During our sophomore year, we began kicking around the idea of visiting every Budweiser brewery in the country. This travel “theme” would take us to some interesting cities and we’d get to enjoy lots of free samples. Merrimack, New Hampshire would obviously be low-hanging fruit. But getting to places like St. Louis, Columbus, Williamsburg, Jacksonville, Los Angeles and Tampa, would require some pluck.

But before those discussions got very serious, our lives would get in the way of those dreams. By the end of our sophomore year, we had independently come to the conclusion that it was time to leave Ithaca College.

I transferred to Boston University. John transferred to the University of Connecticut.

For reasons I’ll explore later in another long-winded story, that first year in Boston was one of the best and one of the worst chapters of my life. I had been forced to withdraw from school halfway through the second semester for “health reasons.” My life suddenly seemed rudderless.

By the grace of God, Patricia stood by me while finishing up her senior year. And John offered me the road to redemption: A once-in-a-lifetime journey across America.

As I said, I’m not sure when or how, but we finally decided to do it. And looking back, it was exactly what I needed to get my life on the right path.

Very exciting! But spending the summer on the road would require some money. And my folks weren’t currently in a generous mood as far as I was concerned. I didn’t even bother to ask.

So, I began working the midnight to 8AM shift stocking shelves at the Star Market near Fenway Park, a few blocks from my apartment on Park Drive. The night shift paid double minimum wage: $5.30 an hour. Big bucks back then. After a few months, I had squirreled away a tidy sum.

We jettisoned the brewery idea early and focused on iconic national parks and landmarks. We probably spent as much time planning as we did traveling. After all, it was 1978. There were no cell phones. No internet. No texting. No email. No websites to browse. No Google Maps. If we had the technology we have today, we could probably do in a week what took us months to accomplish back then.

We did our research independently. I don’t recall us ever getting together to compare notes or toss out ideas, except maybe during late night calls after we’d each had a few beers and/or bowls. To this day, neither of us is sure how we pulled it off.

We did have books and campground guides. A Rand McNally road atlas I swiped from my folks. And each of us also had access to very well-equipped college libraries. I assume we also relied on the U.S. Postal Service. Snail mail.

By the time we would finally pull out of my parents’ driveway in Lewiston, our trip would be as tightly choreographed as a Bob Fosse production. More or less.

There was some room built in for improvisation. And we relied heavily on fair skies and good fortune. But we definitely knew where we were going and how we’d get there. We carved out a southerly route on the early westward leg, hoping to escape the late summer heat. We traveled the cooler, northernmost states in late July, on the way back east.

We were also clearly aware of the close confines and spatial limitations of the Toyota. While we were the best of friends, we weren’t gay, and we weren’t stupid. So, while we embraced the great outdoors, we worked hard to find alternatives, when possible, to sleeping-in-the-back-of-the-truck “camping” experiences. The bed of the truck offered slightly less space than a double mattress. Even the closest of friendships can be torn asunder by living in such close confines. (See: Gabby Petito and Brian Laundrie)

Thanks to the kindness of strategically located friends and family, almost half of the trip would be spent sleeping in separate beds and/or sofas. We had little shame when it came to imposing upon the kindness of others. We also budgeted for a few motel stays along the way, if only for the chance to take a hot shower.

As for our parents? I’m sure they thought we were nuts and were prepared for the worst.

Frankly, my folks were thrilled that I would not be spending summer vacation in Lewiston. They saw me more as a potential liability than an asset at that point of their lives as my dad was ascending to the pinnacle of his career as CEO of Carborundum Company.

I hung around Boston to attend Pat’s graduation ceremony on May 20th, then helped her move into a house she would be sharing with several roommates for the summer, until I returned. Once she was settled, I moved out of my apartment on Park Drive and drove to my folk’s house. Then spent a few days organizing my gear for the trip.

Meanwhile, John had headed home from Storrs, packed up the truck, said his goodbyes in New Canaan and headed west to pick me up in Lewiston.