Loading up van can be half the fun of a journey

Lorraine Sommerfeld

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

As we head into the eye of the summer holiday hurricane, thousands will take to the road with springs sagging under the weight of coolers, tents, and truculent teenagers and toddlers. Cargo will be loaded not just to fit, but to be accessible to a parent blindly digging around for diaper wipes, crackers, batteries and pillows. Our van usually ends up resembling a giant Jenga game – but one wrong thing gets moved and everything tumbles. The Poor Sod is a master of assembly, but once it's done, we all must whisper.

Theoretically, our minivan seats seven.

The last time this worked in practice was when the boys were in preschool, because passengers usually like to travel with more than just the clothes on their back. Planning our latest trek to the cottage was going to take some reconfiguring, but I plunged ahead and told both boys they could invite a friend. By the time we'd factored in two cat cages, I knew everyone would be permitted to bring only a toothbrush and three pairs of underwear. Which, of course, is about two pairs too many for teenage boys on holiday.

While I hadn't noticed Christopher, 17, experiencing any struggles with math, he somehow ended up inviting three friends.

"Don't worry, one of the guys will drive," he reassured me. Somehow, this caused more angst in my gut than the thought of six teenagers, three bedrooms, two cats and one bathroom.

I considered the upside to having an additional car coming along. Perhaps I could even take the laundry back up. Maybe I could buy the groceries on this end, rather than praying a grocery store would still be open in Parry Sound when we got there. It would be nice to be able to see out of the back window as we hurtled up Hwy. 400.

In a perfect world, everyone would have a vehicle that would magically morph into what was required at the push of a button. For the week a year you head out on a jolly family camping trip, your two-door runabout would stretch out to accommodate all the necessary gear. For days you commute on your own, it would take up no more space than a scooter.

The fact is most families don't need a massive vehicle unless they're the Partridge Family on their way to a gig.

In a nearly perfect world, your sister or brother or parent with the minivan would, after checking his or her insurance, kindly offer to switch vehicles with you the week you're away. The problem here is that some things must be offered, they can't be requested. Motorcycle helmets, wedding dresses, a sip of your water, a toothbrush – cars go right along in that list.

For the same reason realtors know that home buyers purchase houses with gourmet kitchens – "we're going to have endless dinner parties, even though we never have before!" – people often buy a vehicle imagining all the uses they will have for it. Convertibles that go topless twice a year, a towing package for a boat that doesn't exist, 600 horses of power to sit on the Gardiner.

As I head down the backside of Minivan Mountain, I look forward to smaller vehicles. Maybe I can hitch a ride with my kids.

Lorraine Sommerfeld appears Saturdays in Wheels and Mondays in Living.

www.lorraineonline.ca

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