By Dr. David Gross

Part 15: First trip to San Diego

On the way over from San Diego to Phoenix, I remembered the first time I made the journey from Phoenix to San Diego. I was 10 years old, the summer of 1946.

The Second World War was over and my Uncle Sol, my Dad’s younger brother, was being mustered out of the Navy. The trip was made in our 1940 Chevy, before the multi-fabric, multi-color upholstery. The Chevy had new tires, but no air conditioning — in fact, I don’t remember a heater in that car, at least not one that functioned. To beat the summer heat, we started after dark and Dad drove all night, no freeways or interstate highways to travel at 75 miles an hour. I don’t think Dad ever got that car over 50. No radio either, not that there would have been a radio station to connect to anywhere in that desert; well, maybe in Yuma.

My brother and sister and I slept in the back seat, but I can remember waking up and eavesdropping on the soft conversation that took place between Mom and Dad. They were talking to keep awake. Talking about mundane, every-day subjects and their hopes and dreams, mostly concerning us kids. The road frequently dipped down then up through many gullies and washes, no bridges. I was concerned because there were stories about whole families being washed away in their car by a flash flood that originated in the mountains, sending a wall of water gushing through those desert washes.

Old Blue, Charlize and I will make that trip to San Diego again soon, during daylight, on the interstate, at 75, the radio tuned to a station playing jazz, air conditioning if we need it. It will be different — but better? Maybe. What’s the rush?

After his losing his wife of 52 years to cancer, Dr. David Gross has embarked on an extended road trip with his new dog, Charlize, and is writing about his experiences.