We Got Our Kicks on Route 6


At right, the ’62 Ranch Wagon at our East Harbor campsite. That’s my godmother, Aunt Doris, laboring away.

U.S. 6 is the longest highway in the country, stretching from Massachusetts to California. For me, the part of it between Cleveland and Sandusky was the highway to heaven.

That was the route we took every summer for our two-week vacations at East Harbor State Park on Lake Erie’s West Basin. For many of those years we made the trip in Ford Ranch Wagons. Dad had three — all company cars — a ’59, ’62 and ’65.

Those vacations offered a respite from city life. They were relatively inexpensive vacations. Campsite fees and boat rental were cheap. Even the day we spent at Cedar Point was affordable, thanks to promotion sponsored by one of the local bread companies. As I recall, admission was $5 a person on bread days. (It might have been Laub’s bread.)

Everything about our vacations was magical to me — nonstop fishing, pickup baseball games, moments of solitude when I’d slip out in the mornings and explore the woods and waterfront.

Because of those experiences, I resolved to one day live where other people vacation.

Mission accomplished.


This is part of my series Autobiography – My Life in Vehicles.