I’ve never been to Idaho. Or have I? In 1963, when I was 6 years old, our family took the now infamous Route 66 vacation. We drove west from Oklahoma City (it’s mighty pretty). We saw Amarillo and Gallop, New Mexico – Flagstaff, Arizona…well, you know the rest.
It was an awesome trip. We saw the Grand Canyon, drove across the Hoover Dam and down the Vegas strip. And we drove on some highway where there wasn’t a speed limit. The suitcases were strapped to the top of the station wagon, and they flew off onto the highway. We made it down to the San Diego Zoo and Marine Land of the Pacific. We spent a day at Disneyland, where we rode the Matterhorn and joined the Mickey Mouse club. Mom left her purse on the teacup ride. Way to go, mom!
We visited the Hollywood Wax Museum and Muscle Beach. Then we drove north, and crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. I have no memories of San Francisco. We probably ate Rice-a-Roni. If not, we should have. One of my clearest memories is this cool coke machine that was outside our motel room. Kids have weird memories.
But what does all this have to do with Idaho? Well, we drove north out of California to visit dad’s brother, Uncle Ken in Eugene, Oregon, and then passed through Salt Lake City on the way back, and saw the Tabernacle. Looking at a map I’m guessing we drove through a part of Idaho.
So why am I writing about Idaho? Because I have friends in Idaho that are some of the most precious people I have ever known, and they read my blog. Don and Lois, I love you guys!
They say you know you’re from Idaho when you know why people would pay money to watch pig wrestling. I’m definitely not from Idaho.