Dad peeled through Blythe at a hundred miles an hour, ran a red light,
cut the wrong way up a one-way street, the other cars honking and
pulling over. He made a few more turns, then headed down an alley and
found an empty garage to hide in.
We heard the sound of the siren a couple of blocks away and then it
faded. Dad said that since the gestapo would have their eyes out for the
Green Caboose, we'd have to leave it in the garage and walk home.
The next day he announced that Blythe had become a little too hot and
we were hitting the road again. This time he knew where we were going.
Dad had been doing some research and settled on a town in northern
Nevada called Battle Mountain. There was gold in Battle Mountain, Dad
said, and he intended to go after it with the Prospector. Finally, we were
going to strike it rich.
Mom and Dad rented a great big U-Haul truck. Mom explained that since
only she and Dad could fit in the front of the U-Haul, Lori, Brian,
Maureen, and I were in for a treat: We got to ride in the back. It would
be fun, she said, a real adventure, but there wouldn't be any light, so we
would have to use all our resources to entertain one another. Plus we
were not allowed to talk. Since it was illegal to ride in the back, anyone
who heard us might call the cops. Mom told us the trip would be about
fourteen hours if we took the highway, but we should tack on another
couple of hours because we might make some scenic detours.
We packed up what furniture we had. There wasn't much, mostly parts
for the Prospector and a couple of chairs and Mom's oil paintings and art
supplies. When we were ready to leave, Mom wrapped Maureen in a
lavender blanket and passed her to me, and we kids all climbed into the
back of the U-Haul. Dad closed the doors. It was pitch black and the air
smelled stale and dusty. We were sitting on the ribbed wooden floor, on
frayed, stained blankets used to wrap furniture, feeling for one another
with our hands.