Road trips and roller skates

Back in the 1950's people didn't travel much. The vehicles of the day weren't that reliable, tires weren't dependable, and the roads were difficult.

Our maternal grandmother lived in Deer Lodge, 50 miles distant from Helmville, and a trip to visit her was a big event. Once a summer we spent a week or so in town, where our mother could renew childhood friendships and we kids could make them.

Four of the six of us were born in four and a half years time, with two more coming a few years later. Just getting all of us in the car was difficult, and the 90-minute trip to Deer Lodge was a trial for both parents and offspring.

It was 20 miles of gravel to the highway at Drummond, then 30 miles of asphalt to reach Deer Lodge. Our parents and a baby or two sat in the front of the old Jeep station wagon, and we four eldest crammed ourselves into the back.

Both of our parents smoked cigarettes in those days, and that, coupled with the dust from the gravel, put all of us on edge. The squabbles would begin before we were out of sight of Helmville.

The only communication that came from the front seat was, "Now you kids cut that out," to which one of us always responded, "We're tired. How much farther is it?" We were always told that Deer Lodge wasn't far, and we'd be there soon.

It got better on the highway. We had trains to watch for and billboards to read. Our father refused to drive faster than 40 mph, so we had time to see everything.

In Deer Lodge one of the first places we went was the "Dime Store" as we called it, spending hours looking at the treasures available to us if we wanted to spend the money. Our parents gave all of us a few dollars for the week, and I eventually came to the realization that money was important in town, but not so much in Helmville.

One year I had a few extra dollars and bought a pair of the old, clamp-on roller skates. Almost all the neighbor kids had them, and my grandmother had an ancient pair that we shared. But I wanted my own.

They were great – shiny and solid and mine. In a couple days I became pretty good on my skates, and could keep up with the best. But then we finished our days in Deer Lodge and returned to the ranch. I couldn't wait to clamp my new skates on and whiz around the town.

We eased into Helmville, and that's when the disappointment hit me. Save a few yards of concrete leading to peoples' front doors, there were no sidewalks in Helmville.

The one street in town was paved, but the asphalt was coarse, with a lot of loose pebbles. Determined to use my skates, the next day I headed for town. The asphalt street didn't look as good as the Deer Lodge sidewalks, but I remained optimistic, knowing I didn't have a choice.

The street was a killer, with thousands of tiny rocks, just large enough to stop a roller skate and throw me onto my elbows and knees. I tried to make it work until the falls became too painful.

The new community hall had about twenty feet of sidewalk, so I rolled back and forth on that until the boredom overcame the enthusiasm I brought with me.

So, I unclamped the skates and started the half-mile walk home. Still desperate for a modicum of success, I stopped at a short stretch of virtually pebbleless road and made another attempt on the packed clay. More disappointment and disaster. My knees and elbows were bleeding and full of dirt and asphalt.

Then I remembered one recourse that offered some hope. Our barn had a huge hayloft of about 3,000 sq. ft. or more, and I knew it would be ideal.

It looked promising when I climbed into the loft. It had potential, but every six or eight strides I hit a handful of old hay or a warped board and went down on my elbows and knees again, adding splinters to the gravel and asphalt already in the wounds. I was at a point where I couldn't take much more physical abuse no matter the rewards of skating.

We had a small basement in our house, so I headed there. The concrete was smooth, but I was limited to making small circles about 10 feet in diameter. That activity lasted for a half-hour, but boredom set in and I accepted my skating defeat, cursing the rural world that existed only to frustrate far-sighted children who wanted to bring sophistication to country recreation.

I took the skates off, noting that I had ruined the soles of my best town shoes by clamping the skates so tightly, plus my shirt and pants were destroyed. My knees and elbows were ugly, but I knew they'd heal with time.

Only the disappointment remained.