Moving from Annapolis Maryland to California and leaving my teenage friends was not a happy time for me.  Dad built a car top carrier out of wood; we packed in our survival possessions for the trip across the good old USA. My Mom and Dad in the front and my big brother, Bob, and me and our dog Tippi, all crammed in the back seat with an aluminum ice chest full of Pepsi and Grapette. We were not happy but Mother said we would see a lot of scenery -- teenagers hate scenery.
  We drove South and visited our relatives on the farms along the way.  They said we looked like gypsies with that big car top carrier on our little 1948 Plymouth. In Georgia we hooked up with the "Ocean to Ocean Highway" which was Highway 80 -- they also called it the Southern Route. I was worried about where we would spend the nights but it turns out that there were these older "Motor Courts" and newer "Motels" to stay in.
  I remember crossing the Mighty Mississippi River, Mom said is was one mile wide. Traveling across the barren state of Texas took forever, it was hot and dry,  but Dad did stop for me to get some tumbleweed that I had never seen before. In New Mexico I saw my first Indians; they were sitting on blankets selling something called Turquoise.
  Some of the side trips we took included stopping at an Indian Trading Post, the Navajo women were weaving colorful rugs and I bought my very first pair of moccasins. We also paid for a ticket and drove up a long dirt road to get a close up look at the adobe cliff dwellings. The Painted Desert didn't look very colorful to me. The Petrified Forest looked like a pile of old rocks. Mother kept saying to look at the scenery.  The Grand Canyon was . . . well . . . a big hole. Mother took lots of pictures with her Kodak camera -- lots of black and white scenery pictures.
  Crossing the desert in the heat of the day was very miserable. Some cars had round air conditions on their side windows, and all cars had canvas bags of water hanging in front of the radiators to keep them cool.  Dad said we had our own air conditioners, the windows rolled down and wet rags around our necks -- even Tippi had one. Our little 48 Plymouth kept chugging along even though it was near the boiling point most of the way. Dad traveled at 50 miles per hour and never a bit faster. Some big rigs weren't too happy with Dad's speed . . . it was a long hot trip.
  Crossing the Hoover Dam was an eye-opener, and when we pulled into Boulder City everything looked so green and lush. I was beginning to appreciate this scenery.  Driving through Las Vegas . . . what a sight to see, all those fancy signs and gambling places right in the middle of a desert . . . why here?
  Somewhere along the way we turned off Highway 80 and headed north toward Yosemite National Park where it was much cooler and greener. California was starting to look better in this teenager's eye -- even the scenery.

  Generous donations from family and friends have been made in loving memory of:

  Their name will be added to the Memorial Boards located at Lakeside's Olde Community Church.