I think that Uncle Ken was talking about my trip back from Alaska in 1963. I had flown to Alaska the day after my high school graduation and stayed there four months. My job ran out in October and the boss said that he would be happy to hire me for another season next spring, so I planned to go visit my parents back in Chicago for the winter. I had recently paid too much for an old car and I doubted that I could get my money out of it if I sold it, so I blithely decided to drive it back to Chicago, some 5,000 miles, one thousand of it on unpaved road.
I rigged up a sleeping platform with scrap lumber across the top of the seats from the dashboard to the rear window, which took up the whole passenger side of the vehicle. For provisions I bought a case of Dinty Moore beef stew, a loaf of French bread, and a jar of apple butter. I camped out for the first six nights of the trip, cooking the stew in the cans it came in over an open fire and eating it right out of the can with a plastic fork. The stew was surprisingly filling. One can in the evening and a thick slice of bread and apple butter in the morning was all I needed to keep me going all day. I slept all night and drove all day down that lonely mountain road, conversing with other people only when I stopped for gas a couple times a day. I was starting to feel a little funny in the head by the time I broke out onto the plains of Alberta. There I came upon a truck stop where I got a decent meal, a hot shower, and a bunk for the night, after which I felt much better. I never did make it back to Alaska, but I think the experience was part of what made me the man I am today. It appears that Uncle Ken thinks so too.
Speaking of Uncle Ken, maybe he will explain to us what testicles have to do with border security in tomorrow's post.
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