In 1967 I packed my family into two black automobiles, with no air-conditioning, the larger of the two pulling a U-Haul trailer. When we left Oklahoma City it was spring, the flowers were blooming, the elms were at their greenest. We took one last look at that carefully trimmed front yard and were soon on Interstate 40 which was still being constructed. Two days later we found ourselves by the side of the road. It was summer at its worst.
The brakes on the newly rebuilt Corvair were falling apart. (The car had spent three months in the Automotive class at Northeast High School in OKC.) As I began my self taught lesson in brake reconstruction, the Ford overheated. How is that possible? The engine wasn’t even running. And apparently springtime in the Valley of the Sun was observed at an earlier time than those of us living in The Great Plains.
By sundown I had resolved the Corvair brake mystery and the Ford was cooled off enough to add antifreeze and water from one of the containers brought along for drinking.
We lived in a mobile home the first few days in Phoenix and quickly found a nice roomy apartment near Encanto Park
When I started this story I had a memory I wanted to share. I spent so much time in laying ground that I forgot what it was. Perhaps I’ll remember tomorrow.