It was a week before Christmas; I was 10, so it was 1971. We'd been living in Denver for a few months, but it was time to leave. Mom rented a U-Haul truck and, with her boyfriend, packed our stuff into it for the trip across the Rockies and west down the Columbia Gorge to Portland.
My sister and I rode in the back, on a mattress with some blankets and a bottle of water and all the boxes.
We stopped in La Grande, where my grandparents fed us and gave us beds for a night.
I remember being cold and scared in the back of the truck, and begging Mom to let us ride in the cab with them to no avail.