Since posting about Claire Cameron’s article, “Top Ten Books for a Road Trip Across Canada”, my thoughts have turned to not only books I have read about road trips, but also to road trips I could likely write a book about. 

If I were to go on a road trip of any real length or consequence on my own, it would have to be in an old white Volkswagon Beetle with a black convertible roof.  My dad used to have a grey VW bug that my brother and I named “Bullet”.  My grandmother, used to have a white one that she scooted around town in when she moved off the farm. 

A boyfriend I once had drove a beautiful white VW Beetle with a black convertible roof.  I met him and his car when I was on a six-month term serving as a reserve administration clerk at Canadian Forces Base Lahr in Germany during the late ‘80’s. I still remember the feeling of tooling down the road with the roof down, the wind in my hair, passing through the beautiful scenery of the Black Forest.  The relationship didn’t last.  But, I sure loved that car…

That’s why when I spotted Volkswagon Blues on my library shelves I added it to the pile of books I took home to read over the summer.  Written by Jacques Puolin and translated masterfully from French by Sheila Fischman, the book is a breezy, historically fact-filled tale of a road trip through the eyes of fictional Quebec novelist Jack Waterman.  Setting off from Gaspé, he takes to the road in search of his missing brother.  Along the way, he meets and ultimately comes to depend on a leggy female hitchhiker nicknamed La Grande Sauterelle, or, the big grasshopper, and her cat, Chop Suey. 

Interwoven into the details of the journey are references to Jack Kerouac’s famous road trip book, On the Road. Readers are also taken back in time as they discover, along with Jack and the grasshopper, more about the wagon trail tales of early settlers as they took their own road trips along the Oregon Trail. Volkswagon Blues was a very fun read for me, likely because the real main character of the book (at least from my Volkswagon-obsessed perspective) was a Volkswagon Bus – - probably a better road trip choice than a VW Beetle.   A strong secondary character was the road itself.
 

Next on my “road trip books to read list” is Kerouac’s On the Road and a new book by the aforementioned Claire Cameron called The Line Painter.  To promote the book, Cameron has been on the road herself, creatively launching it at a series of truck stops.  She writes about her experiences in an entertaining article in the National Post.  In her own words, 

“The story is about a woman who takes off on a road trip across Canada. Her car breaks down outside of Hearst on Highway 11. The line painter who is repainting the lines on the highway that night, stops to help. It’s the story of their relationship. I wanted to counter the myth about road trips and life on the road, that if you drive far enough away you can outrun your problems. It’s not the case for the characters in my novel, nor did it seem to be for most of the truckers I met.”

Some of my most pleasant memories have been of road trips, even if the original reason for the trip wasn’t pleasant at all. The December after my grandfather died, my grandmother offered up her car and gas money in exchange for my dad driving her, my mom, and, my brother and I to Florida for Chrismas. It was our version of National Lampoon’s Vacation (without my grandmother ending up on the roof) complete with two kids arguing in the back seat and skinny Santas sitting on lawn chairs on the green grass along the highway. And, it was a good road trip, despite the fact it was the first and hopefully last time we didn’t have a white Christmas.  In the end, without my grandfather, who would have cheerfully taken his turn at driving, it seemed almost fitting that our Christmas wasn’t white.

Cameron is right, leaving everything behind and getting out on the road doesn’t solve all or perhaps any of your problems.  But, that road tip, like the many road trips that followed was the beginning of a new journey in our lives.

The year my mom died and the dog died and we had nothing happy to keep us here, we took our son on his first road trip.  It would be the first time he would see the ocean and the Rocky Mountains – heady stuff for a Prairie kid whose only previous exposure to a mountain was a bump in the landscape near Roseisle, Manitoba optimistically named Holiday Mountain. During that trip, we veered off the Trans Canada Highway to the Yellowhead Route complete with stops to see the giant easter egg in Vegreville and the giant mall in West Edmonton. When it was all over, we made a promise to some day finish the eastern leg of our cross-Canada adventure.  This will of course include stops in Sudbury to see the giant nickel (giant things being a big part of cross-Canada adventures after all), Ottawa to see the fireworks, Quebec to eat real poutine, St. Louisburg to see the fort, Newfoundland to sample some screech (age dependant of course), and, Prince Edward Island to eat lobster.  Of course, like our first family road trip, this one will include tunes from Stompin’ Tom, the ultimate Canadian road tripper, playing on the cassette player in the background.

If we haven’t made the trip before our son graduates from university, his graduation present might just be a bus ticket so he can take the journey on his own. Or, maybe he’ll have his own dream car by then and it will be a simple matter of gas money. 

The year I graduated from college with my journalism diploma was the same year my brother graduated from high school. My mother, a seasoned road tripper in her own right from the days my dad was an air force pilot and we had to move every three years, had the idea that the perfect graduation gift for both of us would be a road trip.  My dad likely thought we were too young to drive ourselves. So, we were sent to Vancouver to experience Expo 86 with a bus tour of seniors.  We were much faster walkers than the rest of our bus mates, so the tour guide usually just gave us a place and time to meet.  So, with little to no supervision, my up until then fairly sheltered brother and I had the time of our lives.  Memories of playing bingo on the bus (okay, maybe not quite so exciting), are intermingled with memories of the historic, picturesque, and sometimes just quirky tourist stops along the way.  We will both likely never forget our introduction to the seedier side of downtown Vancouver and the characters who lived there juxtaposed beside the city’s much-acclaimed version of the ultimate world fair.

Here in Manitoba over 20 years later, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a road trip. My husband and I like to joke that whoever lives the longest gets to buy his or her dream car when the other is gone.  Somewhat morbid I know, but, how better to overcome our loss than a road trip in a Volkwagon Beetle convertible for me or in a ’67 Mustang for him? Either way, even if they’ve taken our drivers licenses away by then, our son is sure to get a good road trip out of it.  And, while at least one of us won’t be with him in body, we’ll be there in spirit.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 21st, 2007 at 5:55 pm and is filed under Reading. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.