“Road Trip—Pt V”

I didn’t stand on the side of the highway too long after convincing my last ride that it was in his own best interest to let me out of his car.  Remembering that incident still raises the hair on the back of my neck, and it was the only part of the trip when I didn’t feel safe.  Still, it was a learning experience.  Just a few minutes later someone stopped.  I don’t recall any specifics until I was standing in the rain on Interstate 40 somewhere in east Tennessee as night was falling.  I didn’t have much cash left, and very few people back then had credit cards, at least in my family.

Not far away, the median between the east and west bound lanes provided a sparse grove of Russian olive trees, ubiquitous to the Interstate system for some reason, that would shield me somewhat from the passing cars.  Strapped to my pack were a small tent and a sleeping bag.  I had the means to build a fire, but this wasn’t a good place for that.  It would attract too much attention, like the Tennessee Highway Patrol or a carload of hell raisers, and I doubted there was much dry wood anyway.  I found a relatively level spot among the trees, pitched my camp, and dug out a can of Campbell’s Pork and Beans and some crackers.  I can’t begin to remember the times I’ve had that meal.  Hot or cold.  Always a staple.  The Ramen noodles of my generation.

My tent was relatively opaque, so my flashlight wasn’t giving me away.  With my hunger appeased and the rain beating on the walls, I settled in for the night.  I am never without something to read.  Back then I carried a collection of Frost’s poems just about everywhere I went.  He seemed appropriate for my situation.

I lay there for an hour or so, reading and thinking.  The last month or two had been cataclysmic.  Several major events had occurred.  At that moment, I was without a job or prospects of one; my very serious girlfriend had dumped me—hard; my friends of the last four years were moving on with their lives…and I was camped in the rain hundreds of miles from home.  I could have felt pretty sorry for myself.  The thing is, I knew where my home was and I knew how to get there.  I knew that I could go back and have a safe place to stay, food to eat, and advice from the two people I most admired, my parents.

Dad was always my example of “take a chance, follow your heart, do the right thing.”  When they got married—he was 19 and Mom was 15—he was working as a drive attendant at a gas station in Bethany.  Thirteen months later I was born.  He tried working at a munitions plant in Topeka but was allergic to the sulfur in the gunpowder, so it was back to the gas station.  He spent the rest of the summer stripping bluegrass in Minnesota.  I’m not sure what he was doing back in Bethany when my brother Ben was born the day before my first birthday.  When Mike came along about eighteen months later, Dad was just into his first year with the Missouri Highway Patrol and we were living in Chillicothe, Missouri.  Then it was Stanberry.  Then Albany.

After eight years with the HP, he followed a call to enter the ministry, and we moved to Rock Port.  While we were there he earned a BS in English from Tarkio College and taught junior high English in Rock Port while still serving the church.  In his “spare time” he coached some junior high football (he never played the sport), drove a bus, and at least one summer was the constable for the city.

Another change of plans and he became the Dean of Students at Tarkio College during my sophomore and junior years.  After that it was off to the UCC church in Shenandoah, Iowa.  Along the way he earned a Master’s Degree from Northwest Missouri State and taught part-time for Iowa Western Community College.

Mom was able to finally get her GED while they were in Rock Port.  When she wasn’t Dad’s secretary at the church, she worked in the office of the local Soil Conservation Service—usually she was both.  I remember her most, however, as the high school principal’s secretary.  (I spent too much time in the office…ahem.)  In Shenandoah she also worked for a local insurance group and a podiatrist.

My brothers and I all have college degrees.  We were lucky, too, that Dad performed the ceremonies for all three weddings.  Mom and Dad got to spoil four grandkids, as well.  Not too bad for a couple of kids from the hills of northwest Missouri.

Thinking about my family, reading Frost, listening to the rain on my tent, I knew it was time to head home and see about getting on with my own life.  I took out my maps and checked the most direct route.  If I could flag down some good rides, I could be home in three days, at the most.  It had been an interesting trip and I’d had fun, despite the day’s confrontation.

One of the things my parents taught me was never to regret the road not taken.  Just to be as ready as possible and go.  I know they were ready for their last road.  Doesn’t make me miss them any less.