In May of 1976 Rusty Hammer had just graduated from Jim Bowie High School, finishing in the half of the class that made the top half possible, and was going off to Texas Baptist in the fall to get a business degree and then come back to work in the family hardware store.

But before that, he had something planned.  He and his best friend Rex were pooling their graduation gifts and resources from part time jobs and putting together the road trip of their dreams.  The whole thing was being justified under the guise of a mission trip sponsored by Students Creating a Better Situation.

In reality, SCABS was completely bogus, just a cover Rusty and Rex dreamed up in order to get permission to be gone for two weeks in August and bring their girlfriends with them.  They were actually heading to a music festival in Bethel, New York they’d seen advertised in The Rolling Stone magazine.  Thelma Goodnight, Rusty’s girlfriend (before she became Sister Thelma) and her cousin Roxy from the Dairy Twin pitched in what they could and had been squirreling away groceries and canned goods for the trip in the 1974 C-750 Camelot Cruiser Motorhome they boys had made arrangements to rent.

Having lied about their ages, their destination, and their intentions, they were well on their way to learning several valuable life lessons, the first one being once you sacrifice your integrity, everything else is easy.

They hadn’t driven a hundred miles out of Fort Stockton before Thelma was pulling the Corning Ware out of the oven with a fresh batch of brownies, the smell of which was stronger than any Rusty’s mom had ever made.  By Arkansas the group was giddy.  Crosby, Stills and Nash were wailing from the 8-track cassette deck and Rex was taking his rudimentary bartending skills to the next level, setting up an impromptu bar atop the Formica dinette.

By the time the Camelot Cruiser hit Kentucky, the sexual tension between Rusty and Thelma could be cut with a knife, though the fourth batch of brownies couldn’t; they were being eaten barehanded from the pan.  Lone Star Longnecks were strewn over the sculpted shag avocado carpet, and one of the vanity sinks had been turned into an ash tray overflowing with Virginia Slim and Marlborough butts.

By West Virginia Thelma didn’t even pull the shower curtain closed, giving Rusty a view that was softer than the velvet of the paisley wallpaper and nearly as decadent.  Walking by to use the intercom, it was more than he could take.  He grabbed her and pulled her into The Knight’s Chamber, still soaking from her shower.

Not fighting his advances, she laid back against the faux-lava rock headboard, grabbing the hanging rod above her with both hands and mouthing the words “I want you” as the Cruiser rumbled down the road, cars honking at the sight of the jolly green giant as it passed them.

As he leaned over and looked into the deep blue pools of her eyes, he felt someone grab his shoulder and shake him.  Softly at first, then almost violently.  “Rusty!  RUSTY!” she shouted.  He looked up and saw his mother standing over him.  “You overslept!  Get up and get ready or you’ll be late for school!  Rex has been banging on the horn out front for five minutes.”

The sheets were tied around his torso in a tight wet knot; the sight of his own room in the morning daylight a distinct disappointment.

This Ford Camelot Cruiser Motorhome is a dream.  Has been for quite some time.