As our vacation approached we were still without a pickup type vehicle to tow our trailer. I can't remember exactly when we got it but I do remember the first time I saw the heap.
Growing up along my street, I was among an over abundance of boys that lived there. Only a few years separated the youngest to oldest. It seemed all the families had sons. Take mine for example; two brothers and one older sister. Each family had at least two boys, while if there was a girl, it was the only one in the sibling group. So, boys being boys we had lots of fun and sometimes trouble doing various things around the neighborhood.
One big topic of discussion was the best pickup to have; either Ford or Chevy. We'd take the arguments seriously, bickering the merits or demerits back and forth over each. I grew up in a Chevy household. I'd ridden in both and really preferred Chevy's over Fords, they were much nicer and I felt rode better than Fords. Besides, Chevy's looked cool Fords were ugly and rode like crap on the smoothest of roads.
The Ford proponents exclaimed that Ford stood for;
First
On
Race
Day
The Chevy's answered back with;
Fix
Or
Repair
Daily
or
Found
On
Road
Dead
or my fave;
Flip
Over
Read
Directions
There's a couple I know that I won't relate in this forum as they aren't exactly family friendly.
Just before it was time for us to go, Dad came home with our "new" pickup. I distinctly remember asking him if he brought it home, then running out to the driveway and seeing a rusty red oxide colored pile of Ford F100 pickup parked in the driveway. This was the first sign, or omen that this trip may not be the one I had envisioned. I ignored it though, being blissfully unaware of what was about to happen once we set out. I was however, disappointed in the choice of vehicle to haul us there and back again.
I came back inside mostly puzzled and asked Dad; "Where is it? I only see an old crappy Ford."
With a stone face that could have been on Mt Rushmore, he replied; "that is our new pickup".
Shocked, I went out again, this time not nearly as fast or enthusiastic to see if this was really true. Sure enough, it was. I walked up to it and looked in the drivers side window tried to wrench open the stubborn door. Phew! gasoline fumes. The door gave a deep creak when I yanked it open and it smelled of old burlap and rubber mingled with gas inside. I sure liked Chevy's better. Especially after riding around in the one we just got rid of.
This gave me the feeling that this was like staying in a hotel, in an unfamiliar and uncomfortable bed;
Rubber floor mats, a worn bench seat with a cover as rough as sandpaper to go with the funky odor that greeted me, instantly giving me a tinge of car sickness. As where our other truck had carpet and a comfy velour seat and had the great new car smell. Dad kept it as new as possible for as long as possible. He never carried anything in the bed that would scratch it. If he did, there was usually furniture pads or card board protecting the paint. A great big black stick shift towered over the middle of the seat. Doing the math, I wondered how are four people going to ride to California in this? Yet, being so excited to go, I was more than ready to overlook such things.
Dad said "You and Jeff can ride in the back so that we don't all have to be crammed into the cab". In the Chevy it was like a rolling couch in the front, gramma's feather bed in the back, piled with sleeping bags and pillows. I snoozed many a time in the back of our pickup while camping. Ol Rusty still needed a canopy to make it all work but I was warming up to this idea. However, I had developed quite a reputation of car sickness in my family. "Queasy Rider" became my unofficial moniker from my wise ass older brothers. I certainly didn't like it, both the name and putting my head in a bucket when the family (and vomit) hit the highway.
Traveling with me included the following; something to catch my stomach contents, towels/rags, water & surrendering the front seat to placate my upset tummy. Riding in the back of the car would toss my guts around something fierce, especially when Dad was driving. He drove as if he were on a track, hard into the corners making my insides do cartwheels. Usually nerves played a big role with my issues. Getting hyped up before we left on a trip usually lead to retching along a busy stretch of highway while my brothers groaned their displeasure from the back seat.
As it turns out, Dad got a deal on the pickup from a co-worker. $750 and was only a temporary fix until we got a new truck. I asked; "Does it have air conditioning?"
"Yes, it has "2-60" a/c", he said with a short grin. When he saw my puzzled look he clarified; "2 windows down, 60 mph". I seriously wondered if this thing could do 60, but again it was mostly overlooked by all the anticipation I was feeling about ending school and going to California for two whole weeks. The closer it got, the more the butterflies flitted about in my stomach.
Dad also pointed out since we didn't have a/c we'd be driving through Northern California at night because it is like an oven come summer time. Day time highs routinely surpass triple digits and you were literally out in the middle of nowhere. I think it was him who described it as a frying pan on a hot stove. I found that sort of funny because I don't recall my parents ever using the a/c all that much. It had to be boiling outside before we considered turning it on, because Dad said "It takes too much gas to run the air conditioner!".
I thought; "then why get it?". But I never dared to actually ask the question allowed in his presence.
The Ford lovers on the block were shocked to say the least that we got one. So was I. "Finally you got smart and bought a REAL truck!" they taunted.
Yeah, "real". As real as a pigs eye. Stay tuned, as the Pickard's hit the highway on their unforgettable Californian Adventurous Vacation!
Stay tuned as we get under way and make our first stop in southern Oregon and go visit Crater Lake.
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