Vacation

Though I was 17, I had never gone on a true vacation. I had been to Illinois, Missouri, and Michigan because relatives lived there. I didn’t think those counted. Sleeping in your cousin’s bed didn’t compare to spending a night in a motel or hotel.

Now I would be traveling through many states. This was thanks to our neighbors, the Lavendas. Their adopted daughter Marsha had become my best friend after my family moved here three years ago.

Joe was a bank vice-president. Rita a stay-at-home Mom. They spent three weeks in Wyoming every summer.

I was so excited to be invited to join them! I splurged on a new swimsuit. It was a baby-doll style that looked like a two piece from the rear. It was navy blue with white daisies sprinkled over it. Most importantly, it hid my nasty stretch marks.

The day before we left, Marsha and I visited the library and borrowed as many books as we could.

Joe loaded suitcases onto a rooftop luggage rack the next morning because the 1968 Buick Electra’s trunk was full. I hugged my mom and siblings, then climbed into the back seat.

Marsha and I chatted for a few minutes, then we opened one of our books. Neither of us liked saying too much in front of parents.

Sitting in the passenger seat, Rita penciled a crossword puzzle, but she often stopped to comment on Joe’s driving as he navigated through Chicago’s traffic. Even though we left early, there was still heavy congestion. She emitted a relieved sigh when we entered the expressway to Wisconsin.

I napped while we traveled north. After all, I’d been too excited to get much sleep, and my alarm went off before dawn. I woke as the car slowed down to enter a HoJo. It felt wonderful to get out and stretch my legs.

Once we ordered, I asked, “Where are we?”

Joe said, “We’re on the outskirts of Rochester, Minnesota. Don’t dawdle eating. I want to make it to Sioux Falls before we stop.”

I had breakfast before 5 am. It was almost 1 pm, so it didn’t take long for me to eat because I was famished! Marsha and I used the restroom before we got back in the Buick.

He stopped at a gas station to fill up, then we were on our way. Joe said, “Roll up those windows to only a crack, we’re getting back on the expressway now.”

After a few minutes watching the landscape, which didn’t look much different than other Midwestern states, I returned to reading.

An hour later, Rita asked, “Would anyone like a peppermint?”

Both of us said, “Yes please.”

Sucking on the candy relieved my thirst. The Independence Day temperature was in the 90s, and their car felt like an oven. We stopped at a drive-thru for supper.

Marsha and I watched for distant fireworks before we stopped for the night. In Sioux Falls, Joe pulled into a Best Western with a lit vacancy sign. After we brought in our luggage, Marsha and I dug out our swimsuits, changed, then ran to the outdoor pool. The water felt so refreshing. Joe and Rita soon joined us, but we didn’t swim for long before they told us to get to bed.

In the morning, we munched on donuts and drank coffee, then carried our luggage back to the Electra. Rita opened a map and directed Joe back to Interstate 90.

We soon left the cornfields behind and entered the Badlands. The land was red and brown, containing many hills where nothing grew. Yet, there was an austere beauty to its desolation.

We ate lunch in Rapid City, then returned to the expressway, which now headed more to the north than west. We crossed into Wyoming and reached the Little Big Horns. Joe’s V8 engine chugged up the switchbacks. To my right was a huge cliff wall. All I could see to the left was sky.

Rita and Joe argued as we reached Buffalo. She wanted him to take Interstate 25 south to Casper, then travel the state highways west. He thought it would be quicker to keep going north until Ranchester. They flipped a coin, and Rita won. We spent an early night at another Best Western when we reached Casper. This city was located on a flat plain just past the mountains.

We ate steaks and baked potatoes in the restaurant. Back in our room, we watched local TV. The news mentioned the launch of Apollo 11 was scheduled at Cape Canaveral but would depend on weather conditions. I asked, “Do you think we’ll land on the moon?”

Joe smiled. “Yes. We’re going to beat those Russians!”

Rita and I won 3 out of 5 cribbage games before we slept.

