Goin' Out To Cally – Part 20, Riding The Hump

As sun broke on our fourth day, I woke up early. With shampoo, towel and toothbrush in hand, I stepped barefoot over the rocky, grassy ground, still wet from the morning dew. I was prepared to put my acting talents in overdrive as I approached the location of the micro-tent, but was surprised to find they had already pedaled toward their next destination.

I sure hoped they didn’t step in… oh well, that was last night. Time to focus on today. As I showered and dressed I could barely contain my excitement. Today we were going to the Grand Canyon.

My dad always signed up for the first book free Time Life series, canceling before he had to pay for subsequent editions. The beginning of one series on United States landmarks was a book on the Grand Canyon. As a child I would scan the pages, trying to understand just how big this natural wonder was, but the book could scarcely capture the full experience. This is something you have to see to completely understand.

In just a days drive I would be standing at the summit of one of the world’s great sights and turning those pages in my memory into real life experiences.

As the car hummed down the interstate, I was growing tired of not having anywhere to comfortably put my feet. I kicked at the small containers of toiletries on the floor but could not squeeze out enough space to get my feet through and onto the carpet. It reminded me of the long summer drives our family would take when we would go camping.

Being the youngest, I always ended up in the middle of the back seat, with my feet on the hump flanked on either side by my brothers, Paul and Charles. As the car would scurry across the country, the heat from the moving parts below the hump would start to make my feet sweat. The heat would move up my body to my legs, my hands and finally my head. The sweatier I became, the less my brothers wanted me near them.

My brother Charles was especially adverse to anyone “touching him” when we took these long trips. He and Paul were able to cool off from the breeze of an opened window, but I was stuck with only the lingering remnants of cool that were strong enough to blow across my face. In my own passive-aggressive way, I would seek my revenge by slowly pushing out my legs until they would touch my brothers’. After a few minutes, they too would begin to sweat.

Charles was always the first to complain with a loud “Stop touching me!”

I would turn, with a shocked expression and respond innocently. “Oh… I’m sorry.” But a few minutes later, my legs would start to move outward again.

“Will you stop touching me!” he’d yell.

“I’m not!” I’d lie.

“You are too! Mom, make Peter stop touching me!” he’d offer up to the front seat.

After a few more “are toos” and “am nots” invariably my father would respond with “That’s enough! No more talking! I want fifteen minutes of silence!”

“It’s all your fault,” I’d push.

“It is not,” Charles would respond.

My father would snap back with the classic “Don’t make me stop this car!”

And therein would begin the dreaded and now infamous fifteen minutes of silence. When you’re given fifteen minutes of silence you have two options. One, you could sit still and try to remain quiet for the entire fifteen minutes. Or, two, you could use that time where we are commanded to be quiet to irritate your sibling even more, knowing they were unable to complain.

We usually took the latter. In the end, the silence rarely lasted more than six minutes, but, to a parent, six minutes of silence in a car is worth more than gold. To quote the great comedian Bill Cosby, “Parents aren’t interested in justice. They’re interested in silence.”

How true that is.

So, even though I was not commanded to do so, I remained silent about my displeasure with the discomfort in the backseat of the Acura, knowing that everyone else was struggling with the same issue and voicing such displeasure would accomplish nothing.

We were now at the point in the trip where we take any opportunity to stop the car and stretch our legs. As we approached a small Native American jewelry stop, I pleaded for Tim to stop so I could use the bathroom.

It would be one trip to an outhouse that I would never be able to remove out of my mind.

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Goin' Out To Cally - Part 20, (Text, Audio) Riding The Hump
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 19, (Text, Audio) Bob Hope, Lil’ Debbie And Restless Gods
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 18, (Text, Audio) Unlevel Headed
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 17, (Text, Audio) Starry Night, Confusing Night
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 16, (Text, Audio) Three Beds + Four People = Oh Crap
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 15, (Text, Audio) Masculinity At Stake
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 14, (Text, Audio) Texas: Latin For Shoot Me Now
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 13, (Text, Audio) Cars, Crossroads and Cosmic Convergence
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 12, (Text, Audio) Tumbleweed Dreams
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 11, (Text, Audio) Wet, Rinse, Repeat
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 10, (Text, Audio) Divine Misdirection
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 09, (Text, Audio) Getting Nowhere Fast
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 08, (Text, Audio) The Cock Crows Nine
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 07, (Text, Audio) Is Jackass A Sign?
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 06, (Text, Audio) Leftovers
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 05, (Text, Audio) The Kiss Of Friendship
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 04, (Text, Audio) Scholastic Intimacy
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 03, (Text, Audio) Space Invaders
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 02, (Text, Audio) The Fourth Wheel
Goin' Out To Cally - Part 01, (Text, Audio) The Seed Planted