“Don’t drink anything else for the rest of this trip,” Mom warned my sister and me, after my Dad complained of making yet another stop for a bathroom break. My sister, Glenda, and I, both in our mid twenties, decided to accompany Mom and Dad on a road trip to Northwestern Alabama. We viewed this as an opportunity to visit our beloved grandparents since both our husbands refused to accompany us, claiming that visiting relatives was not a vacation. Glenda’s two (fortunately) small children, Joe and Melissa, and I were all crammed into the backseat.

It was summer. Summer in southern states reaches 95-100 degrees or higher. The humidity can suck your breath away. This summer was no exception.

We left home in Central Illinois at the crack of dawn. Having made this trip as children, we knew that Dad would often drive with only three bathroom breaks for the entire 12 hour trip. He called it beating the road. Not long in to the trip, we called it misery. When he stopped for gas, all occupants flew to the bathroom and didn’t dally. Glenda, the kids, and I all wore jeans, t-shirts, and tennis shoes as Dad liked to keep the interior of the car cool when driving. Mom wore her typical polyester pants and poly/cotton shirt.

Having just purchased the Cutlass, Dad was eager to try her out. We all enjoyed visiting my southern relatives. It seemed the perfect trip to see if the new vehicle was road worthy. Yeah, perfect.

After a couple of hundred miles, the air conditioner or the vents seemed to be malfunctioning as the back of the car became extremely hot unless the fan remained on high. Even on high, the back seat area remained warm. Several times during the trip Glenda or I requested, “Please turn the air conditioner up; we are roasting.” No room existed for my feet on either side of the floor hump as books, games, pillows, and snacks for the children filled this space. So, I rode with my feet stretched out on the hump. Funny, I kept thinking of the line from “Under the Boardwalk—I wish my tired feet were fireproof,” as the hump seemed to be absorbing heat from underneath the car. Each time we requested “turn the air conditioner up,” Dad complied. Eventually, as the temperature in the front seat became unbearably icy, he would turn the fan back down.