Hugs for Dennis and for Keysha the dog. He put her in his yellow GTO, started the engine, waved, and headed back to his 10-foot trailer parked in the middle of the Mojave Desert near Littlerock. (We’re crazy?) We stood silently at the end of the driveway waving and watching until his taillights turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
Bill turned abruptly climbed into the motorhome and started the engine. From the driver’s seat he hollered at the rest of us, “Load up, come on. Get in.” He was always so sure of himself and his ability to take care of things. I wished I had just a little of his confidence.
One last hug for Grandma and the rest of us scrambled into the motorhome.
“Wait, I have something for you,” Grandma said as she brought a big box out of her car. “Don’t open this until you’re in Mexico for awhile.” She handed me the box, blew kisses to everyone, softly closed the door and got into her car.
Cautiously Bill backed the trailer and motorhome out of the driveway. Once in the street he straightened the wheels and we started up the hill the first of many, many miles of our drive to South America.
My Mom in her brown Ford Granada followed behind us.
The only sound as we pulled on the freeway was the creaking and groaning of the loaded motorhome. In the silent, darkened motorhome John, Paul and Gil prowled back and forth. They were torn between sitting up front so they wouldn't miss anything or looking out the back window watching Grandma’s car. We turned south on the I-5 and with one last wave and blink of her headlights Grandma continued down the 170 to her home. There was some muffled sobbing in the dark. Gil climbed up next to me and talked about Keysha. He was afraid she wouldn't like her new home in the desert with Dennis. I listened and tried to reassure him. John McClung and Randy turned on a light and started to play cards. I could hear them laughing as they planned their adventures south of the border. John and Paul were together on the back bed. Their foreheads pressed to the big back window, watching the road pass under us.
There was no “He touched me.” No “Make him stop looking at me.” There were just the groans of the burdened motorhome and the whine of the tires on the highway.
As we got further away from town the sky lost the glow from the city lights and filled with millions of stars. Occasionally we passed another truck or car. We traveled through the cold, clear desert night to a rest stop just across the Colorado River near Quartzite, Arizona. It was three o’clock in the morning when Bill finally pulled off the road. Fatigue had set in. Each set of headlights coming toward us looked like two or three. Did I look as bad as he did? His eyes were red, his hair mussed where he kept running his hands through it in an effort to stay awake.
Everyone was too exhausted to bother making up beds so we plopped down wherever there was room. The younger boys cuddled in back with us. The others sprawled on the floor and seats.
I had trouble sleeping. There were engine sounds from the traffic pulling in and out all night and too many feet and elbows in my ribs. And too many questions running around my head. What if this “Wither thou goest” stuff is not everything it’s cracked up to be. Why on earth am I here? I should have told him to go. We'd wait for him, but he always could talk me into doing whatever he wanted.
We pulled out of the rest stop as the sun, a bright cold looking yellow ball, cleared the horizon. Just had time to make coffee and pour it into a thermos before we headed south again through Tucson, then on to the small dirty, dusty, border town of Nogales, AZ. We drove past the busy border. Tomorrow we’d be part of that traffic.
Bill turned abruptly climbed into the motorhome and started the engine. From the driver’s seat he hollered at the rest of us, “Load up, come on. Get in.” He was always so sure of himself and his ability to take care of things. I wished I had just a little of his confidence.
One last hug for Grandma and the rest of us scrambled into the motorhome.
“Wait, I have something for you,” Grandma said as she brought a big box out of her car. “Don’t open this until you’re in Mexico for awhile.” She handed me the box, blew kisses to everyone, softly closed the door and got into her car.
Cautiously Bill backed the trailer and motorhome out of the driveway. Once in the street he straightened the wheels and we started up the hill the first of many, many miles of our drive to South America.
My Mom in her brown Ford Granada followed behind us.
The only sound as we pulled on the freeway was the creaking and groaning of the loaded motorhome. In the silent, darkened motorhome John, Paul and Gil prowled back and forth. They were torn between sitting up front so they wouldn't miss anything or looking out the back window watching Grandma’s car. We turned south on the I-5 and with one last wave and blink of her headlights Grandma continued down the 170 to her home. There was some muffled sobbing in the dark. Gil climbed up next to me and talked about Keysha. He was afraid she wouldn't like her new home in the desert with Dennis. I listened and tried to reassure him. John McClung and Randy turned on a light and started to play cards. I could hear them laughing as they planned their adventures south of the border. John and Paul were together on the back bed. Their foreheads pressed to the big back window, watching the road pass under us.
There was no “He touched me.” No “Make him stop looking at me.” There were just the groans of the burdened motorhome and the whine of the tires on the highway.
