Bicentennial Summer

“Mary, can you turn on the CB? Channel nineteen, okay? Let’s listen in,” Dad proposed. I reached down and adjusted the little dial on the radio; it crackled to life. We heard the truckers making their usual commentaries and exchanging information. Sometimes it was hard to decipher what they were talking about. It felt kind of awkward listening in on other people’s conversations, especially when they got personal.

“This here’s  Billy the Kid. Come in, Little Lady. Over.”

“Copy that, Billy the Kid. Little Lady hears you. It’s been a long time, Billy. Over,” a woman’s voice oozed over the airwaves.

“Well, ain’t that a sweet sound? How you been, Little Lady? You know, I’ve been having me some beaver fever. Over,” he drawled.

“Is that so? Maybe I’d be able to help you reduce your temperature. Would you like to rendezvous at the Wall? You still have your big eighteen with that nice cozy cab? Over.”

“What’s the Wall?” Jill wondered out loud, looking up from the cat’s cradle string game she and Gerri were playing. “And what’s beaver fever?”

“Is Little Lady a nurse or something?” Gerri inquired.

“I think they must be referring to Wall Drug,” Dad deduced. I noticed Dad wasn’t looking any of us in the eye. “Haven’t you seen the billboards advertising Wall Drug?”

“Pretty hard to miss them,” I acknowledged. “I think there’s one like every mile or so. They’re very colorful. Looks like you can get free cold water and a five-cent coffee there.”

“What does rendezvous at the Wall mean?” Gerri persisted.

“I’m guessing that Billy the Kid and Little Lady are friends who are planning to meet at Wall Drug,” he surmised.

“But what’s beaver fever?” Jill asked again, repeating Gerri’s unanswered question.

“I think it’s supposed to be a clever CB rhyme for a man being lonely,” Dad replied, chuckling. Ew.

Gerri shrugged and then suggested that we play the  ABC game but only use the Wall Drug billboards for our signs. That was going to be some easy pickings. Right away, Jill shouted out, “A is for and; B is for boots, buckles, and belts; C is for Cowboy Up; and D is for Drug.” Four letters from one sign was a good start. We continued our game, arriving at Z surprisingly quickly, even finding Quality for Q and Xtra Special for X, and we played three more times after that.

Listening to the crackle of the CB was our background noise. We heard about the weather (hot!), the traffic (not much), and the police presence (none around) as we zipped along the highway.

After a while, Dad asked, “Would you girls like to talk to the CBers?”

By way of an answer, I picked up the mic and said, “Breaker, breaker, one nine. This is Goldilocks riding shotgun for Blue Pierre. I have a question for you all. We’ve just gone past about a hundred Wall Drug billboard signs. We’re on a big, long road trip around the country and don’t want to miss anything important. How many of you stop at Wall Drug for free cold water or five-cent coffee? Should we stop there?” I’d found that if you asked an open-ended question, you could get a much richer CB response.

“That’s an affirmative, Goldilocks, from Mr. Ted. Every time I’m in these parts, I never miss a quick stop at Wall Drug. I recommend checking out the giant jackalope they have in the back.” He laughed like it was an inside joke. I wondered what a jackalope was. The twins looked equally puzzled, but I was sure Dad would know.

“I copy you, Goldilocks. This is  Tennessee here. I always stop. You might as well give the buffalo burgers a try, and they’re famously regarded for their cherry pie and doughnuts.”

“Roger that, Goldi. This a here’s  Rockin’ Randy. As Tennessee pointed out, buffalo burgers are tasty, and they have great french fries and milkshakes to go with them. Over.”

“Roger Wilco. This is Mr. Ted again. Make sure to take them up on their offer of free cold water. And behind the jackalope in the backyard is a dinosaur excavation. I took my kiddos there, and they loved digging in the dirt and finding fossils.” The trucker’s voice crackled on. “They have a large selection of cowboy boots and  Indian trinkets like jewelry and moccasins and blankets. Bought my kiddos some little booties there last summer. Over.”

“Let’s stop there, girls,” Dad suggested. “What do you say?” I hoped Grandpa Red’s money was burning a hole in his pocket and he wanted to buy us some souvenirs.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” we shrieked, bouncing on our seats.