ALONG FOR THE RIDE
Who needs a map when every road leads to gold?
THE DIRECTION REALLY DIDN’T MATTER—THE FUN OF THE ADVENTURE WAS THE MYSTERY OF WHERE WE’D END UP.
My parents often took the whole family on unplanned outings when I was a young girl in Sacramento. On Sundays— my dad’s only day off—my mother packed a delicious lunch with plenty of snacks and dog cookies, and we piled into our 1955 Ford Ranch Wagon with our cocker spaniel Sassy. Even if the weather was warm we brought along our coats because we had no idea where we would end up.
There were plenty of directions to choose from when we headed out on these daylong trips. Whatever way we ended up going away from Sacramento, we were guaranteed to find a historic site. Dad would start driving as my parents discussed what might be of interest ahead. The trusty camera was always at hand.
But often we never did end up at the historic site or town we set out for. That’s because Dad loved to turn, suddenly taking a road that looked interesting. With that, we would be off on a new adventure, off course from the plan my parents had just made. The direction really didn’t matter—the fun of the adventure was the mystery of where we’d end up.
Usually we ventured toward the foothills or mountains that surrounded Sacramento Valley.
There, we found little gold rush towns, old barns and other spots.
At home, we had stacks of photo albums on the living room bookshelf, documenting every trip—long or short—we went on. Friends and relatives who visited were trapped on the sofa next to the bookshelf and treated to a look at the many pictures from our most recent adventure. I didn’t appreciate all those pictures crammed into the albums then, but now I treasure the memories on the faded pictures in the crumpled albums.
My husband and I continue the tradition of Sunday drives, and have had many years of making beautiful memories.
FORD’S RANCH WAGONS were popular for midcentury families. Susan’s parents loaded theirs and took off to explore the historic sites around Sacramento.