In the early 70’s, my parents decided a fun, family-oriented and cost-effective activity would be 1) buying a 17 foot trailer, 2) hooking it up to the back of our International Travelall (a precursor to today’s SUV) and 3) hauling it and three hormonal and surly teenagers across the United States, generating fond family memories and, for me personally, a deeper respect for flush toilets, television and personal space devoid of bugs.
To my parents’ credit, they tried. HARD. And I do cherish most of the experiences we had together. My favorite? It’s hard to choose between Niagara Falls, Old Faithful, Disney World and the myriad of sites we visited. But, if I were hard pressed to select only one, I would have to say it was the time my father almost drove off a cliff.
Before anyone begins to suspect Dad and I have had a less than loving relationship, permit me to explain?
Mom and Dad were always looking for the off-the-beaten-path attraction. We toured a nickel mine, a wood-pulp paper factory, a dinosaur dig and camped in a cherry orchard, all in search of the unique and educational. Dad had read of an observatory on the top of a mountain in the Rockies and off we went, seeking out a new adventure.
As we ascended into the mountains, the paved two lane road became a dirt and gravel two lane road, which narrowed into a one dirt and gravel road. Onward we climbed, the Travelall valiantly dragging the trailer past the tree line into a barren rocky landscape. We kids in the back seat, between punches in the arm and fighting for seat space, envisioned the giant space telescope, conversations with astronomers and detailed maps of the galaxy.
At last, the observatory was in sight! Excited, we crested the summit, pulled up to the building aaaaaand…it was closed, with not a soul in sight. Well. There you go.
After a brief discussion, it was decided we’d head back down the mountain and wagons ho to the next attraction. There was one logistical hurdle – the car and trailer were facing the wrong direction and there wasn’t very much turn-around room at the top of the mountain. Mom shooed us kids out of the Travelall and moved us to a safe distance where we could observe my father, a professional truck driver, in action. Slowly, Dad began swinging around the rig and, in order to position himself correctly to drive back down the one lane dirt road, started backing up. And backing up. And backing up…
Mom appeared calm on the outside and so we children took our cue from her, confident in Dad’s driving skills. It wasn’t until many years later we discovered that, in fact, Mom was in a complete state of panic watching her husband, our temporary home and only means of transportation literally hanging off the edge of a steep cliff. These were pre-cell phone days: if Dad wasn’t a professional, if he was distracted in any way or misjudged the cliff edge’s stability, Mom and three kids would have been stranded at the top of a mountain.
But all ended well: Dad’s skills were up to the task, we made it down the mountain safely and lived to enjoy many more camping adventures. And fight over personal space in the back seat.
Ah, memories.
