We never even considered Ricky's car, an ancient VW Beetle. None of us was sure it would make it to the state line, let alone across the country.
Ricky had a map of the United States with chapter houses marked with red dots, and Marty had gotten from the national headquarters a list of addresses for the chapter houses. Our tentative route had us going through Cleveland and then on to Chicago. From Chicago we wanted to go to St. Louis, but after that we weren't sure. The idea was to go on a northerly route on the way west, and then come back on a southerly swing. Most of the chapter houses were either on the east coast, California, or the south. North and west of St. Louis was a bit limited.
I had a Kodak Instamatic camera with a few spare rolls of film, and before we set out, I got Jack Jones to take a few shots of us in front of the Buick. I got razzed by the other guys, but screw it. They'd thank me someday.
The first stop was Cleveland, and the initial theory had been that we would drive on the US and state roads, not on the highways. We'd get a chance to see the real America, not just concrete. After about five hours on Route 5 going west through every Podunk little town in central New York, we said "Fuck this shit!" There's a reason they built the Interstate system! At the pace we were going, we'd have hit the Pacific just in time to return to school - next year! We got onto the Thruway around Rochester and moved it up to the speed limit. We got to the chapter house at Case Western Reserve about eight in the evening.
I suppose Cleveland is a nice place. Certainly people live there. Still, you really have to wonder about a city where the river has a tendency to catch fire. I mean really, you use water to put out the fire, not to start one! The chapter house was not an auspicious start to the trip. There were two guys living there, and we met one as we pulled in the parking lot and he was leaving. "Hi, can I help you?"
Ricky flashed a smile at the guy. "Hey, how you doing? We're from RPI in Troy, New York. Any chance we can spend the night?" He had on a Kegs shirt so the guy knew we were brothers.
"Yeah, sure. Welcome. Go on in. Wozinski's in there. Let him know. I'm out of here for a few days. Nice to meet you." Then he was in his car and leaving.
We glanced at each other and shrugged our shoulders, and then went inside. There was a single brother holding down the fort, Wozinski, and he was watching television and drinking a beer. That was it. He greeted us and grabbed a few beers and showed us where we could sleep, but that was it. He was the only guy around and not much of a talker. After a bit he left us to our own devices and went to bed. The three of us raided the fridge and had another beer, and decided to keep going the next day.
Northwestern, in Chicago, was a whole different story. If the trip had consisted of houses like the one in Cleveland, we could have turned around and had more fun in Troy. There were almost a dozen guys staying over the summer at the house at Northwestern, and they greeted us warmly! We spent the first night drinking and smoking, and then stayed on for another three days. We ended up swimming in Lake Michigan, which was a bit warmer than the polar bear club routine, but not by much, and hitting some bars and clubs downtown.
I remember comedian Bill Maher commenting when Barack Obama became President, that for the first time in ages we had a President from a place you would actually want to go to. Chicago was pretty cool. I had a headache and Ricky was totally hungover by the time a groaning Marty pulled onto the road towards St. Louis.
We stayed in St. Louis (Washington University) for a couple for nights, and then drove up to Des Moines (Drake University) for another couple of days. Lots of good barbecue and beer, dull as dishwater in some other ways. I mean, I know that's where all our food comes from and that's pretty important, but who the hell wants to live there? There's just miles and miles of miles and miles! We consulted our map and list of colleges and decided to keep going west. It was about 700 miles to Denver. At normal highway speeds we could be there in nine or ten hours, easy. However, earlier that year the national speed limit was dropped to 55, because of the gas crisis. Trust the government to do something dramatic - and wrong! Now it was going to take us at least 13 or 14 hours. This was a massive waste of time and money, and dangerous to boot (you spent longer driving, so you had more chance of getting into an accident.) We left mid-afternoon and arrived in the early morning, after bypassing God only knows how many cow towns and hitting too many truck stops to pee and eat and gas up.
The brothers at the Colorado School of Mines took pity on the weary travelers and put us up. That was pretty good, we had some fun there. It's a small school, about the size of RPI actually, and specializes in engineering. A bunch of Rocky Mountain nerds, in other words! We got along well with them. Lots of Coors beer, which at the time you couldn't get east of the Mississippi. Some guys swear by it, but I'm not that big a beer fan. A couple of the brothers took us up to Pike's Peak with Marty's Buick, and then helped us change the tire when he blew one coming down. We also went into Denver to drink and chase girls at a few of the bars. We stayed there three nights, and weren't all that sober at any given time.
We spent a couple of nights in Boise, completely bypassing Utah, which would have been the halfway point. There were no chapter houses there, and it didn't seem like much of anything else. Big damn place, but hopelessly earnest. No drinking, drugs, fornication, or much of anything else that might be enjoyable. We bypassed it before we could be contaminated by the Mormons. It took us almost an entire day, what with the travel time, stopping for meals and gas, and so on. On the other hand, the brothers at Boise State were a bunch of real yahoos and cowboys. We were bedded down for the night, and the next day we were taken along to a bar with a mechanical bull. More Coors beer, more stupid shit going on. I'm glad we had the Instamatic along, because we ended up with pictures of all of us getting thrown by the mechanical bull. My picture damn near has me upside down, but my face was recognizable.
"Someday I will show these to my kids, just to prove to them their old man was crazy.", I told Ricky.
Marty came limping up, bowlegged. "Yeah? I don't think I'm going to have kids now!"
"If the choice is putting an ice pack on your balls for you, or letting you die, you're going to die, Marty!", I told him.
"This from an asshole mooning over a girl who hasn't even given it up yet! If I want horseshit, I can come here and find a horse!", he retorted.
"I agree! You need to either start drilling that well, or give up the lease!", said Ricky, a geological engineer by major.
"He's just going to ignore us and mail her another post card!", said Marty.
"Fuck you two, and the bull you rode in on!", I replied, without any heat. "I've seen the women you two have been sleeping with. At least I'm working on the proper species." I pointed at Marty's crotch. "You'd have better luck screwing the mechanical bull rather than riding it."
Ricky laughed. "You know how rodeo riders have sex?"
I rolled my eyes, since I knew the answer, but Marty bit on it. "How?"
"After they get on top of their girl, they whisper in her ear that she's just as good as her sister, and then they try to stay on for eight seconds!"
"Shit!"