Feb. 24, 2005 - 18:15 MST

THE WONDERING JEW

Early Travels

When I was around seven years old Summer Vacation from school had a glamour of its very own. My second school vacation and longed for it was. 'Twas a break from the constant demand for me to "pay attention, don't talk, don't eat the library paste, stay in your seat and please sit up straight" had taken its toll on the ego of a kid my age whose main urge was to run free, but be home in time for dinner.

Added to my excitement was the vacation trip my folks had planned. To upper Wyoming it was, to see friends of the folks and for me to reunite with their kids who were near my age. Gosh, a trip out of our Colorado home, into a whole other state already !

I was quivering with the excitement at the thought of a real TRIP and it made it hard for me to go to sleep at night and to pay attention at school.

A few days after school let out, Mom and Dad packed our duds for the trip, loaded up the 1925 Studebaker coupe and we pulled away from home. Made a stop at the filling station for the traditional action, get gas, oil check, water check, check air pressure in the tires and wash the windshield by an attendant all for free, except paying for the gas. Then Dad pointed the car toward Cheyenne, Wyoming.

It was exciting for a time, seeing cattle, open range and farmland, and for a time the front range of the Rocky Mountains was to the left of us and I would glance over for the reassurance they gave me, but being used to getting in the mountains after an hour or so when we went on a picnic, tedium set in with a vengeance and soon made me cranky and the "where and when are we going to eat ?" question came into my mind. And though breakfast was not too far behind, I asked. Dad answered, "Not for many miles and a long time." That is when my perception of 'real time as related to distance' instruction began and the understanding that I needed to learn patience. It didn't come easy or soon, time began to coalesce into a slumped misery in the seat. Looking now and then out the window with a jaded eye, noting the occastional sighting of a windmill gave a minor spur to my wonder, how did they know water was there ? How deep did they have to go ? How did they "drill" a well. And then seeing cattle on ranches led me to fancy being a cowboy when I grew up, not knowing that the day of the cowboy was already over.

Finally Mom and Dad decided it was time to find a place to eat, shoot I could have told them that it was time to eat the last town we passed through but perhaps it was instinctive discretion, I kept my mouth shut. We pulled up and went in to a restaurant, sat down, Mom and Dad checked the menu and ordered their meal and hamburgers for me. As a treat Mom ordered me a Black Cow (I think it was called) as near as I can remember it was root beer with ice cream stirred into it, oh it was larrupin' and fitted me out for later Root Beer Floats back in Denver. I loved the kind of burgers then, flat, flat buns, with a nice slice of juicy, mild Bermuda onion the diameter of the bun. There the dill slices were on the side, I liked them that way and still order my dills on the side.

As the meal wound down Mom told me to, "Be sure you go potty before we leave', and I goed. However what with the big Black Cow I inhaled and a couple of glasses of water I drank too, it wasn't long before Dad had to stop by a bit of sage for me to do my thing. Further down the road my internals revolted and Dad wearily pulled over by a bunch of scrub and I fertilized the area, the first of several stops for that activity. So we proceeded on my great adventure ---- pooping and peeping my way north.

There were a few hills and pine trees along the way, but it was mostly prairie and sage with cottonwoods along the dry creek beds.

It seemed like days before we reached the Midwest Oil Field at Elk Basin Wyoming, but I remember only spending one night in a Cottage Camp along the way. I do remember that Dad had to stop periodically to fix a flat tire. That old car had split rims and I remember him working, sweating and saying naughty words to himself as he struggled with the darn things.

My stage of understanding of technical things was not to the point that I could absorb the inner workings of that oil patch, but I do remember the acres of rods stretching out, about two feet off the ground. We kids would have fun walking through them and get chewed out for being out there. The only thing really interesting to me was when the man gave us a ride out in the boonies where a Nitroglycerin truck had blown up. Bits and pieces of metal everywhere, none of them big.

We did go to Red Lodge once, a moonlight ride, and somewhere in that trip we went by where Custer made his boo-boo. But other than playing with friends the time went by as it would have at home.

By the time we headed back to Denver I felt as if I were a blase man of the world -- only I didn't have those words quite yet. I did have a book of pictures and stuff to take up my time on the way home, but for the most part I was bored stiff.

Real excitement began for me when I saw way off to the right the Rocky Mountains peep above the prairie once again, knowing I would be home before we spent another night away.

No big hair raising experiences, but in the school of life my lessons had begun in my Early Travels . . . . . . .

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