Don't Make Me Pull Over!
I recently read a book by a first time author, Richard Ratay. It's titled, Don't Make Me Pull Over! Talk about an eye-catching title. I knew I had to read it, and I wasn't disappointed. The subtitle is, An Informal History of the Family Road Trip.
He starts off with a memory of being seven years old in 1976. He has a blurry recollection of being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night by his father, and being tossed across the laps of his two older brothers in the back seat of the family station wagon. The next thing he knows, he's rudely awakened by landing with a thud on the floor with a rug burn on his cheek from the carpet, and the hump from the transmission in the middle pressing on his stomach. He's surrounded by empty Styrofoam cups, eight track tapes and stuffed animals. He discovers that the cause of the discomfort is that the car has slid on an icy highway in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana and has come to an abrupt stop in a snow bank. As he describes it, it's the start of the best road trip his family has ever taken.
While the book is funny throughout, mentioning things like his dad trying to maneuver the car with one hand while trying to reach back and discipline one of the kids with the other, or the unpleasantness of multiple members passing gas in the close confines of a station wagon, there are informative chapters too.
He covers subjects like the beginning of the interstate road system, thank you President Eisenhower, to seat belts and the reluctance of people to wear them. There are chapters on the first hotel chains, like Holiday Inn, Howard Johnson's, and Ramada Inns. Surprisingly interesting history.
One chapter is about the state highway patrols, the invention of the Fuzz Buster and the role CB radios played in keeping track of the police on the highway. There is a lot of history that I either didn't know about, or had forgotten.
Richard's dad is somewhat like most fathers during that era I suppose. A little impatient, a little reluctant to spend more money than you have to, and yet with a desire to give the family memories that will last a lifetime. Hopefully good ones.
While my family only went on two vacations when I was growing up, my dad seemed to have the need to go on a Sunday drive almost every weekend. We usually didn't go far, sixty or so miles round trip I suppose, but it was far enough. Though my father wasn't Italian, he nonetheless thought he was related to Mario Andretti, the race car driver. He had no patience for other drivers in front of him, and would pass them on a regular basis, stomping on the gas pedal of our "62"Buick Lesabre while I sat in the back praying we didn't hit a deer or blow a tire at the break neck speeds we were traveling. We frequently passed streams or ponds and I desperately hoped that Dad would surprise me by pulling over and digging the fishing rods and a dozen nightcrawlers out of the trunk. It never happened though.
Aside from the fact that most of our Sunday drives were to places that we weren't going to fish, the other disturbing issue was that without fail, five minutes into the drive, I would have to pee. It didn't matter if I drained every drop my bladder could possibly hold mere seconds before I hopped in the back seat, it would miraculously fill up in record time. I think in part it was the stress of knowing the reaction I would get if I asked Dad to pull over so I could relieve myself. It made the family drives less than pleasant. If only I'd had the option of bringing along a five gallon bucket, my memories would be so much more pleasant.
I'm not sure why the family road trip has gone by the wayside. I suppose that everyone is in a hurry to get to their destination, and taking a plane is the fastest way to do it. Personally, if I could drive everywhere, I would, regardless of the time saved. This vast country lends itself to exploring by car. There are so many sights to see that are missed in a jet. Like so much else, the road trip has gone the way of the dinosaur, but at least with books like Richard's we can take a trip down memory lane and remember, for better or worse, the way things used to be.
He starts off with a memory of being seven years old in 1976. He has a blurry recollection of being hauled out of bed in the middle of the night by his father, and being tossed across the laps of his two older brothers in the back seat of the family station wagon. The next thing he knows, he's rudely awakened by landing with a thud on the floor with a rug burn on his cheek from the carpet, and the hump from the transmission in the middle pressing on his stomach. He's surrounded by empty Styrofoam cups, eight track tapes and stuffed animals. He discovers that the cause of the discomfort is that the car has slid on an icy highway in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana and has come to an abrupt stop in a snow bank. As he describes it, it's the start of the best road trip his family has ever taken.
While the book is funny throughout, mentioning things like his dad trying to maneuver the car with one hand while trying to reach back and discipline one of the kids with the other, or the unpleasantness of multiple members passing gas in the close confines of a station wagon, there are informative chapters too.
He covers subjects like the beginning of the interstate road system, thank you President Eisenhower, to seat belts and the reluctance of people to wear them. There are chapters on the first hotel chains, like Holiday Inn, Howard Johnson's, and Ramada Inns. Surprisingly interesting history.
One chapter is about the state highway patrols, the invention of the Fuzz Buster and the role CB radios played in keeping track of the police on the highway. There is a lot of history that I either didn't know about, or had forgotten.
Richard's dad is somewhat like most fathers during that era I suppose. A little impatient, a little reluctant to spend more money than you have to, and yet with a desire to give the family memories that will last a lifetime. Hopefully good ones.
While my family only went on two vacations when I was growing up, my dad seemed to have the need to go on a Sunday drive almost every weekend. We usually didn't go far, sixty or so miles round trip I suppose, but it was far enough. Though my father wasn't Italian, he nonetheless thought he was related to Mario Andretti, the race car driver. He had no patience for other drivers in front of him, and would pass them on a regular basis, stomping on the gas pedal of our "62"Buick Lesabre while I sat in the back praying we didn't hit a deer or blow a tire at the break neck speeds we were traveling. We frequently passed streams or ponds and I desperately hoped that Dad would surprise me by pulling over and digging the fishing rods and a dozen nightcrawlers out of the trunk. It never happened though.
Aside from the fact that most of our Sunday drives were to places that we weren't going to fish, the other disturbing issue was that without fail, five minutes into the drive, I would have to pee. It didn't matter if I drained every drop my bladder could possibly hold mere seconds before I hopped in the back seat, it would miraculously fill up in record time. I think in part it was the stress of knowing the reaction I would get if I asked Dad to pull over so I could relieve myself. It made the family drives less than pleasant. If only I'd had the option of bringing along a five gallon bucket, my memories would be so much more pleasant.
I'm not sure why the family road trip has gone by the wayside. I suppose that everyone is in a hurry to get to their destination, and taking a plane is the fastest way to do it. Personally, if I could drive everywhere, I would, regardless of the time saved. This vast country lends itself to exploring by car. There are so many sights to see that are missed in a jet. Like so much else, the road trip has gone the way of the dinosaur, but at least with books like Richard's we can take a trip down memory lane and remember, for better or worse, the way things used to be.
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