The Road Rules

Summer is here and with COVID-19 scaring people away from flying, households everywhere are considering road trips to anywhere and everywhere. Well, at least to wherever COVID-19 is not. I wrote this for a column years ago and thought it was timely to dust it off. My sons were all elementary school-age then, so I hope you'll forgive the nostalgia. F

For your consideration...

It’s old school, but my wife and I have always thought the TVs with DVDs built into SUVs or the advent of mind-numbing portable video games take away from the fun of road-trips. The road to anywhere is an adventure and the going is entertainment. Like my Dad used to do, we load up with igloos, snack bags, and tunes. Yes, tunes—CDs and smartphone adaptors (no Bluetooth then).

Once we’re geared-up we pull onto the open road in the Suburban. Back in the day, it was the family Galaxy 500 and we were headed for someplace as close as my grandmother's farm just outside of Chapel Hill; and sometimes that meant places as far away as Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Dad drove us there without a TomTom or other navigation aid. He traversed the highway system with a nose for direction and maybe a road map.

My wife and I have three sons. So we prepare for the fact that road-trips immediately trigger hunger in the human male, which is why my wife is sure to always pack large amounts of munchies. Road-rations include, but are not limited to Pringles, Chex-Mix, beef jerky, crackers, fruit snacks, and assorted sandwiches, and nearly all will disappear before reaching the county line. Actually, food serves as a sedative. After the boys eat, they each fall into a food coma for an hour or two.

When the boys wake up, the immediate discussion center on where we are, or where we are headed. The boys are into double-digit ages, so the road games and sing-alongs aren’t as popular as they used to be. Still, they happen now and again. But more often than not we just have good conversations.

The adventure wasn’t much different when I was a kid, although there were no satellite radios, CD’s, or iPods. So on long trips between towns of any size, we had AM radio because FM radio only went about 75 miles—at night under clear skies, if we were lucky. Yeah, the farm reports were really exciting between Amarillo and Raton Pass on the Colorado/New Mexico border.

Essentially, you were out of touch. It was a primitive time before cell phones. At best, you had a Citizen's Band (CB) radio mounted under your dashboard. A wire ran from the CB, under the front seat, up along the door and out a cracked window to a whip antenna magnetically held to the metal roof of your car. The speaker might crackle as you heard someone named “Bandit” or “Rubber Duck” say, "Breaker, breaker—come back." That was code for “hello, anyone there?” Talking on a CB made everybody sound like a redneck. You added an extra southern drawl to your speech, even if you were from New Jersey.

The airwaves were filled with slang like, "What's yer twenty?" or "That's a big ten-four, good buddy, I gotta pull over for a ten-twenty at that-there choke n' puke!" Translations: "What is your location" and, "OK friend, I have to go to the bathroom at this restaurant."

The codes were no secret–everybody knew them. It was just fun to hear the conversations among people who would never met face-to-face. CB radios were a reflection of the road-trip culture of those days. All these things combined to make any trip an event—connecting us to other people in other cars from other places.

Take away the cell phones or even the CBs of the seventies and driving in and of itself still has codes or a language all its own. This is especially true in the heart of Texas country roads. Headlights, for instance, are channels of communications—more so back in the day before radar detectors. But when you saw a car coming up the highway with its lights on during the day, you could count on seeing a State Trooper or sheriff a mile or two down the road just ready to write you a ticket. These days that’s a bit diluted because most car models have running lights illuminated day or night.

At night, however, the code for an impending speed trap is a few flashes of the hi-beams. How do you know the other driver isn’t signaling that you’re driving with your brights on? Well, most cars these days have auto dim on their headlights. Even so, if you know for sure your brights aren’t on and a driver is flashing his—the law is around the next bend waiting to introduce himself.

Day or night there is one signal a lot of people don’t know these days—and they should. This mostly applies on four-lane highways, but it can on two-lanes with a shoulder. When a car comes up behind you flashing its hi-beams, it is a signal for you to move to the right-hand lane. In other words, get out of the way because you are going too slow for the left-hand lane. The passing driver also owes you a wave, thanking you for your courtesy.

Speaking of waves

Once you get onto the farm to market and county roads, things often downshift to a decidedly different pace. You know the routine, right. We city folk like driving pedal-to-the-metal—if the speed limit is 60 we’re pushing 69-1/2 miles an hour (if not more). Life in the country, however, rarely strapped with the yoke of need-it-yesterday deadlines. So things happen in seasons, and that means our rural brethren will often do 50 in a 60 with an elbow resting out an open window.

My dad was a country boy. And while on the open highway he could cruise pretty quickly, once on the country roads he instantly defaulted to his more relaxed heritage, whistling a Bing Crosby tune while hanging a cigarette out the vent window. And one thing I picked up from driving with him a lot as a kid was the wave.

The wave is simple while as subtle in complexities not unlike a Japanese bow. It is just what it sounds like—a flick of the wrist hand gesture between drivers as they drive past each other typically on a two-lane road. Two fingers casually raised is a courteous acknowledgment—hello. A full-on raise of the hand is hello to someone you recognize. Combine your wave with a tap on the brakes and you have what equated to a drive-by hug.

Road trips in America are rich experiences if you turn off some of the technology and let them happen. Pick a place near or far, pack up the buggy, and hit the blacktops. And when you do, keep yer ears on good buddy and I’ll catch you on the flipside—ten-4!

Gift of the Immortals

Father’s Day is one of my favorite days of the year. The day is special because it’s about so much more than being a dad, than about getting the quirky gifts the boys may make, or being served coffee in bed and hanging out with the guys watching some Sunday marathon on TV. Certainly, my children—my sons—are at the very heart of it, but not for the reasons you might think.

My father died in late April many years ago, less than two months after my wife and I married. Even then, on that first Father’s Day without Dad around, I figured out that I hadn’t lost him. But now it’s just obvious. 

In the beginning, my brothers and I would all point out “dadisms” in each other. One of us would do or say something in a manner Dad used to. That provided a lot of private jokes and comedy, and it’s also when I got it. Then it was reinforced in spades when my sons were born. Pieces of us continue—even beyond the simple genes. 

For example, my youngest has a hearing loss in one ear. He never met my dad but when he is on the phone, he holds the receiver exactly the way my dad used to—and my dad had a hearing loss. Now as I get older and my hearing muffles a bit, I too find myself holding phone receivers at a slightly off angle to help clear the sound. It makes me smile when I see my son doing it or I catch myself. 

My oldest probably has the most pronounced manifestation of Dad's spirit. When he is mad, he looks just like Dad—his rigid composure, his stern facial expressions, and his stubbornness. When we disagree, his expressions and inflections sometimes remind me of those times Dad and I argued. He also has a similar chuckle and Dad’s ears. 

Then there is my middle boy. He is a bit turned inward as Dad could be sometimes. He thinks about things, and even broods, but doesn’t necessarily share what’s on his mind. One cool thing, he's as easygoing as Dad was.

Men have a tendency to measure themselves by their fathers—wanting to either be like them or wholly different. So finding those traits within yourself or from your children is up to individual opinion on whether they are good or bad. The trick is knowing how to embrace those traits and make them positive, or just laughing at them. Still, one thing is clear, our fathers live on in us—we never really lose them. That’s the father’s gift to his son—and one worth celebrating.