The Last Road Trip
A Father’s Day Tribute to My Dad
I grew up spending time every summer at my grandparents’ cabin in Utah. All of us kids and cousins would pile into the old 70s wood paneled station wagon for the long trek up into the mountains into the fiery red rocks of the remote stretches of Southern Utah.
The drive was quite long and there were always plenty of “he touched me,” “she looked at me funny,” and screaming pleas of “stop it” to drive the folks crazy. This was followed by several hard kicks to each other’s seats, poking and hitting... just enough to make any parent question why the heck they thought a road trip was a good idea in the first place.
View of Strawberry Point from the back yard of the family cabin.
Luckily, my mom was a genius at distracting us with silly sing-alongs including the classic “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall.” What a perfect song for a long car ride since it literally took forever to get anywhere near the end. I think we usually gave up at about “74 bottles of beer on the wall, 74 bottles of beer, you take one down, pass it around, 73 bottles of beer on the wall. 73 bottles of beer on the wall…” Even if you haven’t heard it, I’m sure you get the idea.
Another family classic was the alphabet game where we would all compete to find every letter of the alphabet on passing signs and billboards. The first one to Z wins. It was a game that almost always ended in all of us kids frantically looking for that “Zzyzx Rd” sign so we could scream, “I win!”
As we got older, those games eventually lost their charm and we advanced to completely ignoring each other with our Walkmans and headphones. The only time we weren’t tuning each other out was when we had to flip the cassette over or search for a pencil to fix a tape that got “eaten.” So funny, how we spent so much time winding them back up. I always wondered if my parents hated that we ignored them or secretly loved it. I imagine it was a little of both.
Many hours later we would find ourselves heading up the steep zig zag mountain roads, getting closer, ears popping from the altitude, a pack of Wrigley’s gum circulated around the car. We would arrive weary but excited, my grandma could be seen waving from the kitchen window as we drove up the steep drive and grandpa would ring a giant bell hanging out back and come out banging his giant gong to announce our arrival. I always loved the sight of him coming around the corner letting out a classic family whistle with that giant contagious grin of his that felt like home.
Zion in the distance.
The cabin sat atop a sheer strawberry colored cliff with a panoramic bird’s eye view of Dixie National Forest – just miles and miles of red Navajo sandstone cliffs and hoodoos, a green forest full of pine trees down below, a view that rivaled only our national parks. In fact, you could actually see Zion off in the distance from the front patio.
Although the views were plentiful, the cabin was completely off grid, only accessible by long windy dirt roads, no electricity. A big tank on the side of the house was the only source of water and the only phone was an antique my grandpa jerry-rigged to call from our cabin to his best friend’s down the road, our only neighbor for miles. Even the nearest grocery store visit required a trek down the mountain.
Me and Dad with my Turkish “Sisters” at the Great Wall of China, 2009.
So jump ahead, decades later and several years ago. My father was diagnosed with a very rare, extremely debilitating neurological disease. We knew it was only a matter of time before we would start to see the effects of the disease. He would lose his ability to walk, to speak, to even feed or dress himself. We only had a few more years with him in good health so being the heroic, stoic man he was, he took that news and turned it into something positive. Like the cliché, when life hands you lemons, make lemonade.
He gathered us kids close by as he told us of his condition and announced we were going on a “family vacation.” Now, we were all fully grown with kids of our own. The last time we took a true family vacation together had been many moons ago back when we were still kids. We could not have been more excited and so we did. The first of many big family trips over the next three years. One of the most incredible gifts our father had ever given us - time with him in his last years.
Our first family trip after dad’s diagnosis with all my siblings.
As the disease progressed and his mobility worsened, I started staying the night once a week to spend time with dad and help if needed. I loved those weekly visits even though it usually meant spending hours on the couch next to dad in his man cave watching endless sports – something I am truly not a fan of. I never could understand how the man could stand to watch nothing but sports, game after game after long, boring, drawn out game. He didn’t discriminate either. He loved all sports - basketball, football, hockey and golf. He didn’t care if it was pro, college or a high school team. The man was a fanatic. In fact, his nickname had always been “stats” for his uncanny ability to spit out statistics on ANY player, ANY sport, ANY year. His wife used to joke around calling him “Rainman.”
