Going To The Translator With Dad (Part 2 of 6)

We went in an old vehicle we affectionately called the Jeep. Those were fun times for me and I’m sure for my dad. We had a chance to talk one-on-one and get to know each other better. The trip down to Levan, like all the trips to translator locations, was the usual drive along the freeway, with my dad pointing out landmarks, trains, and animals. We would usually stop for lunch at a road side drive in. They often had names like “Frostee Freez” or something cold-sounding like that.

In Levan, we would drive along a dirt road until we reached the first gate. Then Dad would get out of the Jeep and open the barb wire gate. After driving through, he would get out again and go back and shut the gate, making sure he locked it, if it had a lock, or replaced the barb wire strap that held the gate closed. (When I was bigger, it was my job to do this. But for now, he had to do it.) There were always several gates to drive through since the road cut through several people’s property.
During one of those times while Dad was outside the Jeep putting the gate back in place he would lock the hubs of the front wheels. When he got back in the truck, he pushed on one of the three gear shift levers real hard until it clanked into place to engage the four-wheel-drive.
After that, the road got steeper and rougher. One time as we were going through a very uneven part of the road, the Jeep was bouncing us all over. I could barely stay in my seat. I still had my malt from the Frostee Freez down below. We went over a big bump and the entire contents of the paper cup flew out and onto the inside of the windshield. Malt was running down the windshield and puddling up on the dashboard. It was a sticky mess, but we just laughed. Dad tried to get some napkins to clean it up, but it was useless. He just kind of wiped off the windshield so he could see to drive and then went on.