Author: Leibop

When we look at a road map, there is more than one way to reach a destination. Just like everyone’s journey is different. We may find ourselves in a different path than others but that doesn’t mean we are lost or getting nowhere. Each experience is unique. We could just be taking a detour. There is no wrong or right path. Only our own path.

Once upon a time, the idea of driving absolutely terrified me. Growing up, I had so many silly and unfounded fears. Getting behind the wheel was one of  them. Fear is such a bitch.

Until three years ago, this time of the year, when I finally got my driver’s license.

I bought my first car and started from taking short trips by myself to out-of-town group trips, just to conquer my fear. The goal was to keep driving. It was a commitment I made to myself.

Since then, roadtrip has been my absolute favorite form of travel. I love that it gives me greater versatility and freedom on the road. That’s one aspect of it that got me really hooked.

Then one day, on a whim, my friends and I put together this little roadtrip project of touring across Québec and eventually exploring every driveable province in Canada.

Putting our plan into action, I started planning and mapping out all our trips.

By default, I took on the role of trip leader. Half the time, I was the human tripadvisor, google maps, driver, tour guide and photographer, all rolled into one.

I suppose most people want to hit the open road right away and skip the trouble of travel logistics as much as possible. But a trip isn’t going to map itself. I’d like to think I’m one of those rare people who have the mental strength to deal with all the nitty-gritty work. (I’m pretty sure that’s my Type A personality talking.)

We live in a digital world where people can now easily organize trips with the help of travel apps and online tools. While they come in handy and mostly free, I prefer to do the work, the DIY way. I would spend countless hours researching places, checking out driving routes, browsing through instagram travel photos (a great start to collect some inspiration), reading travel blogs, and marking everything down to the last detail. It does not take an expert to pull it off. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

“Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.”

~Murphy’s Law

At the end of the day, no matter how much you prepare for the trip, things don’t always go according to plan.

Here’s a narrative of some of our roadtrips, over the years. They’re proof that life has a funny way of teaching us lessons.

Roadtrip From Hell

It was last summer, probably one of the hottest days on record, I added too many stops to our day trip. Clearly, a careless mistake.

The trip started out as fun and exciting until later in the day when things rapidly went downhill.

On the last leg of our trip, we had already reached epic levels of exhaustion. We could hardly make the climb to the bridge. I felt like I could slip into a coma there and then. My camera died in the middle of the forest trail. One of our friends was having a classic “fuck off, i’m tired” moment, I thought she grew a second head. I had to endure a 2-km painful hike through the woods in my wedge sandals, in the name of fashion. In my defense, the bridge was way closer in the photos (photos don’t tell the whole story so don’t trust everything you see on social media). If it was possible to roll my way back down to the trailhead, I would, in a heartbeat.

After a while, everything returned to some kind of normalcy–me in my flats, camera back to life, our friend was her usual self.

With time to spare, we decided to squeeze in a quick trip to a nearby place, just within a short distance from the town.

After an hour of driving, my danger radar was telling me something was off.

Sometimes instinct is our best guide.

When I checked my phone closely, the GPS signal was lost. We had wasted away an hour driving aimlessly.

We pulled to a halt in the middle of the road, amidst landscape of lush green hills and meadow fields along either side.

The roads were empty. There were no cars, no people in sight to ask for directions. We passed by a barn or two along the way. Big deal. If we weren’t in a panic state, we would have enjoyed a scenic stroll with the cattles.

The sight of the paved road ending ahead, continuing into a seemingly endless, muddy road was the last straw.

Under the circumstances, it made sense to just turn the car around.

There’s a thin line between fun and safety.

As the driver, I had to take everyone’s safety into account.

Shortly after, we drove back to the main road and decided to forego any more side trips.

Our misfortune did not end there. So hold your horses.

Have you ever wondered what it’s like to be a character in Jumanji? That with every turn in the road, a mystery challenge unfolds? That’s exactly how we felt! At least in the movie, they had clues.

After our little cattle safari adventure, getting back to civilization was a welcome relief. But our joy was short-lived as dark clouds began hovering in the sky. Suddenly, a violent thunderstorm broke. Strong winds started to blow along with big, loud drops of rain falling on the windshield and windows, I could hardly see anything. Fun fact: I’m still not comfortable driving in low-light conditions, especially at night. The glare from oncoming headlights made it worse. Thank God for edge-lined roads which helped me stay on course.

In a cruel twist of fate, which seemed to never leave us, the gas gauge neared empty. We had to locate the nearest gas station before the car goes dead and leave us stranded on the side of the road.

By some miracle, we spotted a gas station on the street corner. That town was full of surprises.

It was still raining heavily, so I ran into the store to pay the bill. The clerk offered to pump the gas while we waited inside the car. He walked back inside, without a word. It took me a while to realize that he just left the fuel pump in the tank so I got out immediately. I took the pump nozzle out mindlessly without flipping it off.

To my utter horror, I spilled gas all over my skirt. Gosh. Hadn’t it been a shitty enough day? I was already soaked from the rain. At least the rain washed the gas off my skin.

