Also published as "The New Iowan," The Chronicle, 1/7/2010
Long before dawn on the Tuesday prior to Christmas, my husband and I left home for Eppley Airfield. Narrowly missing the beginning of what was said to be a severe ice storm, our plane headed west as the sun rose. After a short layover in Denver, we found ourselves landing in sunny Southern California. While our friends and our home in Iowa were hit with a blustery Christmas, we spent time with family in the 60 to 70 degree sunshine.
We had happily purchased one-way tickets to OrangeCounty, as flying is a general nuisance and road trips provide for much more freedom. As airport security tightened over our stay, we were thankful that our return trip would be in a motor home I had inherited from my grandmother 10 years ago. The 1977 Tioga needed a lot of work, so my husband spent much of our trip searching the junkyard and making repairs while I cleaned the burnt orange upholstery and avocado green carpet of thirty years of grime.
When it was time to head back to Iowa, the Tioga was an adventure at best and a jalopy at worst. My friend Claire assured me we would have fun, and I agreed. Over-packed with the contents of my uncle’s garage, the RV bounced on worn shocks to the tune of an engine that was too loud to converse over. I wasn’t sure we’d make it 1,900 miles, but I had my mechanic on board.
I remembered the torture that is Southern California traffic when we lurched onto the freeway and came to a halt within 3 minutes. Opting for the toll roads instead, we headed out of California with a maximum speed of 45 MPH when going uphill. It wasn’t long before we were winding through Arizona and stopping to sleep in Winslow. The old clunker pushed onward through New Mexico where we started to encounter a little snow. My husband drove on and we finally slept for a few hours in Wichita. Kansas was our first inkling of the snowstorm we had missed.
That old Tioga showed signs of wear such as water mixing with the oil. With the back end packed full it was a wonder the front wheels stayed on the road. It was exciting to see the Nebraska sign as we crossed the border – almost home! Omaha looked amazing with lighted trees, snow-covered buildings, and everyone driving in icy slow-motion.
With a minor hang up of digging my truck out of the airport parking lot and having to jump start it from the weakening RV, I was finally nearing home. The drive north from Denison looked foreign. There was so much snow that I hardly recognized where I was. At last I reached my road; the snow mounds looked as tall as a house and my dining room lights welcomed me in. I missed the white Christmas, but I am so happy I was able to enjoy an Iowan New Year with lots of great people!
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