A Yule Trip to Remember: Philly to Boston or Bust: On a Wing and 50 Cents

A long time ago - as in LONG time ago - when I was actually still a kid and not an older guy trying to act like one (middle-aged guys like toys, too) - I took a December vacation trip to see one of my brothers who was living in Philadelphia. We were both in college and thanks to some judicious saving - and work-study - we actually had a few dollars in our pocket.

So, what does any red-blooded American do with a few bucks in his pocket at Christmas time? He spends it and boy, did we spend. I don't even remember the amount, but I think it approached four figures by the time we were done. It also approached a full house in my little Opel Kadett wagon that was to drive it back home. (Actually, I was going to drive it; I have to admit the car was intelligent, but not that intelligent, at least it knew where it lived!)

We spent a great week together goofing around and when it came time to leave, I wasn't especially happy about it. We are only a year apart in age and have always been close, so I didn't want to leave when I knew I had to.

So, using any pretext I could, just to get a few more minutes to hang out with him, I had him help me figure out exactly how we'd layout the booty that we purchased for the family back in Boston and how we'd hide it. Kadetts didn't come with tonneau covers back then (in fact no wagon did) and I had to cross some of the nastier parts of five states to get home in time for Christmas dinner. It also meant that we were loading at 3:30 a.m.

I wanted to be on the road by 4:30 to make sure I missed the New York rush hour but I ran into a little problem that neither my brother or I figured on, a raging blizzard all the way from Philly to Boston. With that my planned steady speed of 65 to 70 up Route 95 was cut to somewhere between a crawl and 50, when I could run. And, when I could run, I was invariably passed by 18-wheelers that tried to eat my little wagon with their wakes. You never know how far off course an 18-wheeler can pull you when one goes whizzing by you at 80-plus - in a blinding snow, mind you - let's just say that I had more than a few interesting trips across multiple lanes than I would have liked.

Somehow, I made the trip up through Jersey on a wing and a broken defroster (they died, of course, why not, it just added to the experience) and then hit the New York portion by about 2 p.m. (no I couldn't miss rush hour because traffic wasn't moving anyway).

Being a kid - and invincible - I decided to drive straight through so I only made one pit stop - it's a good thing I can go for long distances by ignoring nature which still does hurt, but only if you think about it.
By the time, I hit the Connecticut stretch of the trip, I was all for pushing the Kadett down the nearest embankment and getting some sleep because I had been on the road for almost 12 hours (normally a six-hour trip), but I decided against it because the bank wouldn't have liked it and I actually did love the little wagon and its weird stick shift. Well, at least the Connecticut and Rhode Island portions of the trip only took another two hours.

So, after about 14 hours on the road, I finally rolled to a stop in front of the house and the whole family was already eating. In those days, there were no cellphones and I didn't have any change anyway as I was reserving my last 50 cents for emergency gas (in 1967 it was nearly two gallons worth), but I didn't need it. It's a good thing; too, because it was all the money I had left in the world, although I had taken a rather large roll with me when I started out a week before.

My family being my family they sort of looked up from their food, grunted hello, and proceeded to rip the heck out of a turkey or something on the table, along with various other dishes. I'm not saying they were vultures, but I think vultures would at least have used napkins. And, being world champion eaters they wouldn't give up a turn at the bird to help me clean out the car.

So, there I was, snow coming down schlepping gifts into the house while the rest of the family burped its way to bliss. Indeed, by the time I was finished, so was the food and, but at least I managed to hand out all the gifts which they tore into with almost as much zeal as they did my mother's food (now she was some cook and I was amazed they were all still standing, but they were) and, at least they thanked me for the gifts.

My mom did ask if I wanted a little something before it was gone, but I just told her to put a plate in the fridge and I'd eat after a nap (a long road trip in the snow with only one pit stop will do that to you as is writing this story at 11 p.m.).

So, when I finally came to about four hours later with the family still gathered around the table - they might miss something else? I went to get my food and guess what? It was gone, kaput, finished, adios. It seems my uncle and brother wanted just a little more and that little more was my dinner.

I never really will forget that trip. I did have a ball with my brother out of town and my family did prove it was as bonkers as I thought it was. But I'll still never forget my Christmas peanut butter and jelly sandwich at midnight. Oh, and Mom did ask me to do the dishes while I was up? Guess what, I didn't.