The "I Wanna Go Home" Trip

The "I wanna go home" trip was not the best trip that we had. I don't remember the year, but John, Jim, Mary Ann, John Dan, and I drove to Colorado. Way up in the back of nowhere, high in the mountains, seeking to be away from all civilization.

We set up camp and the mosquitoes descended on us. Big, black, sluggish mosquitoes like I had experienced in Galveston. The little pests slept at night when it was cold, but everywhere we hiked and explored, those little imps bit us.

The station wagon was a refuge, and Jim retreated there with his guitar and kept singing "The Sloop John B” (the chorus of which repeated the words, “I wanna go home”).

We had seen no one at all until one night we kept hearing loud engine noises arriving. When we waked up the next a.m. there were dozens of motorcyclists camped all around us. They were racing their motors, and racing their motorcycles all around. Such an unearthly noise there in the beauties around us. They had come for racing and camping.

So we all began to feel like Jim , and decided, "I wanna go home" and we did. Jim had not wanted to go on the camping trip, but I thought he was too young to stay home alone.