THE DAYS BEFORE SEAT BELTS

 According to Wikipedia seat belts in cars were not required until 1968.   So how did we survive without them before that?    It must have been luck and/or an act of God.    I do remember my mom making us lock the car doors as some of us kids would fool around and there was the fear of a car door coming open, especially when my dad was known for driving over the speed limit at times.   For extra excitement there was a cigarette lighter in the back seat ash tray that my younger brother would pull out at times and threaten to put it into somebody's finger.  This would upset my dad as he threaten to pull over in some unsafe area for disciplinary purposes.   Both my parents smoked and their smoking habit increased under the stress of driving with six kids in the back of the car under chaotic situations.    There were few times the brakes were applied suddenly and some of the smaller kids almost landed in the front seat.  

 Back in the 1950's and early 60's there were no freeways, just two lane highways and if I remember correctly with a speed limit of 65 mph.   Trucks were a big obstacle for getting any where in a hurry on major highways.   Highway 99 going north and south in the Sacramento Valley of northern California was known as blood alley, due to many head on collision from cars trying to pass trucks or vehicles going below the speed limit.  My dad was always in a hurry and usually exceeding the speed limit by 10 mph or more.   When he came up on a truck or slower moving vehicles he would pull out into the other lane to see if there was any on coming traffic, if he did not see any he put the gas pedal to the floor and off we went, some times passing two vehicles at once.   There were a few times an on coming car was coming toward us faster then he thought and he pulled back into our lane as some of us older kids looked on in horror fearing the end was near.   The only time I remember my dad getting pulled over for speeding was on a trip to Alberta, Canada for a family reunion.   A Royal Canadian Mounted Police patrolman pulled him over crossing the Canadian Rockies between British Columbia and Alberta.   I never remember him getting pulled over by a California Highway Patrolman because I think they were too busy tending accidents.  When I received my drivers license at the age of 16 in 1962 I had my fair share of near misses and a few I don't care to share or write about.  

Today we buckle up before moving the vehicle and with much more traffic these days getting back home in one piece feels like a miracle sometimes.     

DRIVING WITH NO DESTINATION

The lights from houses along the freeway were mingled through the trees in rural southern Oregon.   It made me wonder what these people did for a living and what kind of community existed out there in the dark of the night.   It couldn't be as remote and isolated as Orleans.  Driving north on Interstate 5 at night by ones self can be a lonely feeling with no destination.   It was 1971, when I started working for the Forest Service at Orleans in northwest California along the Klamath River.   Orleans was a remote community with very little for a single man to do on weekends, except go fishing during the day and visit one of the three taverns for a beer or two during the evenings before calling it a day and retiring to the little shanty I rented for $70/month.  

On one Friday after work I decided to get away from another exciting weekend, so I drove east on California state highway 96 to Interstate 5 and north into Oregon with no destination in mind.   By the time I got north of Grants Pass it turned dark with no idea where I was going to spend the night after four hours of driving.   I was driving through a valley before going over one final mountain pass into Canyonville where I notice the lights of houses off in the woods.   Where I spent that night I do not remember.   Somewhere north of Canyonville I drove to the coast, maybe highway 42 to make my way back to Orleans by way of highway 101.   Saturday night I camped out in the Redwood National Park somewhere south of Crescent City.   By Sunday I turned off highway 101 at the small town of Orick and drove over the Bald Hills Road to the Klamath River and back to Orleans.  This road went through part of the Redwood National Park and was paved.   After leaving the park it was a single lane dirt road with very little traffic, if any.  

This was about a 600 mile trip in my old 1963 Ford pickup.   Over the years after this trip I ended up working for the Forest Service in Greenville, California from 1977 to 1979, then at Gold Beach from 1979 to 1988 and then at Cottage Grove from 1988 to 1995.   Now, after 54 years since this trip I feel fortunate to remember some of it and have learned that the best destination is always the trip back home.