I’ve been boring Somara lately with my reminiscing over 1976. It was a significant time because it was the first time my parents took Brian and me with them on a major vacation. When I mean major, I’m describing a trip in which you get loaded in the car and travel around for at least a week. We had done a long-weekend in St. Louis two years earlier where I discovered my fear of heights at the Arch and Six Flags. This Summer was the holy grail in American/Canadian childhood…DisneyWorld!
There was a slight delay though. We were in the process of moving into our new house located in Champaign. I don’t recall if Dad hired movers or recruited friends. I know we hit the road shortly after everything was unloaded, the TV worked, key furniture was in place (beds, couch, etc.) and the pets were taken care of.
The final days in the duplex couldn’t come quickly enough because the neighbors were bikers: Hell’s Angels wannabes, not the Lance Armstrong Mafia you see pedaling along Parmer Lane’s shoulders. Their tough image got dispelled for me when I overheard one of them puking his brains out. It was more comical than disturbing. His buddy asking him if he was alright and wanted a beer evoked further giggling.
Anyway, it was a cool time to be turning eight. The vacation went on to be very memorable: the Haunted Mansion gave me nightmares for weeks, meeting cousins Julie and Matt and visiting non-Midwestern states (we had only been to Iowa and Missouri). Its downside was how it raised my standards to a rather unrealistic level with future excursions we went on.