Two-and-a-half weeks into our trip, we were SO tired.  Not only was the physical part of the trip wearying, but the constant input of new sights, sounds, and stories taxed our brains.  There were other troubles, too. A date night turned into, me, washing a mountain of laundry at the Loads of Fun, and Brandon, repairing the RV in the parking lot. Jane, who is virtually blind before she puts in her contacts, almost loaded-up in someone else’s RV, as she felt her way back from the shower, on more than one occasion.  A couple of middle siblings were fighting more than usual, inspiring an older sibling to revolt in an uncharacteristic tirade. The RV was beginning to smell, and there was constant accusation as to which feet were to blame. Suddenly, I did not want to be on a road trip with anyone anymore. “Let’s just go home.” I demanded. “Now.”

“We can’t go home because you rented our house to strangers,” some kid reminded me.

I launched into a long diatribe about all the people in the world who are actually displaced right now. The air in the RV was thick with resentment and other funk. I think Brandon considered ditching us all.

Instead, he drove us to Wall Drug for five-cent coffee and doughnuts. And we kept trucking. “Bad lands,” as the Indians warned.

Everyone perked up when we visited the Minuteman Missile Site. The children got a kick out of hearing us chat excitedly with the park ranger about history we’d actually lived through. Brandon rented the War Games movie, and I made the kids listen to the whole Dream of the Blue Turtles album, not just the “Russians” song. Walking through the underground bunkers, it all seemed like a strange exercise in paranoia, until we read disturbing news updates on Russia and the U.S. in Syria the next morning.

For almost thirty years, the Air Force operated sites like this around fairly uninhabited areas of the West. It took at least two people to input codes and turn keys to arm the missiles. They rotated shifts every three days. If the servicemen in the bunkers could not complete the mission, the Looking Glass aircraft, always flying above the region, could launch the nuclear weapon. The Minuteman II program ended in 1992, but Looking Glass still operates. Though it is not continually flying anymore, the jet can be in the air in five minutes.

There was armed security for the underground launch control rooms, but the silos, themselves, were located miles away and monitored by motion cameras. Servicemen claimed grasshoppers even set the cameras off, and there were constant excursions to check for trouble. One winter, the perpetrators turned out to be camels, escaped from a live Nativity scene in Wall, who were using the tall fences around the missile site as scratching posts.

Our good humor did not last. We were hungry and out of food. Brandon took the two most offensive children into the grocery store for a heart-to-heart and a forage for provisions. He came back with a 4-pack of Robin Williams comedies for the kids and a People magazine for me. As he proudly handed over my prize, he noticed the cover article was entitled “Love the Size You’re In,” but it was too late to grab it back. “That’s not a message!” he assured, “I just thought you’d like the magazine.” Fortunately, I’d enjoyed a mug of wine and a couple of chapters in my book while they shopped, so I was in a friendlier mood.

When even treats and distractions would not cure us, we turned, at last, to the Scriptures. “Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near.” We journeyed on, by the power of the Spirit. It’s how we’d arrived thus far, only we didn’t notice, when we still thought we were Reasonably Nice People.

Happier days before the big meltdown:

College visit in downtown Minneapolis

Lunch at Sioux Falls

Jellystone Parks are the kid-resorts of RV campgrounds.

If we make it home without a cat, it will be a testament to Brandon’s fortitude.

Outsider art at Porter Sculpture Park (a big pasture along I-90)

Mr. Porter knew all about the Cadillac Ranch, but we impressed him with our knowledge of Texas roadside art when we showed him pictures of Ozymandias of the Plains.