At some point on the second day of my drive home in 1971, I believe, my AM-FM stopped working. No worries. I had an eight-track tape player in the car and tape cartridges . . . two of them. Even though they were two of my favorite albums — American Beauty by the Grateful Dead and Bridge Over Troubled Water by Simon & Garfunkel — listening to them during 10-12 hours and more driving each day got old fast.
That wasn’t the main factor that encouraged me to get home as soon as possible, but it may have played a part. I can remember at least a few times just screaming as I drove to add some sound besides car engine to the ambience.
I know that two nights after I left Green River, Utah, I stayed in Terre Haute, Ind., just over the state line from Illinois. Those towns are 1,350 miles apart, so I have to assume I stayed somewhere in-between, in Kansas or Missouri. Don’t know where. The only times I stopped during the last three days of my drive were to refuel, eat, make a head call, or stay the night. It was a driving grind.
Leaving Terre Haute, I originally planned to stay next in New York City, crashing at Jack and Pat Roberts’ place. I had not contacted them ahead of time, of course, but communication was just not as easy then as it is now, so dropping in unannounced was, I think, considered less offensive than it would be now.
As I started to get close to NYC, though, I began to consider a straight shot to home. Springfield, Mass, was only 2-3 hours beyond New York. Heck, based on the last several days, that was a short jaunt.
Done deal. Just kept going. I pulled into Springfield late this night 50 years ago. I still remember cruising down Sumner Avenue on that summer night, windows open, noticing some old haunts and some changes. I assume at some point I had notified my folks that I was going to be coming home, but I think I was expected a few days later.
I remember my father being surprised at my arrival, not annoyed just surprised. I expect I caught him just before he left for his 11 pm work shift, otherwise I would have spent the night somewhere else, maybe a friend’s place nearby. But I stayed the night at home.
My mother was not there. She was due to return the next day from a trip to Ireland she had taken with family and friends. I accompanied my father to Logan Airport, where she got the pleasant surprise of both her and her son coming home.
That straight shot from Terre Haute to Springfield was 950 miles, maybe 15 hours of driving. I believe it is still my personal record for distance driving in a day. It was worth it.