The Motel Sign

It was the late 1970’s – early 1980’s from the back seat of my mother’s brown Toyota Corona that similar motel signs were seen. I learned to love seeing those signs in the late starry, moonlit nights as my road-weary, sleepy eyes opened because I felt the car coming to a stop. The brightly illuminated, oh-so retro signs indicated I’d be sleeping in a bed versus a sleeping bag… on hard ground… in a tent. And I got to watch TV! Albeit in a shifty, quintessential, stale-cigarette-smoke-smelling motel room. Cable and remote controls weren’t an option back then and the three channels on the black and white dial television broadcasting Fantasy Island, The Love Boat, Chips and The Dukes of Hazard kept me entertained.

My mom was an elementary school teacher and we, along with my stepfather Joe, traveled the continental United States for many Summers. At the end of school year, we packed our bags, aired out the camping gear, stocked our cooler with ice and all the easy food items we could make from a campground or a rest stop (I mainly remember the Wonder bread, Bologna and Coca-Cola), and we’d hit the road. Our travels took us to almost every state (and I had the state spoon collection to prove it)! We did a lot of road time. Many hours were spent with top-of-our-lungs singing to Sonny & Cher, The Carpenters, Bee Gees, Doobie Brothers, Rod Stewart, and Carly Simon songs. And I played an abundance of “I spy with my little eye” and “slug bug” games and amused myself for hours with one of the first handheld electronic games of Generation X – MERLIN!

There are destinations that stand out in my fading memories more than others. The Redwood Forest and driving right through that huge, iconic Sequoia tree is one. Equally impressive sights to behold were the massive Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox statues. I remember mining for gold, visiting friends in Oregon and Washington shortly after the Mount St. Helen’s eruption and leaving with little vials of ash to add to my shadow box collection of miniature things that had meaning for me. Visiting the Petrified Forest, the Badlands, the Grand Canyon, Mt. Rushmore, the Golden Gate Bridge, and driving up California’s Pacific Coast Highway are all etched in my memories as well. The Arizona desert, ghost towns and Hoover Dam were seen more than once as Mom & Joe always looked forward to a stop in Las Vegas. The Circus Circus Casino seemed to be the favored place… likely because there was an over-the-top kid’s play area where they'd ditch me for a couple of hours for some much needed (I’m sure) adult play time.

The trips home from the west back to the south were proportionately adventurous. Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico was one of the last highlights before that drive across Texas which seemed to take days! I experienced my first Major League baseball game in that never-ending flat state. I saw the Alamo and then the bayous of Mississippi and Louisiana, visited New Orleans and remember thinking how curious it was that Alabama’s dirt was red. And, after thousands of miles and chasing down must see destinations the whole summer through, the road always led us back home to Tennessee.

I don’t remember appreciating the sights and experiences back then. I do appreciate every single one of them now. My childhood is filled with a multitude of exquisite and priceless memories. I am grateful to my mother and to Joe for the culturally immersive travel education and for having adventurous souls. And I am grateful for the recollection of those garish but nostalgic motel signs.