff and on down to a Bavarian town named Kimberley.  As we walked through the quaint little town admiring the huge animated clock in the square, my parents asked an older couple if there was a campground close to the town.  They insisted that we park in their yard.  The next morning they prepared a scrumptious breakfast of homemade sweet rolls, fresh juices, eggs, and everything else you can think of!  The gentleman told us that he was a supervisor at a zinc mine nearby and he offered to take us on a tour.  We spent the morning with him and returned to their home where his wife had prepared a delicious luncheon for us to enjoy before getting back on the road.

         As we continued our journey across Canada, we had a flat tire which required unhitching the trailer and then unpacking everything from the trunk of the car so we could get to the tools and the spare.  Later that night we stopped to sleep at a rest area.  Dad got out and went for a walk.  In the dark, he didn't see the curb and he fell.  He complained of his arm hurting for a day and a half before Mom finally convinced him to stop at a hospital emergency room.  He had broken his wrist in several places and they had to put a cast on it.  He was in pain for the rest of the trip, but was the only one who could drive because Mom was holding the baby!

         In Regina, Saskatchewan we went to an awesome museum with a pirate ship built inside.  On another day we stopped to see the changing of the guards in Quebec.  We even spent a day out on Prince Edward Island where they were having an all you can eat lobster festival.  I had never had lobster before but soon learned to crack the claws like a pro. 

         We spent an entire day at the Science Center in Toronto.  We had a lot of fun there, until we went to see a show about electricity.  They asked for a volunteer for an experiment.  My brothers volunteered me.  The man in the lab coat asked me to take the barrette out of my hair, shake my head, and then keep my hand on this giant chrome mushroom.  He flipped a couple of switches and I felt a little funny.  The audience gasped and then broke out into gales of laughter.  The whole room lit up with flashing cameras!  The man in the lab coat showed me a mirror:  every hair on my head was standing straight out, and that was no easy feat as at that time I had long strawberry blonde hair nearly down to my waist!  I was so embarrassed, but too afraid to remove my hand from the giant metal mushroom because he had told me not to move.  For the rest of the day people were coming up to me and telling me how funny it was when my hair stood out like that!  They wanted me to go back and do the show again!  I just wanted to pull my hair out so no one would recognize me.

         Over the final few days of the trip we headed home through Pennsylvania, where we ran out of gas on a back road and Dad and my brothers had to walk for ten miles to find a filling station with a tow truck.  Then, some kind of belt broke as we drove along a dirt road in Indiana.  As we sat wondering what to do, a farmer stopped to have a look.  He took Mom and some of us kids back to his place and then returned with his sons and the needed tools and parts to fix the car.  They begged us to stay for dinner and park the camper in their yard for the night.  In the morning they let me go into the barn and learn to milk the cows. 

         The next night we spent at a rest area in Missouri, where it was so hot and humid you thought you would suffocate if you left the windows up, but if you rolled them down you let in all of the mosquitoes.  Sadly, we found out about the mosquitoes too late.  We rolled up the windows and trapped them inside where they snacked on us through the night.  I am highly allergic to mosquito bites.  By morning I was one big welt and my hair was matted to my scalp with blood.  I went into the restroom and washed it out in the sink. I itched for the rest of the summer and can still see some little white scars from those bites! 

         Driving through Jefferson City, Missouri we started to smell something odd.  We thought it was factory pollution so we rolled up the windows to keep it out.  Soon the car was filled with a dry putrid smoke that burned our eyes, noses, and lungs. At the same time, the seat started feeling very hot.  Always the comedian, Andy exclaimed, "My biscuits are burnin'!"  He reached his hand down between the back and seat sections of the seat and burned his hand!  Dad stopped and the older boys yanked the car seat out.  Flames shot up and the whole underside of the seat was charred.  In what seemed like one deft move, Mom handed me the baby, grabbed a soda from the cooler and poured it on the smoldering underside of the seat as she handed Andy some ice for his hand.  Thankfully we were only a long day's drive from home.  We drove straight through the rest of the way, stopping only for gasoline and food.

         While we had learned a lot, seen a lot, met a lot of interesting people, and had a lot of exciting experiences, I don't think I was ever so glad to be back home sharing a bed with my sister.  At least I wasn't sharing the burning back seat with her and three of my brothers!  Yes, our family summer vacation had been quite an adventure, but would anyone believe it when we went back to school  and wrote about it for the "What Did You Do This Summer" assignment?  Probably not.

         Author's Note:  Dad drove that old gold Cadillac well into the 1980's.  He was still driving it when I got married in 1985 and it held on for a few years after that before he replaced it with another used car.  One year Andy and I made up a song about "the old boat" that we sang to the Beatles' tune "Yellow Submarine".  I can't remember all of the words anymore, but Andy would have.  Tragically, he was killed in a car wreck 15 years ago.