KTDontheGO: Mom, The Bus and Three Kids

MY CHILDHOOD VACATIONS were usually spent in a bright orange Volkswagen Bus, motoring to and fro across the greater Pacific Northwest. Before the age of seatbelt laws, childhood obesity, and attachment parenting, my siblings and I were bundled in the rear quarters of The Bus, lounging on an old sleeping bag, swilling Tiki Punch soda and trading punches for comic books. Our choice of seating arrangement was critical in avoiding the long parental arm and the inevitable “Do you want me to pull this car over!?” speech. It was great. Really.

Firm believers in exposing their children to the natural world, my father, a forester, and my mother, a farm girl-turned-stewardess-turned-housewife (I can say that with confidence in the terminology of the era) drove my brother and sister and I across, over, and through every inch of Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, and probably Canada, although none of us kids were ever really sure of our exact location due to the fact that whomever sat in the front seat had to be Navigator, and nobody wanted that job because it meant a quiz on the Latin names of trees or the current market price of export logs to Japan. Five hours of that and anybody would be willing to sit in the back bench seat next to a whimpering little sister.

My mother was the glue who held her brood securely together on family camping trips and sojourns to her parents’ ranch outside of Missoula, Montana. Mom was the second oldest of six kids and knew a thing or two about road tripping with siblings, even if there were only three of us. I’m convinced it was she who persuaded my father to purchase said Volkswagen bus; it provided single seating and an engine so loud the driver and front seat passenger couldn’t hear a thing over the roar of that four speed, air-cooled German engineering. Smart lady. She also knew how to negotiate with her children and husband when it came to “side trips” taken on a moment’s whim by Dad The Designated Driver. Ignoring the howls of protest behind her, Mom put on boots, wiped noses, packed snacks, and somehow got us trudging along a remote logging road, er, trail, in a protruding-lipped game of Follow the Leader.

Knowing exactly the right moment to declare cease and desist, she’d wait until the most frequent complainer began a chorus about tired legs, a thirsty throat, and questions of sanity to calmly tell Dad “We’ve gone far enough, Jim.” If that didn’t work, she’d resort to the Urgent Whisper as whining reached an arching crescendo. “JIIIMMMM, this is Far.Enough.” Worked every time.  So did the whining, come to think of it.

On the road, Mom would simply ignore our smack talk, the never-ending Poker game, and my brother’s Judas Priest tape, focusing instead on sights out the window, thankful, I’m sure, for her colorful and well-traveled childhood and young adult years. We’d hear romantic yarns about the Orient, Montana ranch parties, and crazy escapades of her younger brothers that lasted at least until we reached the nearest Denny‘s. 

I try to copy her aura of calm when road tripping across Alaska with my own sons, but somehow it isn’t the same with the advent of portable DVD players and I-Pod Shuffles - everyone individually connected to his or her mode of amusement. Poker doesn’t seem quite right these days, either, and I’m not quite as good at ignoring the protests, advocating instead the “Be quiet because I said so” law.

But road trips with kids are opportunities for our own journeys down memory lane, aren’t they?

Follow Erin Kirkland’s family travel adventures through her website, AKontheGO.com.