Since it would take only about 6 hours to reach Jackson Hole, we didn’t have the continental breakfast. Looking over the menu, I asked, “What are hash browns?”

Marsha giggled. “Kinda like French fries but smaller and crispier. You’ll love ‘em.”

She was right. They tasted wonderful.

Somewhere on the highway we stopped for lunch at a Mom and Pop diner. I gaped at cowboys who wore hats, spurs, and guns. I was truly in the West as seen on Gunsmoke.

Rita pointed across the highway as we neared our destination. “That’s the National Elk Preserve.”
Marsha also pointed. “That’s called the ‘Sleeping Indian’. See how it looks like he’s laying down wearing a headdress.”

A few minutes later, Joe turned into the Warm Springs Dude Ranch entrance. He got out and returned with a key. He drove on a dirt road to a log cabin located on a hill. We carried our luggage up the wooden steps to a small porch. Marsha and I retrieved more things while he unlocked the door. This building had a living room, kitchenette, and two bedrooms. Marsha led the way to the one we’d share. After we unpacked, her parents went to buy groceries.

Marsha and I changed into our suits. “You won’t believe how warm the water is!” She laughed. “No need to inch your way in.” She ran down the road to the pool and immediately dove in. I cautiously dipped one foot then jumped in. She was right. It felt glorious. I marveled it was so warm when there was still snow on the nearby majestic Teton peaks. I was very sunburnt by suppertime.

The next morning we went horseback riding. The ranch hand was just a few years older than us, and we outrageously flirted with him. Later, we drove into Jackson Hole. The town square had four archways made of elk horns. Wooden boardwalks fronted buildings on the main streets. One business called Diamond Lil was a steakhouse with entertainment. I splurged on a cowboy hat and bought presents for my family. We stopped at a lovely shop that offered many varieties of custard ice cream. I watched as they added peppermints into the machine then filled my chocolate cone. Outside, a mock stagecoach fight erupted. Eating our treats, we went outdoors to watch.

Two days later, the Bushemi family arrived. The father worked with Joe, and they had two kids. John was my age, Mimi was twelve. He hated being here. “There’s nothing to do. Can’t even get a decent TV or radio station.”

Marsha said, “You’ll get used to it.”

We went fishing on the Snake River. I hated fish, but they insisted I try it. Cooked with butter and lemon in a foil packet, it was so delicious that I had seconds.

We visited two mountain lakes that week. Though these were only a few miles apart, one had green water, the other blue. We rose before dawn to marvel at the Chapel of the Transfiguration, where the dawn brought a halo to the cross.

Most days we remained at the ranch. The weather was pleasant. Afternoons in the 80s, but steam rose from the pool in the mornings. We did a lot of horseback riding and mucking stables. Marsha and I giggled like crazy when we overheard a greenhorn ask to ride a gelded mare.

We also read and went swimming daily. My sunburn peeled, and for the very first time ever I tanned. Even through the white daisies on my suit! One day my strap broke as I dove. After this, the ranch hand always called me the “white-breasted Indian”.

On July 20th, we were glued to the TV set. Marsha and I took turns holding the rabbit ears. Even doing this, the image from the moon scrolled with lines. Joe was upset we couldn’t get better reception. But we clearly heard, “One small step for man…”

To celebrate our victory, Joe took us out for ice cream. I got my fave chocolate peppermint cone. Yum!

We spent the following morning at the laundromat with Rita while Joe went golfing with Mr. Bushemi. The next day, his son John said, “I applied to become a ranch hand. I’ll be back here next summer.”

After loading our luggage, we took a different route home. When we reached Cheyenne, we went south into Colorado, then took I80 east. We spent the night in North Platte, Nebraska. In the morning, the expressway was bordered by many cornfields as we left that state and drove through Iowa. We spent the night in Cedar Rapids, then reached the Chicago outskirts at rush hour. In another two hours, I was home and had traveled through six new states.