Coming of Age

When the snow began falling in Granite Falls during Thanksgiving dinner of 1965, I was invited to spend the rest of the weekend with Aunt Dorothy in Bellingham. Cousin Gail, drove the beige 1961 VW Bug into a winter wonderland, Dorothy rode shotgun, and I was crammed into the rear seat with all the luggage. The remarkable traction of the Bug, insured this would be another great expedition.  Five miles later wet snow disabled our wipers; they were frozen in place!  Adapting to the situation at hand, Dorothy stuck her head out the passenger window, and I learned over Gail’s shoulder with my head out driver’s side, to keep us in the middle of the road. Each spotter took turns yelling mandates like, “Keep left! Not that much!  Car ahead! Stay right. Theres a ditch over here!  Here comes another car!  Oops; I meant go left again.” The more we yelled, the greater our delight; fresh snow sticking to eyelashes, windblown wet hair, laughing at the thrill of it all. 

We were out of fuel by the time we arrived in Mount Vernon with thirty miles to go. Every service station closed, the reserve lever under the dash had already been pulled and the emergency fuel expended. (VW added a fuel gauge in 1962)   Stopped by the side of the road to anticipate our next move, I stepped outside and began waving my arms when a state trooper came by, who gifted us with enough gas to continue our journey.  That night, I felt seen in a new way. No longer a kid, I was I was a teenager! I was the guy adults relied on to keep the car on the road in a record-breaking snowstorm. I waved in our rescue! Coming of age in the golden era of road trips promised to be a great adventure!