A Road Trip West

After two summer vacations in Minnesota, my mother was ready for something more. She wanted a road trip.

My father’s sister, Gwen, lived in Riverton, Wyoming and my father suggested a trip to see her, Uncle Neil and their family. It was an ambitious trip, with stops in the Badlands and a visit to Mount Rushmore. I had never heard of Mount Rushmore but I was happy at the thought of seeing my Aunt Gwen again. It was 1957. I had just turned thirteen and was going to high school in the fall.

In spite of having a houseful of children, Gwen wrote to my grandparents every week. She was a wonderful writer and was wickedly funny. I missed hearing from her after my grandparents died. Gwen’s letters were an early version of blogs ~ full of good news and funny anecdotes. 

In preparation for the trip, my mother fashioned a board on hinges to put in the back seat, so my brother, sister and I had room to move around. Our cooler and luggage fit under the board. We put blankets on top and added pillows and games. I brought along a lot of books to read. My mother’s intent was to keep us quiet so we wouldn’t argue with each other. I’m not sure that worked. 

My father always drove and my mother was the navigator. My father was a safe, patient driver but had no sense of direction. My mother was a wizard with a map. Without her, we might have ended up on the east coast.

Our trip through the Badlands was remarkable for the shear number of Burma Shave signs and advertisements for Wall Drug. My parents promised that we could stop at Wall Drug. We were so hyped-up, you would have thought we were going to Disneyland. We counted the miles to Wall Drug, getting more excited with every mile.

 

 

Finally we pulled into the dry, dusty Wall Drug parking lot, which was packed with cars. When we got inside, we were horrified to see aisles full of junky merchandise. That was all there was. We bought ice cream cones and ate them outside as we looked through chicken wire at an exhibit of snakes in a box. We got back in our car and headed for Wyoming.

I loved seeing my Aunt Gwen and Uncle Neil again but we didn’t stay long. I’m not sure why. Maybe it was because there was a uranium mine in the distance, which my parents said was full of uranium dust.

“You can play in the front yard, but don’t go in the back yard. The dust could kill you if you breathe it in.”

After three days,  my mother decided we needed to give Aunt Gwen a rest. Mom wanted us to drive up the mountain to have a picnic. So much for uranium dust! Uncle Neil told my father that when it was time to come down the mountain, he should turn off the car and coast all the way to the bottom “to save gas.” My father did just that, breaking only on the curves. My mother was terrified and screamed all the way to the bottom. We left the next day.

The trip home took us to North Platt, Nebraska, where we stopped at the Buffalo Bill Trading Post. We shook hands with Buffalo Bill Cody, Jr. (or maybe the third) and he looked just like the pictures in our history books. When we asked if we could buy something at the trading post, my mother’s answered with a swift “No. You kids have enough stuff already. We need to get going.”

The final leg of our trip was through an Indian reservation. It was the most desolate place I’d ever seen. We stopped when we saw an Indian man sitting on the side of the road, dressed in native clothes including a beautiful headdess made of feathers. We thought he must be the chief. He sat with a sign that said, “Pictures. 25 cents.” My father paid the man a quarter, grouped us children around him and snapped a picture. Our road trip was finished.

As we drove through the reservation, on our way back to Minnesota, my parents reinforced how lucky we were to live in a nice home, go to a good school, and have green grass and flowers all around us. We were ready to go home. We knew we were lucky indeed.