Travels With Dad
 Picnic lunch at the cemetery in Midas. |
I am not sure when the idea came to either my Dad or me, to take a trip
reminiscent of the ones we took when I was growing up. I know I was overseas
and aching to see my family. I have always remembered these Nevada trips
with fondness, specifically driving by some old worn-out, dusty locale and
hearing the story of the men and women who adventured there. I don't know if
it was the stories or listening as my Dad wove them together for me. I do
know that all of these trips had three components.
The Nevada part is the most obvious of our trips. Little forgotten towns, being remembered after a half-day of monster snow storms or choking down dust. Walking around these crumbling monuments to Nevada's once wild, still beautiful, greatness has a strong effect on a boy. I remember hearing the deep sadness in my Dad's voice the day he told me that one day he would be the last man to ever see Aurora.
Second and equally important, the bad jokes and long hours spent sweating in a car. Nevada and its stories are always the motivation for our trips, but I always seem to learn more about my Dad and how much I am proud to be his son. He doesn't talk about Golconda; he tells you about the man he knew who owned Water Hole #1 (although sometimes misremembered as Water Hole #3). The important part for me was always finding something I could say or do to make my Dad laugh every single time I did it. Then the trick was to keep doing it days after he stopped thinking it was funny.
Last and most fun: a Breakdown. I don't mean emotional, I mean steam shooting out of radiators, blown out tires, the clutch deciding not to clutch. In the past Dad would use this time to teach me words I had seldom heard before, but I have since learned them. Now we say them together.
Mix those three elements, shake or jar together in a Jeep for a couple days and take some pictures, and you get a strong set of memories. That being said, some stories are remembered differently between members of these trips. Memories of eating a hotdog in Manhattan that the bartender apologized for serving us, travelling all day to see the geographic center of Nevada (Please see picture to guage excitement), and having a couple of F-15s fly low over us as I point out to Dad through his miscommunication, we were extremely close to a naval bombing range. He might remember it differently. This last trip we took is my favorite so far. I have always
appreciated the old Nevada ghost towns, but now I really enjoy watching my Dad at his craft.
 Dad snaps another photo, this one at Belmont. |
This trip stands out for me especially, due to the way it ended. Much like a big 4th of July fireworks display, the grand finale of
this year's trip will be remembered (if differently) forever.
We were leaving Manhattan, just having eaten some grey, wrinkled hotdogs on a dusty old trail. There was a wonderful mix of us enjoying each other and being slightly bothered by such things as the volume of each other's breathing. As we crested a hill and banked around as the trail curved right, a lone wild mustang came into view on our left side.
For about ten minutes the horse ran alongside us, crossed in front of the jeep, all the while looking back to make sure we were still game. We would slow and he would look back as if to ask us if we were already done playing. We kept the jeep rolling along as he crossed back and forth in front and alongside us, enjoying the rare chance to exhibit his youthful exuberance to an appreciative audience.
After a long run, he gracefully glided away from the road and crested a hill long enough to see us pull off the road due to an odd sound we heard. We had blown out the rear passenger tire. After a brief pause to judge the situation, we removed the spare tire and commenced work.
Whoever the saint was that had fastened the lug nuts must have been either a very strong man, or one who delighted in twisting things, because we found any attempt to remove the tire only rounded off the last remaining lug nut. After a pause where my Dad, Chris, Shorty, and I all stared at the tire, then the long road to pavement and back to the tire, we decided to retighten the lugs and travel at stagecoach speed to Mina.
After two hours of jostling, we finally linked up with a friendly tow-truck driver who took us to Hawthorne where we arranged for rescue and choked down a lovely meal of chicken-fried steak. We returned home with a once in a lifetime memory, and a wonderful story. I wouldn't trade those days for anything in the world.
Now back in North Carolina, I get a little bit claustrophobic with the thick trees along-side the roads and miss the wide open mountainsides at sunset Nevada offers anyone who cares to witness daily.
 Oh, and after the cruise through the sagebrush I also took Katie for a Lake Tahoe cruise aboard the Tahoe Queen and introduced her to McAvoy Layne, the Ghost of Mark Twain. |
With all the fun we had and all the things we saw on our trip, the finest
part for me was being able to tell my Dad in a way that we both understood better than words would have allowed that I love and appreciate him.
Happy Highways,
John Toll