The splendid self-driving camper.
When a hitch is optional but swear words are not.
They had been having a splendid time.
Summer was tipping towards fall, the sky a soft blue, laced with wispy clouds that competed with the hazy smoke on the horizon. California and Canada were on fire again, but the open highway stretched before them in inviting silence.
He loosened his grip on the steering wheel of his truck, the tension flowing out of his muscles as the tires slapped in rhythm against the asphalt. Fence posts whizzed by, the rolling South Dakota landscape turning golden as the harvest season crept closer. Reddish brown Herefords and black Angus cattle spotted the landscape, following one another to watering holes ringed in white alkaline mud.
She reached up and tugged at the corner side window of the truck just a bit, angling it more sharply inwards to pull in more of the outside air, directing it to her face. It had been a hot day, and the truck was stifling.
They rode in silence, having given up on getting a steady radio signal. The rushing air filled the car with its own music as each relaxed back into the vinyl seats, thinking about the vacation they’d had, savoring the memory while still looking forward to getting home.
The scenery in Florida and on the drive back had been magnificent, and the truck had held up well as it wound its way through the hills and mountains of their latest adventure. It was the time of year when families were preparing for school, leaving things a bit less crowded for other tourists. Trees were starting to turn to fall colors, yet a few stubborn wildflowers had stuck around. The sun set late enough that they could enjoy the gorgeous purple and orange sunsets as they pulled into the campgrounds along the way. It wasn’t too dark, but the light show was spectacular.
It was the perfect overlap of summer and fall, all the best parts at once.
She had purchased several booklets of full-color printed postcards from the places they’d visited. She preferred the imagery in those cards, the harsh colors overlaying photos that looked like drawings, bound in thick plastic spirals. She patted her purse, sitting next to her on the truck’s bench seat. It was heavier now, thanks to those postcards, but she was excited to show them at the next Ladies’ Aid meeting.
Her husband, on the other hand, was a photo buff.
One whole cupboard in the camper was dedicated to his photographic gear. His top-quality 35 mm camera, complete with a tripod and several lenses, had made it easy for him to shoot eight rolls of film. He was already calculating how long it would take to develop them as slides and invite the Iversons over for supper and a vacation slide show. A smile broke across his face as he thought of some of the great shots he’d managed to grab. He glanced in the rearview mirror and was struck by the open beauty of the buttes they’d passed.
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard, ticking away. His stomach growled, and he realized it had to be getting close to supper. They’d have to pull over and have a quick bite to eat in the camper if they didn’t reach their next campground soon enough. Perhaps they’d delayed too long at the last scenic overlook.
Wait a minute.
There shouldn’t have been any open beauty in that rearview mirror.
His foot mashed down on the brakes, and she slammed into the dashboard, bracing herself at the last minute. The wheels screeched, and the back of the truck wobbled a bit from side to side as it careened to the side of the road. He pulled off the pavement as best he could with what little shoulder there was, tipping dangerously at an angle.
She looked at him with big eyes, one hand on the dashboard while the other rubbed the knee she'd banged on the glove compartment during the sudden stop.
“What in the world?!”
He smacked his open hand against the steering wheel, cursing a bit as he grabbed at the door handle, pulling at it a few times before the door opened up. “Where's the camper?!”