Still on the way to Lovelock

I am five more miles down the road toward Lovelock in this, my figurative crossing of the Nevada desert.

In my many non-figurative crossings, a few stand out (for reasons other than Steve Wood’s bodily functions). One of the most memorable occurred on the day of my grandfather’s funeral. It was the Monday following the October General Conference in 1972. The funeral was dismissed at 12:00 p.m. My father was staying in Salt Lake City for a few days to be with my grandmother. My mother was driving back to the Bay Area in tandem with my other grandparents. At some point in the evening, I was shifted from my mother’s Volkswagen bus into my grandparent’s car. We listed to Monday night football as we crossed the desert. The Raiders were killing the Houston Oilers. If I recall correctly, this is the game where, on the tv side, the tv camera panned to an Oiler fan sitting alone on the third deck. The camera stayed on the guy forever. Finally, the guy flipped the bird at the camera. Don Meredith deadpanned, “That guy must think the Oilers are number one.”

I, riding in the car and listening to the radio, heard none of this. All I remember was that it was dark, and we were listening to the game and talking about the day’s events. My brother Rob was in the car with us. We started talking about the funeral. He said that he thought I had become a bit teary eyed in the funeral. I was all of 13, and very embarrassed that anyone had noticed. My grandmother just smiled, the way adults do when they know a kid’s been trapped. I now don’t care. I bawl like a baby at funerals these days, especially at the funerals of those grandparents in whose car I was riding that day.

I fell asleep in my grandparents’ car after the game ended. I was suddenly woken up. We were at the agricultural checkpoint in California. No one was around. I was told that I needed to hop out and get into my mother’s car. I ran between the two cars, climbing into the front seat of the Volkswagen. I will never forget running on the road at that spot. I felt at once grown up and a little childish.

We arrived home at about 2:00 a.m. When I had hopped into the car at the agricultural station, my mother had asked me to remind her that it was garbage day the next day, and that we needed to get the cans out. When I reminded her, she said that she was too tired to bother. We went into the house, and went to bed.

I have walked 246 miles from my home in Alameda. In 68 miles, I will be in Lovelock.