[This post is best read with one tab open to my map, "The Malad Cruise." ( <-- Click those words.) A hefty portion of this post's content is there, so I recommend not skipping it. All bold black locations are ones I've added. Click on them for commentary/storylets about the different spots.]
With this post I invite you back to my hometown, Malad, Idaho, circa 1980. Then as now, the population was a heifer's hair over 2,000. Some things never change.
I got my daytime driving license a couple of months before my fifteenth birthday, June 1979. At sixteen I received permission to drive at night! Like every other Malad teenager, I putt-putted around The Cruise obsessively, all evening Fridays and Saturdays, doggedly seeking entertainment but rarely finding it. We drove like lowriders--slow, cool, impassive, in no hurry. We gave each other minimal, one- or two-finger waves without moving a hand from the steering wheel. We blasted Rush, Blue Oyster Cult, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin on our stereos, windows down so everyone would know.
The miles we racked up! If we could retroactively translate those hours into, say, learning another language, we could have become UN translators!
We drove in all weathers, all seasons, sober and drunk. We drove drunk a lot; it's a miracle no one I knew even had an accident. The inside of a moving car was the only place any of us could find privacy, between our huge Mormon families, the schoolmarmish atmosphere, and the simple fact that teenagers always crave a privacy that's unavailable. "You just don't understand."
We followed the Nevada-shaped triangle traced on my map. Go to the Malad Drive-In for a Glamor Burger, fries with fish sauce, and a large Iron Port soda. From there drive south on Main past the Dude Ranch Café and Corner Bar on your right, turn right onto Bannock Street, past the police car usually parked in Pig Alley, right on First West and then another quick right onto First North and back to the Drive-In. Clockwise, always; right turns are easier for beginning drivers. Repeat and repeat until parents' curfew.
In 1980, the KWIK Stop abruptly appeared, a "convenience store" ("Oh, they sell convenience?") just a jaunt east of the Chat 'n' Chew, over by the freeway. Unaccustomed as we were to "snappy" spellings like "KWIK," we were of the opinion that while yes in fact, it was quite a nice novelty to now buy snacks and sodas well into the night (open till 10!), or even on Sunday when all other local businesses were closed, still, that name was just dumb as hell. We referred to it as the "Kay Double-You Eye Kay Stop," never "Quick Stop." The Cruise pattern changed to accommodate it: every half hour or so, we'd break off from the triangle, pass the Chat, and see if anyone interesting was in the Kay Double-You Eye Kay.
Two special cruising crews stand out in memory. There was Jim Goddard driving his parents' mile-long Cadillac, Terry Williams sitting shotgun, and me sprawled in the spacious back seat, all gulping Coors Light (which in those days we found delicious, particularly when paired with that gourmet treat Pizza Puffs), the stereo blasting out The Song Remains the Same on 8-track. We'd set our beer in the cupholder to air drum the long "Moby Dick" solo. Best of all was the Doog-Mobile, Doug Williams's family van, miraculously at his disposal every weekend, completely curfew-free. You couldn't set up a Doog-Mobile cruise in advance, because no one ever seemed to be at home to answer the phone; you could only stay vigilant for a DM sighting, then join in. Like the Chrysler in "Love Shack" it "seats about twenty," boasted a much better stereo than you'd expect any family van to have, and collected all the best drinking companions from Malad High. We talked sports, and girls, but mostly we silently contemplated AC/DC tunes and stared out the windows at the lights of Malad, content in our clearly-established, awesome adulthood. We were bad. We were nationwide.
With this post I invite you back to my hometown, Malad, Idaho, circa 1980. Then as now, the population was a heifer's hair over 2,000. Some things never change.
I got my daytime driving license a couple of months before my fifteenth birthday, June 1979. At sixteen I received permission to drive at night! Like every other Malad teenager, I putt-putted around The Cruise obsessively, all evening Fridays and Saturdays, doggedly seeking entertainment but rarely finding it. We drove like lowriders--slow, cool, impassive, in no hurry. We gave each other minimal, one- or two-finger waves without moving a hand from the steering wheel. We blasted Rush, Blue Oyster Cult, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin on our stereos, windows down so everyone would know.
The miles we racked up! If we could retroactively translate those hours into, say, learning another language, we could have become UN translators!
We drove in all weathers, all seasons, sober and drunk. We drove drunk a lot; it's a miracle no one I knew even had an accident. The inside of a moving car was the only place any of us could find privacy, between our huge Mormon families, the schoolmarmish atmosphere, and the simple fact that teenagers always crave a privacy that's unavailable. "You just don't understand."
We followed the Nevada-shaped triangle traced on my map. Go to the Malad Drive-In for a Glamor Burger, fries with fish sauce, and a large Iron Port soda. From there drive south on Main past the Dude Ranch Café and Corner Bar on your right, turn right onto Bannock Street, past the police car usually parked in Pig Alley, right on First West and then another quick right onto First North and back to the Drive-In. Clockwise, always; right turns are easier for beginning drivers. Repeat and repeat until parents' curfew.
In 1980, the KWIK Stop abruptly appeared, a "convenience store" ("Oh, they sell convenience?") just a jaunt east of the Chat 'n' Chew, over by the freeway. Unaccustomed as we were to "snappy" spellings like "KWIK," we were of the opinion that while yes in fact, it was quite a nice novelty to now buy snacks and sodas well into the night (open till 10!), or even on Sunday when all other local businesses were closed, still, that name was just dumb as hell. We referred to it as the "Kay Double-You Eye Kay Stop," never "Quick Stop." The Cruise pattern changed to accommodate it: every half hour or so, we'd break off from the triangle, pass the Chat, and see if anyone interesting was in the Kay Double-You Eye Kay.
Two special cruising crews stand out in memory. There was Jim Goddard driving his parents' mile-long Cadillac, Terry Williams sitting shotgun, and me sprawled in the spacious back seat, all gulping Coors Light (which in those days we found delicious, particularly when paired with that gourmet treat Pizza Puffs), the stereo blasting out The Song Remains the Same on 8-track. We'd set our beer in the cupholder to air drum the long "Moby Dick" solo. Best of all was the Doog-Mobile, Doug Williams's family van, miraculously at his disposal every weekend, completely curfew-free. You couldn't set up a Doog-Mobile cruise in advance, because no one ever seemed to be at home to answer the phone; you could only stay vigilant for a DM sighting, then join in. Like the Chrysler in "Love Shack" it "seats about twenty," boasted a much better stereo than you'd expect any family van to have, and collected all the best drinking companions from Malad High. We talked sports, and girls, but mostly we silently contemplated AC/DC tunes and stared out the windows at the lights of Malad, content in our clearly-established, awesome adulthood. We were bad. We were nationwide.
