California Thanksgiving Trips

Growing up we took several trips to California to attend family reunions for Thanksgiving. The usual routine was for Dad to work all day while Mom got us ready for the trip. Mom would load the green motorohome and when Dad got home from work we would drive all night to California. The gears on the green motorhome had a tendency to grind when Dad shifted. This led to us yelling out hilarious phrases such as "If you can't find 'em, grind 'em" or "Grind me a pound while you are at it, Dad!". The humor of these phrases would usually wear off after a few hours, but that did not stop us from repeating them.

Dad would stay awake all night by eating a gallon can of Spanish peanuts. No Dr. Pepper or Diet Coke--just peanuts. The rest of us would find somewhere to sleep in the motorhome or would pass the time playing cards. Often we would travel in caravans with Foxes, Beuhners or other family so we might have a mix of kids in different vehicles.

The green motorhome was in itself a family icon. It was an old school bus that was converted into a motorhome. It was shaped like a school bus but painted green and white--suggesting several nicknames like "The Green Banana" or "The Worm." It had beds, cabinets and closets in the back, a toilet, shower and fridge area in the middle, and a dining area that converted into beds in the front. There was enough standing room by the drivers seat that a kid could stand next to Dad and talk to him while he drove or just look out the window.

On one trip, we had just packed the motorhome and set out. Dad drove up the street and turned around. As he did, the fridge door (which had not been locked with the locking chain) flew open and sent food flying out with glass breaking and mayo and jam splattering around. Two minutes into the trip and we already had our first mishap.

We would usually time our trip to stop in Las Vegas to take advantage of the all-you-can-eat buffet at the one of the casinos. As we traveled with other relatives, our horde of 20 or so hungry kids and adults descending on the buffets for a $4.99 dinner turned a few heads.

On one trip back at night the motorhome had technical difficulties and would break down frequently. Throughout the night as the kids slept Dad and Charlie Fox would work on the motorhome to get it running again after it quit. Then at about 3 am the fire extinguisher fell over and the pin came out, filling the air in the motorhome with fire retardant. The sleeping kids were hastily evacuated and packed into the other cars in the caravan.

The trips to California were usually to visit Uncle Theron and Aunt Eunice in Escondido (near San Diego). Thanksgiving dinner was held in the gym of their church. This involved lots of relatives--many whom we only saw once a year at family gatherings. At one of these gatherings we counted around 400 people, some of them almost certainly unrelated people who were driving by and saw there was a party. The younger cousins played basketball in the morning while the adults got the dinner ready. Feeding that many people a full Thanksgiving dinner itself was a massive affair. At some point during the trip we would usually make a pilgimage to Disneyland.

One of these trips was colored by our motorhome ramming into a small truck that pulled in front of Dad on the freeway and then hit the brakes. The truck was sandwiched between our motorhome and Beuhner's motorhome. The driver had no license, no registration and spoke no English. The police said they needed the name of everyone in each vehicle and where they were sitting. When they saw all of the kids pile out of the motorhomes, they re-thought their request and told us to drive on.

Good times in California!