Travels with my Dad

One facet of military dependency is the frequent moves necessitated by operational requirements. During the Cold War, most military families moved every two years or every three at most. And if you were posted into an isolated community, you had to request an extension of your posting if you wanted to be there more than two. Mont Apica was quite isolated, situated as it was in the middle of rural northern Quebec, so postings there were two years and few people asked to extend. That's how we found ourselves in the little Red Comet that Dad bought from Gely Bouchard, on the move to Alsask.

Anyone who has driven across northern Ontario will usually choose a different route the next time. Dad decided we would drive through the States to get past that stretch of nothingness and so there we were, rolling through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan on an early August day in 1968. As the day neared its end, the weather turned inclement; we were tenting (our first foray with the huge green thing) so the parents thought we should look for a campgrounds early rather than risk being caught in the rain. Have you ever driven across the Upper Peninsula of Michigan? There's a whole lot of nothing-but-trees there! So now it was dark, the three of us in the back seat were tired and hungry and the two in the front seat were wondering what they were going to do now.

Oh look... there's a state police car behind us and he's got his lights on... "Excuse me sir. Did you know you're driving with only one headlight? That's against the law in Michigan, sir. Oh, you're looking for a campground? What was wrong with the one a couple miles back? Yeah, umhmmm, there's one about five miles back. How 'bout I show you?" So Dad did a u-turn and we headed back the way we came. Sure enough there was a campground off the highway a piece, not that there were any campers there. Mom and Dad got out of the car and struggled in gale-force winds and teeming rain to erect the Green Monster. After about 10 minutes of incredible effort, they decided to take their chances with Smoky, and threw the tent back in the trunk. We'd spend the night in a motel, out of the elements, and we'd figure out how to pay for it later...

NO VACANCY. NO VACANCY. No motels for miles... by then it was really late, we'd been driving forever and the three in the back seat were sound asleep. Mom was sleeping too (she could sleep in a Leopard tank as it rolled over houses back then, I swear... but I suspect it was all the Gravol she needed just to keep her coffee down) so Dad looked for a place to pull over so he could catch a few winks.

Early the next morning we all woke up to discover that the parking lot Dad had pulled us into was next to a church. And it was Sunday. Everybody was curious about the little red car with the Quebec license plate and the fogged up windows. We looked out the windows to see the townsfolk looking in. I thought Mom would die of embarrassment. But it was just another Curry Caper, destined to be talked about at odd times when the mood to reminisce strikes. Like today!