Driving Through the U.S.A.

See the U.S.A. in your Chevrolet (or in whatever kind of car, truck, or van you are driving). We have the amazing Interstate Highway System on which you can aim for the vanishing point in the setting sun, and a spider’s web of two-lane blacktop roads to cruise your way down life’s path. All you need is a Rand McNally Road Atlas, a week’s change of clothes, a cooler for the drinks and sandwiches, and enough money for gas. Just check out cool-sounding destinations on the internet, and follow the brown signs for parks and historical sites.

In 1970, Brenda and I drove a VW van from Florida all the way west to California. After camping in the desert near Death Valley, we went to the zoo in San Diego, drove around Beverly Hills, through Laurel Canyon, and along Mulholland Drive. Then we veered back to the East a bit and went to Sequoia National Park to see the giant trees, then through the Mohave Desert to Las Vegas, and then cruised back to Los Angeles to go to Disneyland. Then we drove up the Pacific Coast Highway all the way from Malibu Beach, through Big Sur, to San Francisco. After riding the cable cars, we headed all the way up to Seattle.

Then we headed back east across Montana and the western Rocky Mountains to the Grand Tetons of Wyoming and down to Denver, back across the corn belt states to Chicago, and then through to New York City. I remember I took Brenda to meet my grandmother in her fifth- floor walk-up apartment in the Bronx in a colorful neighborhood that had become almost completely Puerto Rican. Grandma was the only person in the neighborhood who didn’t speak Spanish. She was ninety and still walking up and down five flights every day to go to the market. We went to Philharmonic Hall to hear a Mozart concert. We drove over to New Jersey and I showed Brenda the town in which I grew up. We headed north from there. I remember us lying on the grass in Boston Common. We drove by Niagara Falls, and on to Toronto, Montreal, and the city of Quebec before turning back south and heading back home, driving along the crest of the Appalachian Mountains along the Blue Ridge Highway.

The trip lasted about two months. For all we saw and did, we didn’t spend that much money. Of course, in those days gasoline cost about forty cents for a gallon. At about $2.50, a gallon it would be a bit pricey to drive so many miles in one long vacation. In addition, though we splurged on motels a few times, most of the time we slept in a bed build into the back of the van. We parked at night in highway rest areas, and the parking lots of open-all- night Wal-Marts and grocery stores, as well as bus and train station parking lots. With today’s security cameras and patrolling security guards, it might be difficult to do that. In cities, we sometimes slept in parking garages because they were cheaper than hotels. We kept a low profile, kept our eyes open, and were cautious about keeping the doors locked. We were never hassled once. The highway rest areas in some states had signs that read “No Overnight Camping”. I just figured that if a cop tapped on our window, I would say we had only been there about an hour and I had felt too sleepy to drive any further. It never happened. I’m not sure that would be true today.