Today is my dad’s birthday. He passed away 15 years ago after a valiant fight against cancer – I really can’t believe he’s been gone that long. My dad took me hiking, taught me to ski, and fostered my creativity. My dad inspired adventure.

One of my favorite childhood memories involves a last minute family road trip to Yellowstone National Park. Unfortunately we only have a few photos from that trip, and they are poor quality. Whenever I think about that trip I’m reminded of my dad’s adventurous spirit, one that resides prominently in my own DNA. The Griswold’s have nothing on us.

It’s funny how some memories are so clear. I may not remember what I made for dinner last night, but this family road trip plays in my mind like a movie I’ve seen a hundred times.

My dad ran his own business and money was always tight, so family vacations happened whenever he was in between jobs, and typically involved camping. The ocean was a family favorite destination. Late one August when I was about 10 years old, one of those breaks came up the week before school started. My parents never missed an opportunity, and quickly planned a camping trip to the coast.

The morning of the road trip, my dad loaded up the car and my brothers and I piled in with him, waiting for my mom to lock up the house. While we waited, my dad turned and looked at us and said, “So…where would you REALLY like to go?” Having seen more than our fair share of Wild Kingdom and Yogi Bear, we all yelled in unison, “Jelly Stone!”

My dad reached over to the glove compartment and pulled out a map. “OK, let’s go! Show me how to get there.” We excitedly poured over the map, finding the way to Yellowstone National Park. I can only imagine what my mom thought when she got in the car and heard our plans. Her face revealed confusion, then bewilderment as she asked plenty of practical questions, you know, the little details like where we were going to stay and if we had enough gas money to get there. Those were the days when not every place took credit cards or checks, and you needed cash from the bank – there were no ATMS. Now I’m starting to feel old…

After a trip to the bank, our family road trip was on its way. I remember how the warm summer wind kicked up in the evening as we camped next to the Columbia River one night. Visions of my 6’ 3” dad keeping his head ducked as bats buzzed him on our exploration of the Lewis and Clark Caverns in Montana still makes me laugh, and I recall watching intently for bear as we entered Yellowstone. I was so sure they’d be everywhere, we never saw one. I can still hear the elk bugling as they passed through a meadow near our campsite in the morning; there was a crispness in the air as summer was turning to fall.   We watched for Old Faithful to do it’s thing along side other park visitors, and walked on wooden paths over boiling mud pits and water pools in a range of vivid colors.  I remember that strong smell of sulfur. And we got to drink pop – that was obviously a big deal.

We only have a few pictures of that trip, and looking at our rag tag team that might be a good thing. But I’m grateful for the memories. That trip is one of the things that inspires me to travel more with my family and enjoy the adventure, because photos or not, you’re making memories.  Thanks for the adventure, Dad!