It’s 1957 again…
[FONT="]Leaving Vermont, we head south on Route 22 until we reach the brand new Northway (part of the Interstate Highway system) down to the New York State Thruway, which takes us to Niagara Falls. We do the obligatory Maid of the Mist and back of the fall tours. I include this picture because **** is 14 and has experienced a growth spurt. He’s now taller than my mother and almost as tall as my father. I’m two years and a week younger and still a little person.
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[/FONT] Driving across southern Canada was amazing. We left the congestion and entered huge open spaces so fast it was amazing. Our stops in Winnipeg and Edmonton were mostly social calls because my mother’s and grandmother’s friends were still alive and we couldn’t drive past without saying hello.
The Calgary Stampede was wonderful. The wagon race was my favorite event. Horsepower and wheels – what more could I ask for.
Things got interesting when we left Edmonton because the main road was not paved. It had been raining so the dirt had turned to mud. A special kind of mud known as Gumbo (Google “Alberta Gumbo” for descriptions). We made pretty good progress until the car started straining and the rear wheels started to spin. Dad stopped and when we got out of the car, each step made us an inch or two taller and our shoes heavier.
When you are going to do a lot of driving on gravel roads, it’s a good idea to have a strong screen on the front of the car to protect the radiator. It also does a good job collecting the hummingbird-size mosquitoes that thrive in the far north in the summer. The same place that sold us the screen pointed out that one of our headlights was broken. Dad hadn’t noticed because we hadn’t needed headlights – the sun didn’t go down until almost 11:00 PM. To protect the headlights, the mechanic installed clear bubbles. I had never seen them before or since but they were like these only clear:
Turns out the reason we slowed down was the gumbo mud stuck to the tires and then got slung into the wheel wells on the car and trailer. The wheel wells on the Olds were big enough to take a huge amount of mud but the much smaller wells on the trailer had completely filled with mud. Once the wheel well was full, the tires heated up and turned the mud into a very effective brake pad. An hour or so of wallowing in the mud and using screwdrivers and tire irons we were back under way. We got through the gumbo mud and reached dry road in the afternoon.
It wasn’t long before we were missing the mud. The dry road meant dust, very fine dust. The finest dust I have ever encountered and it turns out our trailer’s plywood wheel wells are not sealed in any way. There are quarter-inch wide gaps everywhere. We stop for lunch and while mom cooks in freshly washed pots and pans on a freshly wiped-down stove and counter, **** and I wash the dishes and silverware and the table and bench seats. Then we eat, wash up everything and put it back in the cabinets. Dinner is the same routine but breakfast is much simpler because no new dust has been added overnight.
[FONT="]Each night, before we go to bed, we take all the all the sheets and blankets outside and shake out as much dust as possible before re-making the beds.[/FONT]
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You are the master at story telling Bob. I wish I had half the literary talent that you possess.
