The car was blue and boxy. It was a Mercury. The back seat was roomy enough so that when hard-sided suitcases were placed on the floor back there, they extended the flat space for one adult and two tiny kids to easily recline atop a fluffy cloud of blankets and pillows.

It was way before seatbelts or air conditioning.

We'd leave Laramie at nightfall, to beat the heat in Nebraska, and I suspect now, to avoid paying for a motel room. Back then, I just thought it was exotic.

I was way too grown-up to be with the little kids in the back-seat, even though I was only 7 or 8 when these adventures started.

Peggy Jane the Mom and the "kids" would start out in the back, and I got to be in the front seat with Fritz the Dad. It was marvelous.

We'd head east, stopping frequently for coffee to go at all-night truck stops. I'd get coffee that was mostly cream, and he'd get coffee with a little bit of cream. We'd press on, eastbound.

The highlight was getting big city radio on the AM dial, first Omaha, then Chicago. Elvis, local crime news, and weather, with the humidity and the temperature forecast being equally oppressive.

In the morning, we'd stop and Peggy Jane the Mom would carefully freshen each of us and change our clothes. Sometimes, we'd get pancakes - I want to think Ogallala, but maybe that's too soon.

Then Fritz the Dad would sleep for a couple of hours and Peggy Jane the Mom would drive.

As we neared Chicago, I'd always think we were "almost there," when in reality we had 300 miles left.

If there was a smidge of daylight, I'd be reading. Later, I'd spend hours primping, ready for the Motown experience.

I specifically remember one episode many years later. By now we were traveling in the Ford pickup with a camper painted exactly to match, which I seriously thought was the most redneck thing possibly imaginable.

I remember trying to wash my hair in the miniature camper sink, so that I would look perfect while driving through the big cities. As if anyone would even glance.

And then, just around dinner time, usually about 21 hours after leaving Laramie, we'd arrive at Nana's - the parents exhausted, the kids wired complete and total.

Nana would often be waiting on the front porch, worrying every mile we were on the road. If it was late enough, Bapa would already be home from work and showered.

Sometimes, we'd beat him, and then we'd wait with eager anticipation for his red Ford pipefitters' truck to back into the driveway.

Nana had the first fridge I'd ever seen with a pullout bottom freezer, and of course we were always welcome to the Eskimo pies and other ice cream treats she kept in stock.

And there was Vernors to drink, which was (and is) fabulous.

Once I stayed at Nana and Bapa's by myself, and they drove me back to Laramie. Then we went completely in style, in their boat of a seafoam green Buick Electra with power seats and windows. You could have had a dance in the back-seat. And we ate in restaurants, not hamburger stands. And we stayed in a motel.

I've always loved to go, and I've always hated to come back.

I was born to go.

Community News editor Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at (307) 266-0520 or sallyann.shurmur@trib.com. Read Sal's blog at tribtown.trib.com/Sal/blog