It was the summer of 1975 and we were heading to Lake Wallenpaupack. It was a warm day, and the last place we planned to camp before returning home.
We went around a bend and accelerated up a hill. Ross was in the lead, as usual. I noticed a marquee for a drive-in theater. In large black letters on a white background appeared Carrie, and under it Logan’s Run.
I down shifted, twisted my right hand, and sped up to catch Ross. I pulled up next to him and he looked over at me, his aviator goggles stretching around his black helmet glinted in the late afternoon sun. I made a pointing motion with my hand to the right.
We pulled over to the side of the road, Ross first then me. He dismounted his motorcycle and walked back to my bike, his chaps causing him to walk awkwardly. He sauntered over to me like a cowboy.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a drive-in back there,” I said. “I always wanted to go to a drive-in on my motorcycle.”
Ross’s sideways smirk told me he liked my idea. We quickly found a place to camp, had dinner, filled our wine botas with ripple, and made our way back to the drive-in.
A red station wagon was in front of me in line at the ticket booth. It pulled away, and I moved up to the booth. The attendant was a girl about fifteen chewing bubblegum.
“Two, please,” I said.
“You guys com’n in here with those?” she asked.
“Yes, is that a problem?”
“Jake!” she yelled. “These two guys are here on motorcycles. Is that okay?”
“As long as they pay, yes,” I heard from the back of the booth.
She blew a pink bubble and after it popped, said. “Two bucks.”
I handed her the money and motioned for Ross to go around me. We rumbled along the side of the drive-in across the screen and down an aisle to find a place to park. To our left was a family in a Rambler and to the right was a couple necking in a red Camaro, Z28.
We turned off our bikes and spread our sleeping bags out next to them. I took the metal speaker from the post, placed it between our bikes, and turned up the volume full tilt. A cartoon was playing on the drive-in screen.
“The show starts in 15 minutes,” squawked the silver box. “It's time for a tasty and refreshing snack.”
A bag of popcorn appeared on the screen, juggling the white kernels in a slow circle.
“Ocamb, this is one of your better ideas.” Ross held up his bota and spritzed wine into his open mouth. “When did you think of doing this?
“My family went to the drive-in all the time,” I said. “Ever since I got my first bike, I thought it would be fun.”
Ross held up his bota, I tapped mine against his as a sort of toast. “Let’s get some popcorn,” I said.
We returned to our bikes with two bags of popcorn and sat down on our sleeping bags. I took a long spritz of wine from my bota. We had gotten back just in time for Carrie to start. Girls in a locker room were abusing some young, very awkward-looking waif.
We sat there together on our sleeping bags with our backs against our motorcycles till Logan’s Run ended at midnight. I had a bucket list item crossed off at age nineteen.
When Justin Deming published At The Drive In, It motivated me to publish this scene from my book Motorcycle Stories - Finding forgiveness on the open road. You can read more about my book here and see links to other scenes as well.
Please let me know what you think, did you ever visit a drive-in back when you hung the speakers on your window?
This is awesome, Scott - loved it! What a memory. You really made it come to life for me. I felt like I was right there beside you. And thanks a bunch for giving my story a shout-out!
Ripple in a bota bag! ha ha ha. You didn't need to tell ME the date. This is Classic Ocamb -- always at your best when you are on the back of a motorcycle and looking for trouble. And those dancing hot dogs! What a jolt to my memory. I totally loved this! Nicely edited, too.