a color story: lavender fields part one

We got the memo last minute. A surprise road trip to Prince Edward County for two days and a night appeared in the itinerary. How lucky? Sister’s initial visit couldn’t make the last night at her bougie breakfast and bed. It would be silly not to take the opportunity- the drive was only two hours.

There was a fine line between a spontaneous road trip and a “let’s drive” road trip — one had a nice destination and the other was dragged along. Why does a lost cost of opportunity have a stronger link with money rather than the journey being the overall prize? Does the journey only give when it's not in the spotlight? Do our expectations hinder its importance? Or does the journey need a distraction like a destination for it to undermine the whole experience?

As veteran travelers, we packed lightly — less baggage, more freedom. We still brought our black screens via smartphones and laptops. We couldn’t completely disconnect from the virtual world. We didn’t have a tour guide. We didn’t use a paper map. We were at the complete mercy of Google. This was our way. Oh… And I completely took the sister’s word-of-mouth recommendations for granted. It was a reflex to flex travel destinations on the family’s Kakao group, while it felt like a chore.

Hands-on-the-wheel. Sunglasses were polished with an extra emphasis on the polish from the passenger. I even chuckled when the excessive shade polish didn’t result in getting rid of the smudges. Hands-on-the-wheel. Windows down, music up, suns out, protective $10 Amazon sunglasses on. Little later on, we forgot one of the basics. Sunscreen. Both the driver and passenger got a little too excited about the trip. Tokugawa mentioned, “After the victory, tighten your helmet. Never let your guard down even if you think you have won”. We lost our Veteran’s road trip badge. This mistake wasn’t too costly. I would even argue that the sunburn was refreshing or even linked to other vacation memories.

With a certain destination in mind, the familiar roads turned a bit unfamiliar. In what fashion? It didn’t drag, observations weren’t scanning for checkpoints, and the time was of no concern. The ornamental grasses from the swamps swayed left and right. The prairie grasses swayed left and right. And we nodded our heads up and down. I didn’t recall if the head nods were to the beat of the radio music but the spontaneous nature of this road trip had that kind of magic. The country roads were immersed to highway 401.

We entered “going to Montreal” territory. Driving this east on the 401 highway historically inclined to the lands of Quebec. Everything in between was a service stop, a university visit, or unexplored territory. Oh, that reminded me. I didn’t have the urge to go to the washroom. But after the incident with the strong UV lights on our skin, it would be a good call to find a stop for the restrooms. Two rookie mistakes in one day were too much to bear. Hands-on-the-wheel.

Port Hope Service stop? No. Only rookie drivers would make that stop. 30 minutes out of the GTA for a pause in the road trip signaled a weak driver — a stronger driver would always say to hold on for the next stop. Even the addition of a Popeye’s at the Port Hope Service Centre wasn’t appealing enough for a stop. I was too rooted in the silly idea. This was ingrained in us after a decade of road trips driving East on the 401. It was like an unwritten road trip rule.

30 minutes later. Trenton Service Centre. Yes, we earned it. None of us needed the washroom. But, I insisted. The other passengers wondered why? I wondered too. Maybe for the sake of nostalgia. Of course, the parking lot was a full house. The families out of the minivans knew the routine. Go in and Go out. Don’t bother grabbing food because we already packed it. I only assumed, of course.

After the doors, the pool of people turned right. The hallway before entering the signaled signs was heavy. I wanted to turn around but at the same time, I didn’t want to mess up the group walking inertia — if you get want I mean. The abrupt turnaround would just ruin the pedestrian traffic flow. In a way, as one entered the doors, you agreed to stick to the unwritten rules of committing to the washroom.

The smells of these public washrooms were heavy and sour. Just walking through it made time react a bit slower. But, there was familiarity or even camaraderie with other road-trippers as we ventured into this “tradition” — sharing the community pain of the rewarding trip to the Trenton Service stop. I chuckled after walking out. The thought of a smelly public bathroom as a highlight in a spontaneous road trip was very messed up. Hands-on-the-wheel. We left, primed for the Prince Edward County’s lavender fields.