In late August 1983, Lyle, my husband, drove himself most of the way from Kaycee WY to the V.A. Hospital in Sheridan WY, I drove the last bit. He was so sick he barely made it up the steps of the hospital. After two weeks in the hospital, in mid-September Lyle, passed away, ending a four year battle with cancer. When I drove to Minnesota for his burial, my youngest daughter, Jessica and her baby, Gary, were with me. After the funeral, they were going to Pennsylvania and I was going to Arizona, by myself.
No one knew how much I was dreading that trip. I just didn’t say anything about it, because there was no other choice. Besides, I couldn’t yell for one of the kids to come running every time I wanted to do something. I had already decided that I wasn’t going to sit and look at four walls, feeling sorry for myself.
Lyle loved to drive, so on a long trip, by the time he was tired and ready to let me drive, I was also tired. After about fifty miles, I was falling asleep; thus one of my fears about the coming trip; would I fall asleep driving or could I overcome my sleepiness. I did stay alert; with the aid of lots of snacks. Perhaps relying on myself helped. I had done lots of small town and big city driving, just not long distances.
To add to the frustration, on Saturday morning before I was to leave on Monday, a recurring problem with my shoulder and back flared up. I knew I’d be in trouble if I didn’t get help before I left. In the phone book I found an osteopath that was open on Saturday; called and got an appointment. The office was in a big old house; I rang the doorbell and waited. I could hear shuffling feet coming closer. A stoop shouldered, white haired, old man opened the door and ushered me in. I followed him as he shuffled back down the hall, wondering what kind of mess I’d gotten into.
The Dr. examined my back, then put me on two different manipulation tables, both of which really felt good . The final thing felt like he was walking on my back. Regardless of the old man’s demeanor, it was the best treatment I’ve ever had. I didn’t have that problem again for at least a year.
I left son, Chuck and his wife, Liz, in Zumbrota, Minnesota on a late October, Monday morning, going across southern Minnesota and South Dakota to finish the first lap of my journey in Kaycee, WY on Tuesday.
Monday night I stayed in Wall, SD, where I visited the famous Wall Drug Store, had a drink of the ice water that kept them going during the Great Depression, ate a meal and bought some post cards.
On Tuesday, I took the scenic route around Rapid City. I had lots of time, as my son, Norm and his wife Peg, wouldn’t be home until about 4:00 P.M. There were beautiful huge pine trees along the road with lots of big pine cones; so I stopped to pick up a few. While I was enjoying myself and wondering how many I should salvage, I could hear Lyle say: “Why the heck are you picking up those cones?” My answer, which I thought silently, was: “Because I can, I want to and there’s plenty of room to haul them.” I’m sure it was a bit of rebellion, because the two of us would never have stopped to pick up pine cones.
I got back on U.S. 90, heading west. A few miles into WY I stopped at a no services rest area to stretch my legs and have a drink. As I was sipping my soda and walking back toward the pickup, I noticed something dripping from the pickup. I opened the hood and saw a spray of liquid from the top radiator hose. I looked at it for a bit, wondering what to do, I didn’t even have any chewing gum with me that could be used for repairs.
Knowing there was a tool box in the back of the pickup, because Lyle never traveled without one, I took out the step stool, which I needed to climb into the back of the pickup, climbed up and opened the toolbox. The only thing that could possibly work was a roll of electrical tape. Would it stick to the wet surface or not? I had to try. I tightly wrapped the hose with many layers of the electrical tape, then stood looking at it for a few minutes to see what might happen. It wasn’t leaking, so I drove on until I came to another no services rest area, where I stopped and looked to see if it was still dry. It was, so I drove on.
However, instead of taking an isolated shortcut out of Gillette, I stayed on U.S.90, where I was more apt to get help, if needed. In Buffalo, I turned south on I-25; arriving in Kaycee with no more problems. My nerves had really been on edge wondering if the tape would continue to hold and if I needed help, would anyone stop.
When I called Chuck and Liz to let them know I had arrived safely, I told Liz how I had fixed the hose, she said: “How did you know what to do? I’d have stood there and yelled for help.” I said: “There was no one around and it IS the land where the deer and the antelope play.”
Norm replaced the hoses before I started the last leg of my journey. Going toward Colorado Springs, I stopped for gas, expecting a self- serve station. A young man came out and helped me. I was scared to death; because of shenanigans, both experienced and heard about , that have been done by gas station attendants. Was he just doing his job or was he going to slash a hose? I was told: “Maybe he was just trying to help an older lady.” I was only 56!! I guess there are some good people in the world. Ready or not, I left Linda’s, my daughter, on an early November morning after hearing the dire weather forecast of a violent winter storm moving in. I was hoping to avoid that, because I hadn’t contended with snow for many years. I was very lucky to be ahead of that storm because it did dump about two feet of snow Monday night.
I got home to Arizona with no more mishaps or scares, ready to start my new life as a middle aged widow. Looking back, that trip wasn’t nearly as bad as thinking about it had been. After that initial trip by myself, I made several trips across country alone. If I hadn’t been forced into that first solitary trip, I know I would never have driven across country.