A Christmas Story
By Linda Ibbitson Hurd
In May of 1972 when my brother Dave graduated from high school, he set out to travel across the country on his motorcycle, a Triumph 650 Tiger. He and a friend had planned the trip together. Four days into the trip the friend decided he’d rather go to California and left. Dave continued on, sticking to his itinerary to see the places he had dreamed about.
A few weeks later when he made it to Glacier National Park in Montana, he was feeling lonely. He found an animal shelter in a town called Missoula to see about getting a dog. In a row of cages, the last cage being the death cage, sat a little black dog, a dachshund and Pomeranian mix. Dave took him. He was told to take caution as the dog may jump off the bike. He went into an athletic shop nearby and got a knapsack. He put the dog in it and drove slowly around a field to see if the dog would stay in it. He jumped out twice but then stayed in it. Dave called him Dog. When he got back out on the highway, Dog jumped out and ran across all four lanes. Dave watched helplessly as vehicles veered to miss the dog in the heavy traffic. Dog looked across the highway at Dave as if to say, aren’t you coming and then crossed it again as Dave’s heart sank, thinking he would never make it back but he did. He picked him up, put him in the knapsack and told him he was naming him Lucky.
Dave’s birthday is in August and our mom was hoping he would be home by then. Our youngest sister was born on his birthday when he was three and we always celebrated the two birthdays together. When he didn’t make it home for the birthdays, we were all disappointed; it just wasn’t the same without him and I know it bothered Mom. One day at the end of summer when you could feel Fall in the air, I was helping Mom move some things in her room and a framed picture of my brother fell off her cedar chest onto the floor. There was no reason for it to fall and she was alarmed, feeling like something had happened to Dave. Within the hour the phone rang, and it was him. He said he had a feeling that he should call home, and mom was glad to hear his voice. He told her he was low on money and was working for a Czechoslovakian family on their farm picking fruit so he could make enough money to get home.
September passed into October and after Dave drove through the Painted Desert his bike wasn’t running well and got worse. He pulled into Albuquerque and found a motorcycle shop where the owner told him the main bearing was gone on the bike and he’d have to send away for the part. Dave found lodgings in a basement room of a condemned building where a group of Chicano men lived, and he found work as an assistant cook and dish washer at a local restaurant. The owner of the bike shop kept offering him money for his bike and told Dave the part hand’t come in. It was now November. Our dad wanted to fly Dave home and he refused to leave without the bike. Dad called Spooner’s Bike Shop in Hanover. Mr. Spooner called Triumph and they in turn contacted the owner of the bike shop who had Dave’s bike and put pressure on him to fix it and return it to Dave so he could come home.
When Dave left there, it was December and he wanted to be home for Christmas. A pleasure trip was turning into a survival trip as he drove through a torrential rainstorm in one state, a hurricane in another and then snow twelve inches deep and more. He had to make it with what money he had left, saving it for gas. He drove without stopping and thanks to some insulated coveralls our parents sent him. He and Lucky survived one 30 degree night after he’d been driving well over 24 hours. The ground was too frozen to pitch a tent and he put all his clothes in the knapsack to keep Lucky warm while he held him and slept on the ground.
The week before Christmas we had a blizzard in Massdachusetts, and we were all glued to the news. We hadn’t heard from Dave for two weeks. We knew from the news the weather and temperatures were not in Dave’s favor. All we could do was pray. After the blizzard was over, I went to my parent’s to see if there was any news. All of us were there, both the radio and TV were on so we could hear the news and weather. It was late afternoon, and it was getting dark. Suddenly there was the familiar sound of a motorcycle. We all held our breath; did we dare hope it was him? We all ran to the window to look in the driveway. A bike, but no Dave. Then we heard the kitchen door open and when we got there, in he came with a knapsack on his back and a little black dog peeking out. There was relief, happy tears and lots of hugs, the most beautiful sight to see and the best Christmas gift we could have gotten.