Right Wing Nation

Since the summer is drawing to a close, since I posted about our history vacation this summer (list of posts are here, and photos are here), and since Darren posted about his vacation (here and here), I thought I’d describe the Vacation Out West From Hell, which we took, uh, well, let’s just say well over thirty years ago and leave it at that.

The ultimate destination was Salt Lake City, Utah, for a national Exchange Club convention. We did the summer vacation thing every year, of course, but we always vacationed in the south. This was our first and only trip out west, and at a month, it was the longest.

Actually, I may have to cut this up. It was a long vacation, and a long story. I obviously don’t have pictures, but I’ll supply some when relevant from the web someplace. So this is the preamble and first leg of the Vacation Out West From Hell.

The vacation was a cross between Vacation (the Chevy Chase movie) and a horror movie. To understand why, you need to know that my father was subject to obsessions (a trait I fear I partially inherited), and had an explosive temper. He also had a very odd list of priorities for what we absolutely had to see on vacation.

My father had recently fallen prey to the RV obsession and had bought a trailer. It was small and cramped, it stank, it was hot and sticky, and it sucked a whole lot, but my father was obsessed. “People who camp are the nicest people in the world!” he’d enthuse repeatedly. By the way, they aren’t.

So the trailer was one of the things that made the vacation like a horror flick. Particularly fun was crawling underneath the trailer to unhook the sewer line and getting a faceful. Great fun. A wonderful time was had by all.

My three brothers were all younger, young enough that they caught any enthusiasm my father had (my mother and I were more dubious), and since they were young, they never got to unhook the sewer line. That was always my job. I don’t want to obsess on that or anything, but when getting a faceful of chemically-treated sewage predominates your memories of a vacation, that kind of says something, doesn’t it?

We already knew what the damned trailer was like. We’d taken a test run to South Bend. Not only was there plenty of sewage for the face, but the shore of Lake Michigan was literally covered with dead fish. It stank like dead fish. It was disgusting. But my father was obsessed.

“People who camp are the nicest people in the world!”

Uh, no. They aren’t. They actually tend to be major assholes, as we found out (well, “we” meaning everybody but my father, who could not see past his obsession — at least until the Vacation Out West From Hell was over).

The first day wasn’t bad until, just like in Chevy Chase’s Vacation, my father decided to take a “short cut” and we got lost in the scummiest, scariest section of St. Louis (and back then, every inch of St. Louis was nasty, scummy, and dangerous as hell). Considering that we were rural types, this was scarier than it might have been for a more suburban family. My mother was exasperated because we were lost, and she tried to get him back on the interstate. My father started screaming because she was trying to get him back on the interstate, which we finally did.

I mentioned that my father had a bizarre idea of what we absolutely had to see on the trip, did I not? Well, our first sight-seeing extravaganza was the Corn Palace, in Mitchell, South Dakota.

I don’t know if you’ve seen the Corn Palace, but it’s basically a big barn covered with murals — murals of corn kernels. Uhm, okay. We’ve seen it, let’s move along. That was my reaction to it, anyway. Oh but no. Somehow, my father had gotten it into his head that we had to see the Corn Palace by the light of the rising sun at dawn, to really absorb the great artistry (or something like that).

So we went out for bison burgers (I mean, why not?), came back to the trailer and got no sleep, because you couldn’t sleep on those hard lumpy beds that were six inches too short to stretch out on, and were rousted out of bed so we could see the Corn Palace in the Dawn’s Early Light.

You think I’m making this up, don’t you? I’m not. I was permanently scarred by seeing the Corn Palace. Really, I was.

Before leaving Mitchell, we had to see the World’s Largest Pheasant (really). Our next stop was Wall Drug.

My father wanted a jackalope. Of course, he knew better than to mention this before we got to Wall Drug, because my mother would have put a stop to it, so the only reason we got for seeing Wall Drug was because every mile on the highway, there’s an “Only x miles to Wall Drug!” sign.

Wall Drug. Uh, okay, we’ve seen it, looks like a big store full of junk, let’s move along. That was my reaction, anyway. My mother’s too. But then she caught my father trying to buy a jackalope to put on the front of the station wagon, and well, to say that all hell broke loose would be understating it, if you know what I mean. Let’s just say that my father did not get his jackalope, and he was not happy about it.

So we’d been in South Dakota all morning and had seen the Corn Palace by the Dawn’s Early Light, Wall Drug, and many, many, many jackalopes. Plains and bison, too. They were the high point — the plains and bison, I mean, not the jackalopes.

The next big fight between my parents was about seeing the Black Hills and the Badlands (beyond just driving, that is). My mother, who had been out west before, insisted that we stop and see both. My father, who had never been out west, had no interest in seeing either. As always, when my mother dug in her heels, she won the argument. And as always, when she did win, my father was in a foul mood.

It didn’t help that I and my three younger brothers were in the back seat, don’t what brothers always do, particularly when stuck in a hot car. Fight. So my father would take breaks from screaming at my mother to scream at us. You know. “We’re going to have a good time on this vacation, goddamnit!” That kind of thing.

The Black Hills are remarkable, but the Badlands, I’m not sure how to do them justice. Once we’d gotten there, I couldn’t look away. Riveting. Beautiful in an unearthly way. Something that definitely needs to be seen in person.

Mount Rushmore. We waited in line for what seems like hours looking back on it, and finally got to see it. And . . . well, let’s just say that in my opinion, there are many better things to see. If you’ve seen a picture of it, you’ve seen it. Yeah, the nose is six feet tall. Okay. Sure. It’s big. It’s Mount Rushmore. It’s just like the postcards.

We did Wind Cave, but because I don’t do caves, ever, the only thing I experienced was hearing the wind right outside the cave.

That was South Dakota. I’d recommend the Black Hills and the Badlands to anyone. Mount Rushmore? If you’ve got time. The Corn Palace and Wall Drug? Only if you’re really bored.

Here endeth the first part.