As we got further away from town the sky lost the glow from the city lights and filled with millions of stars. Occasionally we passed another truck or car. We traveled through the cold, clear desert night to a rest stop just across the Colorado River near Quartzite, Arizona. It was three o’clock in the morning when Bill finally pulled off the road. Fatigue had set in. Each set of headlights coming toward us looked like two or three. Did I look as bad as he did? His eyes were red, his hair mussed where he kept running his hands through it in an effort to stay awake.
Everyone was too exhausted to bother making up beds so we plopped down wherever there was room. The younger boys cuddled in back with us. The others sprawled on the floor and seats.
I had trouble sleeping. There were engine sounds from the traffic pulling in and out all night and too many feet and elbows in my ribs. And too many questions running around my head. What if this “Wither thou goest” stuff is not everything it’s cracked up to be. Why on earth am I here? I should have told him to go. We'd wait for him, but he always could talk me into doing whatever he wanted.
We pulled out of the rest stop as the sun, a bright cold looking yellow ball, cleared the horizon. Just had time to make coffee and pour it into a thermos before we headed south again through Tucson, then on to the small dirty, dusty, border town of Nogales, AZ. We drove past the busy border. Tomorrow we’d be part of that traffic.
I went out into the back yard and stood looking at the lights in the valley below. It was so clear that night. It was such a beautiful site, Los Angeles at night. Bill came out and put his arm around my shoulder, “You won’t regret it,” he said.
Back inside, one more tour of the house to make sure we had everything. Out the side door to where the motorhome was waiting; I turned the key to lock the empty house and placed it in my Mom’s hand. That would be the last time we would need it.
Saying “Goodbye” to Dennis and my Mom was very hard. At that point I didn’t know if we would ever come back. After all we were planning on living in Argentina.
Back inside, one more tour of the house to make sure we had everything. Out the side door to where the motorhome was waiting; I turned the key to lock the empty house and placed it in my Mom’s hand. That would be the last time we would need it.
Saying “Goodbye” to Dennis and my Mom was very hard. At that point I didn’t know if we would ever come back. After all we were planning on living in Argentina.
“There’s a trailer park.” I pointed it out to Bill and read its sign, “Mi Casa - pull through spaces and hook ups. Vacancy.” The pull-through space does it. He stopped, registered and pulled-through. (I dread the time he will have to back the motorhome and trailer into a small space. I’d hide in the bathroom before I’d help.)
The electricity, water and sewer were hooked up; the refrigerator clicked over to run on electricity and everyone was ready for dinner. We walked to McDonalds for our last U.S. meal.
It was pretty cold out so everyone had to sleep inside again. Through out the trip this was a logistical nightmare. Our bed in back was always already for us. Bill would turn the front dinette seat around to face the table, take out the table and post, put the two dinette seats down, and threw a blanket over them. Paul and Gil climbed on. John unhooked the bunk and pulled it down. He pushed off the maps and magazines that are stored on it during the day. Of course they landed right on Paul's head. He in turn threw them on the floor. I bent over to pick the mess up and John uses my back to climb into bed. As I straightend up I hit my head on the bunk. And this is only the first night! Paul and Gil snicker into their pillows. I turned to go to the back and bump into Bill who has decided he needed the map from the dashboard.
John Mc took down the center table put it in the doorway and crawled into his mummy bag on the couch. Randy spread his sleeping bag on the floor. Then sits there on his haunches waiting for us to get past so he can spread out.
When one person was ready to go to bed, everyone had to go to bed. Once Randy was on the floor all activity ceased as he took up all the floor space in front of the bathroom door and the refrigerator. The only way from back to front was over him. He failed to see the humor in that. Oops! Bill is taking the map into the bathroom.
The electricity, water and sewer were hooked up; the refrigerator clicked over to run on electricity and everyone was ready for dinner. We walked to McDonalds for our last U.S. meal.
It was pretty cold out so everyone had to sleep inside again. Through out the trip this was a logistical nightmare. Our bed in back was always already for us. Bill would turn the front dinette seat around to face the table, take out the table and post, put the two dinette seats down, and threw a blanket over them. Paul and Gil climbed on. John unhooked the bunk and pulled it down. He pushed off the maps and magazines that are stored on it during the day. Of course they landed right on Paul's head. He in turn threw them on the floor. I bent over to pick the mess up and John uses my back to climb into bed. As I straightend up I hit my head on the bunk. And this is only the first night! Paul and Gil snicker into their pillows. I turned to go to the back and bump into Bill who has decided he needed the map from the dashboard.
John Mc took down the center table put it in the doorway and crawled into his mummy bag on the couch. Randy spread his sleeping bag on the floor. Then sits there on his haunches waiting for us to get past so he can spread out.
When one person was ready to go to bed, everyone had to go to bed. Once Randy was on the floor all activity ceased as he took up all the floor space in front of the bathroom door and the refrigerator. The only way from back to front was over him. He failed to see the humor in that. Oops! Bill is taking the map into the bathroom.
The begining of our 23,000 mile drive in our motorhome down the Pan American Highway to Argentina
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