The Bounce — Part III: Interstate 80

By Cliff Potts
Bay Bay City, Leyte, Philippines — October 1, 2026

This is a serialized installment from the autobiography of Cliff Potts.

Two Cars East

When school ended in Wheatland, we formed a two-car caravan.

Russell and Shirley’s station wagon led. Ours followed. Interstate 80 carried us east across Nevada and beyond.

The road felt cleaner and more direct than the southern routes we had taken before. It was the straightest line available.

Rest Stops

Rest areas along I-80 in 1967 were minimal — gravel lots, picnic tables, and a single outhouse set apart from everything else.

In summer heat, those structures were difficult to endure. You entered quickly and left faster.

We stopped at nearly every one.

Stretching. Breathing. Resetting.

Russell and Shirley packed proper food — sandwiches, fruit, cold cuts stored on ice. We ate three meals a day. No one went hungry.

I do not remember where we slept. That detail has disappeared. What remains is the rhythm: highway hum, hot gravel, the metallic smell of roadside fixtures, and the steady movement east.

Illness

My mother was convinced she was dying.

She was not dramatic about it. She believed it. She wanted us in Chicago if she did not survive.

At the time, none of us knew otherwise.

The Split

In Nebraska, the caravan divided.

Russell and Shirley turned south toward Missouri and Joplin.

We continued straight toward Chicago.

The landscape flattened. The sky widened.

The bounce continued.