Day trips in the car were something special when I was a
kid. And they were a big deal as they
were rather infrequent. Nothing in our
house was spontaneous, as planning seemed paramount to anything successful.
Meals were planned a week in advance to ensure we had enough
canned green beans, canned corn, and canned everything else salty, at
hand. Wood working projects were
checked, re-checked, and checked again, to guarantee plenty of boards and stain
and nails were available. Those day trips
were no different.
Mom would plan lunch with enough sandwiches to feed the
Eighth Army, sodas, and some sort of dessert.
We never got dessert at home but, eating at a picnic table in some
unfamiliar tourist trap dictated we have dessert. This all meant we needed to make ice by the
buckets full.
This is part of where the planning came in. We had a drawer at the bottom part of the
fridge that served as the freezer. We
would take turns making ice – tray by tray, one day after another – until my
supervisor father would blow a whistle to indicate we had plenty.
In the mean time, Dad would begin assembling provisions for
this few hour trip. He would pack
special provisions in a box destined for the trunk that would make Lawrence of
Arabia yearn for.
We had a jug of anti-freeze, extra bottle of water for the
windshield washer, two spare oil cans plus a spout, jumper cables, blankets,
rags to wipe your hands, and wire cutters.
Eventually, we had enough stuff packed into the car to make
the neighbors giddy thinking we were moving out of state. Alas.
Back in the day there were no cell phones, reliable cars, or
GPS devices. We relied on paper maps,
pay phones, personal wits and good luck to leave home and return safely. Indians attacks were imminent, or so it
seemed.
Day trips were just what they sound like. They were established spots consisting of
tourist traps that advertised to the kids.
Frontier Town
Rather, we went to educational places like Ausable Chasm and
Howe Caverns. Both places were really
cool and, as Dad put it, expensive.
Still, we got out of the house for a day.
Just in case you’ve never been to one of these tourist
areas, one of the bonuses was to park your car in a lot while you played or
hiked or sulked for several hours. Upon
return to your car you would find a bumper sign attached.
A bumper sign was a piece of flimsy cardboard upon which was
printed a free ad for fellow drivers.
This cardboard had holes the entrepreneurs would put wires through to
attach to your bumper.
These clever tags were pure genius as they were not much
different than selling t-shirts with the establishment’s name upon it. It was all gravy for the business owner.
Of course, these were the precursors to bumper stickers of
yore, and those nifty window stickers of present. But I digress.
It was at this time my Dad would turn beet red and make a
beeline toward the trunk to fetch those all important wire cutters. And all the way he would be muttering phrases
illegal in 38 states about overcharging for admission yet screwing us by trying
to get free advertising.
The snips were distinct and signaled an end to his
rant. Mom would do her best to find a
roadside picnic table for us at which to enjoy our packed feast. Dad was cooled off enough after working up an
appetite cutting the tag wires, and my sister was just about done complaining
about everything.
And all was good.
Until next time, that is.
