Life's a Trip

Written by 
Gladys (Douglas) Criss 
 

During the summer of 1984 Warren and I took a trip back to Missouri in the camper we’d purchased from Dad Criss. Mom Criss was riding with us as far as Kearney, Nebraska to visit family members. She was recuperating from a broken toe and needed to keep her foot elevated much of the time. Our 7-year-old granddaughter, Lisa, was making the trip with us and we’d promised her we’d be seeing Yellowstone before night. It was about 10 a.m. as the camper was moving down Highway 14 heading west.

Already we’d stopped twice for the bathroom, to get something to eat from the icebox, a different coloring book, and a general shifting around of positions each time we stopped. It was a bit crowded for four people in the cab of the camper so we each took turns riding in the back. Mom especially liked riding in the back of the camper so she could spread her leg out and be more comfortable.

Warren was driving, Mom and Lisa were keeping him company in the cab, and I was enjoying the Good Housekeeping magazine at the table in the camper. After completing several articles in the magazine, Warren spoke into the intercom we had installed in the camper for communication, "I’m about to go to sleep up here." Without hesitation, I answered back, "Pull over - I’ll take it anytime." Remembering how we lose much precious time with the changing of drivers, I decided that this time would be different. There was no need for everyone shifting positions, only Warren and I needed to change places. I would drive while Warren could rest "alone" in the camper.

I continued to read until the camper came to a stop. Determined to be one step ahead of everyone, I hopped quickly out the back door of the camper. Without the steps being down, this was no little distance, but I could handle it quite well. As soon as my feet hit the ground, I attempted to slam the door shut; however, to my shock and surprise, the camper pulled out ahead, leaving me standing in the middle of the freeway. A "flag person" at a construction site had ordered the brief stop.

There I stood, feeling very foolish, in the right lane of a wide freeway, yes, one under much construction, watching the camper move ahead of me, unaware of me getting out. As I had slammed the back door, the camper had already begun to pull forward, the door failed to close, and due to the wind swung back, wide open. Besides being shocked at my predicament, I thought of Warren, soon to stop the camper and find the door open and me gone.

The flag person, who had just now waved the camper on, turned to me as if to say, "What in the world are you doing getting out of the camper here?" It was too difficult to explain in a hurry. I pointed ahead and shouted, "Stop the camper!" There were several construction workers nearby, as well as another flag person several hundred yards ahead. There was considerable shouting back and forth; the flag person motioned the green camper on, then walking back to ask what everyone was so excited about. I told my story, receiving various responses from humor to downright stupidity. At the moment, I could hardly disagree with any of their thinking. One man remarked, "Do you think your husband is trying to tell you something?"- Everyone was friendly and tried to make conversation, one even offered a jacket if I were too cool (I was dressed in shorts) and another, a place to sit down. One serious minded man, whom I assumed to be the foreman, asked, "Were you going into Greybull?" I had been reading for the past hour with no thought of the area in which I was passing through, so was rather embarrassed at not knowing the answer. "I only know we’re headed for Yellowstone." There, I had opened my mouth and relieved all doubt as to the intelligence of this woman who had jumped out of the camper in the middle of the freeway. The foreman, trying to be helpful, said, "Come get in my truck and we’ll catch up with the camper." No doubt, he was a totally safe, honest citizen, but I had been too well raised. A decent woman never gets into a truck with a strange man! "Oh, he’ll be right back, just as soon as he stops and realizes I’m not in the camper." I did worry about him finding the door open and thinking I may have fallen out.

I walked to a place where there was a good view of the highway ahead. I was sure Warren would be pulling over to the side of the road just as soon as he found the proper space to stop. He had said he was tired and I’d responded to being ready to take over the driving.

While I was busily engaged in conversation with the young flag person, the foreman had gone ahead (alone) to reach the green truck and camper. Warren was in the town of Greybull when he was stopped by the truck driver, asking if he were aware that "someone" from the camper had gotten out, back at he construction site. Again, that thought came, "What in the world for?"

From my special viewpoint, as I watched for traffic heading east, the minutes seemed like hours. My imagination began playing tricks on me. What if they didn’t stop? What if they decided to gain more time by continuing on? How far down the freeway would they be by lunchtime? Had I acted foolishly in not accepting the foreman'’ invitation to drive toward Greybull in hopes of catching up with them? Would Warren and Mom be upset with me for hopping out of the camper without communicating my intentions to them? I also began to feel some resentment toward Warren for not stopping sooner after indicating his need to transfer drivers.

As I continued to stare ahead at the curve in the freeway, with mixed feelings of fear, embarrassment, and resentment, I saw the camper returning. Though I was probably on the freeway no more than 15 minutes, it seemed like hours - what a nightmare!

12/31/1999