by Peter Horvatin

Created on: September 05, 2010

On The Road

     I could see the blue haze hanging over the rear end of our "old, blackish/greenish 57 Merc" as we backed out of the Fremont Cafe stamp size parking lot. Oh, the lingering smell of griddle cakes, real maple syrup and fresh, creamery butter left me in a daze, dreaming about next year's excursion. I slumped back against the cushiony back seat of the Merc. Man, I was ready to be at Grandma Mac's cottage. All my comic books were right by my side: Superman, check; Batman, check; The Flash, check. Good everything's in order here in the back seat of my kingdom.

     Dad turned the corner by the one-pump gas station and headed out on highway 110 as my brother, sister, and I jockeyed back and forth readying ourselves for the coming miles on our journey. Anyone who is middle-age (fifty or olderS) will remember a variety of vintage cars of the 40's and 50's-some small and cramped, others like land yachts. Well, that old, black Merc's backseat was just that, small and cramped. So, it was pretty easy for brothers and sisters to get on each others nerves and nearly impossible to find the "sweet spot of comfort for each of us. "Peter, get your elbow out of my side!", "John, quit leaning on me!", Oh, will you both sit still!" said Toni Jean.; More often than not pushing, shoving, yelling, and crying would erupt from the backseat. Then, Dad would pull out the "big guns" from his road trip arsenal.

     I'm sure everyone remembers the old, time-tested lines from the arsenal like, "If you don't quiet down and behave yourselves, I'm goint to pull this car over to the side of the road and give it to you", or I'll give you something to cry about!" So, after the threat of great bodily harm, we settled our minor squabbles and tried to sit motionless in the cramped seat for the miles that were ahead.

     The summertime heat was a killer. It turned the inside of the old Merc into a stiffling oven with windows. At times, it was unbearable. For those of you who remember, cars at that time had no automatic windows, so each of us grabbed a handcrank and rolled down the windows. You guessed it! There was one, slight problem. The rear windows of our old Merc only rolled down half way. We suffered with the hot winds of hell blasting us in our faces as we drove on the long, steaming hot asphalt highways while streams of sweat became our closest friend. I remember the sweat trickling down my forehead. As fast as I could wipe it off, there it was again. I was miserable, however as with most things in a kid's life, we had to "deal with it!"

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