Ice

Being on the road most of the time, food was a reality that couldn't be ignored even though my dad would’ve liked to make eating more akin to his odd whims and tastes. It was always apparent that eating was a fact that mostly annoyed my dad because the rest of us generally had normal eating habits and tastes. My dad on the other hand preferred food that wasn’t necessarily orthodox, impulsive, but structured around life long routines and habits – for example: mayonnaise needed to be stored in a cupboard at room temperature for more than a few days, and eaten with such delicacies as canned mackerel with a quality slightly above cat food, and accompanied with a dill pickle sold in a plastic bag. Sandwiches bought at a restaurant and taken home as leftovers can last literally for days and eaten in stages for different daily meals. I’m always amazed that dad hasn’t died yet from food poisoning, but the riper the food, the better with him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t opposed to good food as well, as long as it had an occasion or was free. Dad was able to put down hundreds of pounds of gourmet items if it was provided, or if he was feeling generous and wanted to celebrate at an expensive restaurant, the eating of good food go into the extreme and turn into an embarrassing and frustrating production that could take hours and finish only when the management of the restaurant asked us to leave because they have closed an hour ago. But usually, and out on the trip, price was the deciding factor on what to eat.

Out on the road our refusal to bend to my dads eating habits clearly irritated him and was a source of anger when he was feeling antagonistic. Buying food in a local small town market would often result in bad choices, like jars of baby food. I don’t know why dad thought baby food was a good idea, I think he just liked the little jars, but he insisted that we keep a supply in the car. You could have a full meal; meat, vegetable, fruit, all in a convenient single serving container, it was kind of like being an astronaut. We would keep a selection in the ice chests, and along with a cup of freshly mixed up Kool Ade or Tang, we got a square meal without having to chew. I remember especially liking the berry deserts and the beef dinner, they were like little portions of pudding. I realize later that baby food was not the most economical way to eat, but it was easy before the days of modern packaging. Gerbers was the brand of choice, over Beechnut, I felt Gerbers had the best selection and flavor, and dad abandoned his thrifty habits and forked over the few extra cents to buy the premium Gerbers brand. Dad must’ve had some infantile fascination now that I think of it. He always had a baby bottle full of water with him on the trip, a habit he picked up from one of my cousins, who when she was 13 or so, liked to carry a baby bottle and drink from it. A habit that probably lasted not more than a month with her, and was highly discouraged for a 13 year old. But none the less, my dad thought the baby bottle was a great idea. Now, I never actually saw him suck on it like a baby, he claimed that he always had a dry mouth and constantly needed to "hydrate", so he would use the baby bottle like a squirt bottle, squeezing it and sending a stream of water out the nipple into his mouth, over his teeth. He kept the bottle next to him in bed, watching TV in the Motels and next to him in the car. This brilliant innovation alleviated the need to have a cup of water next to him constantly, or having to constantly have an ice cube to suck on out of the chests. I still think he liked having a baby bottle. The bottle served other purposes as well. Filling it with ice water, it became a useful tool to wake us up in the morning, pulling off the covers and squirting us with icy water. I can still remember the whistling sound the bottle made as it was squirting us, dad would sadistically laugh at our discomfort, and it was maddening. Once someone tried to take the baby bottle away to avoid the morning ritual, this only resulted in panic and severe punishment. It was then best thought to endure the morning squirtings.

But the ice chests. They did more than hold our baby food; they were the kitchen of the car. The first year of the trip, we started out light on the in-car supplies. The first ice cooler container was a bag, it looked like a bigger bowling ball bag, red plaid fabric on the outside and lined with white plastic on the inside. We filled it with ice and drinks but soon found out its limitations. One was size, the other was it leaked. I recall halfway through the trip the ice bag wasn’t working so dad went and found two Styrofoam ice chests. The plan was that one would be for drinks and the other for food, and for the next 35 years this was the arrangement. I need to point out that dad still uses these same original ice chests, they are practically dissolving, being held together with various types of tape and are kept waterproof with plastic sacks. Dad claims that the newer ice chests aren’t made as well as these and he refuses to replace them, even though these chests are practically unusable. The other reason is he can’t find the correct dimensions for replacement ice chests, being annoyed at the way modern designed chests taper toward the bottom and use back seat space inefficiently. The beloved ice chests we have miraculously took up exactly one side of the back seat foot space, always right behind the passenger seat. This always meant that the person sitting on that side had to either be small, or uncomfortable. Having the chests there allowed dad to reach over and grab a drink, sometimes even a beer, which was one of those cute, small cans of Olympia.

As the ice chests aged over time and use, the ice began to take on a particular flavor, we knew this because of the constant crunching during hot drives. You could actually taste the history of each ice chest, the food chest being the most distinctive. I actually remember the distinctive taste of dill pickle, the flavor being imparted by those pickle in a bags my dad always got, but never ate all in one time. Half eaten baby foods would also leak into the ice and permeate into the Styrofoam for years, leaving a singular flavor in the ice that never changed and can be recalled from my memory to this day.

Getting the ice for the chests was another daily production that took on irritating proportions, and was carried out with military accuracy. Pretty much every motel we stayed at had an ice machine next to the coke machines, not having an ice machine was reason not to stay at a particular motel. The intention of providing ice for guests was most likely to fill one bucket to use for your soft drinks, and to fill maybe one ice chest. Early on in the trips it was taken for granted that ice was free and there was always plenty for everybody, the ice machines were always pretty much the same, a freezer with a horizontal door that constantly made ice for all the guests, the ice themselves were usually little cubes, but sometimes there were odd shaped ice like tubes, the tube kind was not preferred and melted faster, but probably was more cost effective for the motel. But in any case the free ice was a valued commodity and dad took full advantage of the service at every motel. Although ice was free, it was generally thought to be uncool to fill the chest right at the ice maker, we found this out early when the motel manager laid into my dad one morning after he was caught taking what looked like 30 gallons of ice. So one had to be nonchalant about getting ice for the chests, making multiple trips with the provided motel bucket at various intervals so not to arise suspicion, sending us kids on ice errands was also a good tactic that ensured a good supply, but even then one had to be careful about getting ice, especially if the machine was next to the office (getting ice tended to be a noisy task) or the manager was constantly lurking and milling around the motel grounds. Holiday Inns were the best for getting ice since the managers didn’t really care how much ice you took and there was generally 2 or 3 machines in a motel. But the ice getting was a major important chore and sometimes took a couple of hours to complete. Later on in the trips the managers either got wise to the ice taking, or it started to become expensive, so different methods were used by the different motels to curtail free ice taking for ice chests. The first was obviously stating that ice was for room use only, not for filling ice chests. This only angered my dad and was generally ignored; various excuses were used to justify him taking ice for his chests, and only made the ice-getting tasks more complicated and secretive. The worst though was when you actually had to buy ice; this was deemed unjust and ludicrous by dad and only motivated him to look for creative ways to obtain free ice. Over the years the ice procurement continually got more and more difficult, but continues to be a vital necessity for the daily trips.