During one of those weekly visits, we began reminiscing about the years gone by and all our great trips and family memories. I thanked him for taking us on those trips and told him how much they meant to me, spending time together like that as a family again. I even blurted out how much fun it would be to get him back up to the Utah cabin for one last trip.
The cabin was my mom’s family cabin but even after their divorce, my dad continued to make snowmobile trips up there with my maternal grandpa and it always held a special place in his heart. Due to his worsening condition, I was truly shocked when he eagerly, without hesitation, said “yes!” In fact, I kind of looked over at him with a puzzled look, “did you just say yes?” He just smiled, nodded his head and let out a big old “yessss” with that classic dad grin.
Well, it took some logistical planning to figure out how to make it all work but my brother and I made it our mission to get dad up there. We flew to Vegas (and let me tell you maneuvering him around an airport and getting him into the seat on the plane was not an easy feat.) We picked up the rental car and off we went. Now usually, when dad is the passenger on a road trip, it’s only a matter of minutes, before he’s dozing off asleep. Heck, he’s asleep in seconds before the plane even takes off on the runway or the movie trailer ends at the theater. But not this trip, this trip was different.
It was as if he wanted to soak in every single minute of his time with us. He just stared out the window in total awe taking it all in. Never shutting his eyes once. We were shocked but knew perhaps, he realized the end of his days of travel were near.
Upon arrival at the cabin, I could not help but feel nostalgic and a little sad that my grandfather who had just passed away the year before, did not great us with his gong. So, my brother pulled it out and held it for dad as he did us the honor of announcing our arrival home.
The next day, my son, having learned we were taking dad up there, took off work and drove all the way out to the cabin to meet us on a whim – one last adventure with his grandpa was too hard to pass up.
One cloudy afternoon, my son announced he was going hiking up into the red rock cliffs to the tallest point behind the cabin. There has been a long standing tradition in our family, where those who felt like going on a day hike would set out on this same path up to the highest peak with a pair of binoculars. Those left behind would keep an eye out for them with another set of binoculars until they reached the summit and we would all wave at each other.
That day, my son set off and dad stayed behind searching for him in a scope my uncle had left behind. As my son came into view atop the rocky rim, he began waving at his grandpa in the distance. Watching my dad staring through the scope looking for my son then waving excitedly (a task not easy for him to do at that point) when he finally set eyes on him from afar still brings tears to my eyes.
Dad searching for his grandson in the distance.
And this was not even the highlight of our time together. For you see, dad wanted to adventure to all the nearby sites. We were all truly overcome with emotion by his unexpected enthusiasm. One day we picnicked in Bryce Canyon and the next, we drove to see the Virgin River and sandstone cliff walls of Zion National Park.
I will never forget when we arrived at Zion, the ranger asked dad if he wanted to buy a lifetime pass to which he eagerly announced “yes” even though we all knew this would undoubtedly be dad’s last trip to our nation’s incredible national parks absent some miracle. I had to admire him for his optimism as I held back a tear.
Later that day, driving back from Zion, dad so untrue to form, was wide eyed awake again looking out the window not wanting to miss a single second of anything and the strangest thing happened.
We just kept seeing deer after deer after deer alongside the road. Every few minutes, dad would announce “deer” as he spotted another one off in the distance.
I have never before and never since seen so many deer in such a short period of time along that route, a drive we had taken a hundred times. It was absolutely magical and surreal. They were everywhere.
When I got back home after our trip, I remember looking up the spiritual meaning of deer wondering if there was some otherworldly reason for how many we had seen. A habit I picked up back in college when I see animals in strange places or behaving uncharacteristically. I just smiled when I read that deer are a symbol of gentleness, awareness of surroundings, unconditional love, and mindfulness. How incredible for this one last family road trip together with my incredible father.
Well, I am so sorry to say dad died in January. This will be our first Father’s Day without him. I took my granddaughter for a visit to his gravesite with my brother’s family and left flowers. Tonight, we plan on toasting to the legacy he left behind, and will no doubt reminisce about this magical last road trip we had together. Thank you dad for everything. You are so missed this Father’s Day.
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