Where it all began

Travel on the Magic Bus

Soothed by the rumble of the road beneath me, the miles chug by on the family road trip west to California one of my earliest memories. Our bright red VW Microbus camper stops along route 66 in New Mexico for gas under the Texaco sign. Dad snapped a picture of my sister and me standing next to a looming ten foot tall carved Indian at one of the local gift shops dotting the Indian reservations. Looking back at the picture, I imediately feel a shutter at the shadow of fear felt as the 6 year old looking up at the ominous statue.

My brother’s first year of life was spent in a mobile playpen, the “way back” as we called it, Michael’s tiny fingers clutching the metal bar that stretched across the width of the VW bouncing through the Rocky Mountains. Back then, reststops included a port a potty taken from the camper and set outside the vehicle in a field, side of the road or near a picnic table while Mom set out the always packed picnic lunches ready for our stops along the way.

Our travels were frequent over the years always staying in state parks and campgrounds to see the wonders of this country we call home. Mt. Rushmore, Yellowstone Park, the Grand Canyon and the Tetons, scenic roads down California’s A1A driving right through the giant redwood trees along the winding coastline’s birds eye view of the Pacific Ocean. The Magic Bus took us to places like Disneyland and Knottsberry Farm through the flat lands of Nebraska, Oaklahoma and past Animosa & Cedar Rapids, Iowa where Dad’s family came to this country as farmers. A visit down memory lane multiple times over the years took us by St. Berqman’s boys boarding school where Dad & his brother attended after their mom died when Dad was under 5 years old.

We three kids were raised on these mother roads that crossed the country with stories galore gathered in baskets of fun. The Microbus was replaced by an Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser station wagon with a trail along pop up camper.  As we outgrew the VW’s ‘way back’ it too was replaced with the fold down third row of seats in the Olds where some of us slept while Dad and his chosen co-pilot entered the driving “zone” racking up mile after mile along the east on A1A snaking its way down the Atlantic coast from secret fishing holes acessed by scaling a train tressel in Canada, to barrel rides over Niagra Falls at the north down to Orlando, where we were of the first to explore Florida’s newly opened Disney World and Epcot Center.

Mom and Dad became entrepenurs in the late 1960’s with the start of Suzuki Jack’s motorcycle shop. Travel turned to midwest outings, packing up dirt bikes on a trailer strapped to Suzuki Jack’s delivery van shoving off to Starved Rock State park for family motorcycle outings through watering holes, popping wheelies over hills covered with mud and the magic of time spent together. I recall returning home from one such outing on Easter Sunday dusty and hungry as we all headed into Denny’s for our spontaneous atypical Easter celebration.

A Minnie Winnie later joined the string of traveling vehicles and was known to pick up anyone open for a trip in our college years. I was given the gift of my first solo adventure in those college years when Dad let me take the 1970 Winnebago camper down to Daytona Beach for spring break. Five college girls took turns driving the 20 foot rolling house planted in the “rocking chair” a Citizen’s Band (CB) radio term for a position between two trucks on the road looking for the “smokies” (police cars) radar ready. The CB radio was a favorite with each of us doning a “handle”, “sweet thing”, and “the naked Lady” inviting a constant chatter from truckers on our route.

And so it went with my family, years of antics over thousands of miles. In 1980 when I met my husband, the tradition was continued with our first trip driving out west to California to see his friends. Then out to the east coast to see his family in Chevy Chase, MD. Many family traditions include holiday meals and foods, including my Italian husband’s family. This Irish girl however, brought the road to life with our kiddos, Florida caravans with my siblings and their children at the top of our list.

At this juncture, a turn inward and a solo pursuit on the road to Martha’s Vineyard calls. Life changes us daily and the fast pace of raising children turns into a slow jaunt toward personal discovery. It is with much gratitude that I have the opportunity to explore this stage in life through travel and writing presenting an incredible adventure ahead. Eyes closed, keyboard at my fingertips I find myself dreaming simultaneously in and out of reality as I ponder the month ahead filled with wonder and excitement discovering my future with the past packed for the ride.