A Time For "T"

I was a just a kid during the dark ages of World War II. Every one contributed to the war effort. Gasoline was rationed, tires were rationed, and you couldn’t even think about buying a new car. You had to do every thing possible to keep a vehicle running. For us that meant putting up with the worlds most cantankerous car, a model "T" Ford.
Of course this turned taking a trip into a great adventure. I’m not talking about a voyage on an ocean liner, or a train. I mean just going to the grocery store, which was no more than 10 miles from our Indiana farm.
My dad’s wheels consisted of a 23 year old model "T" Ford. This old car had a disposition so sour that Dad had to jack up the rear wheel and let it spin while he turned the crank to get enough momentum to start the motor. Occasionally it would kick the crank backwards and come near to breaking his arm. The radiator grill was pock marked with dents, where my father would take out his frustration by whacking the car with the crank.
During the war the speed limit was 35 MPH to conserve gasoline. This distressed my dad because the model "T" would not go that fast. Model "T" parts were not readily available and Dad always kept at least two junk "T's" for spare parts.
My brother said that you could tell that we were "Hillbillies," because we had junk Fords in our lot. He said that if we were rich Hillbillies, then we would have had junk Cadilacs.
One of the most memorable trips was when we drove all the way to Kentucky to see our grandma and uncles and aunts. Over 300 miles of suspense and adventure in the old "T" model. This had all of the excitement (and much of the risk) of a lunar landing.
And joy of joys I would get to ride in the rumble seat the whole 14 hours with my brother.
Dad had saved gasoline coupons sufficient for fuel and scarfed some tires that still had a bit of tread.
Mom gathered the food provisions for the trip. There were apples from the orchard, ham sandwiches, potato salad, fried chicken, and a home made pie. She had made Kool-Aid for us and tea for Dad. We helped pack the food into the car making sure that everything was stowed away. It had to last us all 14 hours.
Before we went on any trip my mother would give me a dose of her tonic. It consisted of turpentine and honey. It was supposed to kill any parasite in our system. Maybe she was on to something; I can't imagine any parasite sticking around after that awful stuff hit my stomach.
We finally loaded into the car and dad took off at a blistering 25 miles per hour. Now 25 MPH does not sound like much, but when you are sitting in a rumble seat, driving down a gravel road, with a dust cloud surrounding you, then it's pretty heady stuff.
After about 3 hours on the road, breathing in dust, exhaust fumes and bugs, I began to think that my former enthusiasm for the rumble seat was a bit excessive. I rapped on the window and mouthed to my mother that we must stop, that I needed to do number one. She mouthed back that I should just hold it. I told her that I also had to do number two and that I couldn't hold it. She must have found the possible consequences pretty revolting, because Dad pulled over and my brother and I made a dash for the woods.
Some place in Ohio we were going down a hill and one of our rear wheels came off.
We watched in awe as the wheel sped ahead of the car and rolled for over a quarter mile down the road before finally coming to rest in a ditch. Dad drove the car in pursuit of the wheel and to my astonishment the old "T" did not tip.
Dad said that he was discomfited because for a while it looked like the wheel was going to get to Kentucky before we did.
About 12 o'clock we stopped at a wayside, which was a little roadside park. Mom spread our lunch. Of course back then we called the midday meal, dinner. I gained a new appreciation on just how good cold fried chicken can taste to a young hungry boy.
A few hours later I learned the consequences of eating unrefrigerated fried chicken.
About every five miles Dad had to pull over while my brother and I would race for a wood
lot. A word of advice, leaves don't even run a close second to Charmin as toilet paper.
Six hours, two flat tires and a brief thundershower later we made it to our grandma's house.
We were tired, dehydrated, nauseated, wet and dirty. But was it a good trip? You betcha!!