Dad Takes the Wheel at the Bridges

As a youngster, the one trip I remember was with Dad and Bernie to Minnesota to visit Dad’s brothers. Bernie had just learned to drive and was hesitant to drive over bridges. Bernie would stop and Dad would drive over the bridge. Bridges were all pretty narrow in those days. Bernie was eleven and a half and I was ten years old. (See 1947 picture from that trip at right.) Our best family vacation was a three-week trip out West in our new 1975 station wagon with Sue, Steve, and Brian. We went all through the Black Hills, over to Yellowstone Park, down through Jackson Hole, Wyoming, through the Grand Teton Mountains, a stop in Salt Lake City, over through Reno, and then on to San Francisco. We spent several days with Bernie, who happens to be a great tour guide. Then onto Los Angeles, Universal Studios, and visited friends in San Bernardino. Back through Arizona, the Grand Canyon, a stop in Albuquerque, up to Pike’s Peak in Colorado, and back home. Five thousand miles and we all still liked each other. Amazing!