I had to ditch my skirt for a pair of skimpy shorts I wore underneath. The skirt was safely ensconced in the trunk but the smell still lingered in the air.

The drive back smelled of gasoline, despite keeping all the windows open. Nobody was happy. Getting high was not on our agenda. It was awful, health-wise.

Halfway through the drive, the fumes started to dissipate and we could finally breathe more normally.

After a long, torturous driving experience, we stopped by a roadside burger place. No choking or food poisoning whatsoever happened, in case you’re wondering.

The Road Less Travelled

Our most recent waterfall trip was probably the creepiest route I’ve ever driven.

Backstory: Upon reaching the entrance to the national park (where we originally planned to go), imagine our shock and surprise when we got a strange welcome by the police, instead of the staff. We were denied entry, so technically, we were not welcome.

A week before our trip, a similar situation happened at a nearby park, in the same town. “It was all over the news”, the police officer informed us. How come we missed that? Okay, well, we’d been binge-watching Netflix all week.

Amidst the pandemic, crowds of out-of-towners flocked to the area, which spread panic and fear among the residents.

They were concerned for their safety as social distancing rules weren’t observed. Not only that, some day-trippers held parties and trashed the area pretty badly. This prompted the local authorities to close down the park to dissuade visitors.

For that reason, we had to make last-minute changes to our itinerary and ended up driving another half an hour to the next location. Good thing we had a fallback plan. But we were not prepared for what awaited us.

The GPS led us down an eerily quiet back road through the woods. It was a little more remote than I thought. We were the only car on the road, I guess all the sane ones followed the main route.

We actually enjoyed the peaceful drive, until it became a scene out of the “Wrong Turn” movie, in my head. When you watch too many horror movies, the visions stay with you, with a trigger button on your brain. My imagination was having a field day.

Come to think of it, most terrifying horror stories take place in small towns. Although oftentimes exagerrated, some of them are based on true events–a gruesome cannibal family living in a cabin in the woods hunting down a group of stranded travellers, a big dude with human-skin mask running around with a chainsaw, or a psychopath just randomly messing with people on the road.

Whether those stories have a real basis in fact or not, the possibility of them happening in real life is not too far-fetched at all.

Senses at full alert, we waded through what could be the longest shortcut of our lives, all the while telling myself, “I got a shovel, a screwdriver and a squeegee in the trunk”. A little reassurance goes a long way. I may not have a very particular set of skills, but I have a special set of tools. Haha

Skiing Gone Wrong

There’s nothing quite like driving in the thick of a howling blizzard. It was a trip we had been planning for months. Despite the snowstorm warning the night before, we pushed on, consequences be damned. Besides, it was the perfect snow condition for skiing, or so we thought.

We adjusted our plans to make sure we get there before the weather escalates. However, mountain weather is a different story. It changes fairly quickly and generally differs from conditions in the lowlands, more often on the extreme side. We didn’t see a blizzard approaching until we reached the mountains. It came upon us without warning.

The drive was slow and the road was a bit tricky to navigate due to reduced visibility and heavy accumulation of snow on the ground but we survived.

We never considered signing up for ski lessons because we just wanted to have fun and take photos for our first time.

At least we learned the basics of putting on ski boots and clicking in and out of our ski bindings, with difficulty. We were off to a good start but that was just a drop in the bucket.

Ideally, cross-country skiing is just “shuffle and glide” and is much easier to learn on your own than downhill skiing. It’s actually fun once you get the hang of it.

But for some people (like me, at that time) with the fitness level of a sloth, it was a lot of work. Nobody was prepared for the intense full-body workout in the snow.

Our first few tries were so awkward. We put in so much effort, yet we barely moved an inch. They said that was normal for beginners.

All that work sent us veering off course. We got stuck at the wrong place, at the wrong time. A horse-drawn carriage was coming straight in our direction and my friend chose that moment to fall down. She couldn’t get back up, so one of our friends helped. You probably know where the story’s going. She took her down with her, like the domino effect. Then everyone came to the rescue, pulling the others up as fast as possible. We were blocking the path so the carriage had to stop in front of us. All the passengers and horses included, had a front row seat to our little fiasco. It was so embarrassing and funny. We laughed our lungs out the whole time.

We decided to abandon the flat trails and move on to a more challenging terrain–the bunny slope, or put simply, the nursery slope!

The slope was dominated by novice skiers–to be exact, groups of small kids having ski lessons. Not very uplifting.

The best part was riding the “margic carpet” ski lift that took us to the top of the hill. It was a cooler version of an escalator.

My first run was not too bad. I managed to go a few meters before I landed on my butt. Two of my friends lost control, one crash dived into the safety net fence and one almost ran over a little kid. Poor kid. Having witnessed the terrifying visuals, the other one quit before even trying.

The parents shot us the most hostile looks so we left the area.

The golden rule is to stay in control, one that beginners should tackle first when hitting the slopes. We had to learn it the hard way.

Past the bunny hill were the advanced slopes. We envied the pro skiers gliding effortlessly down the mountain. There was no way we could match their skills, not by a long shot. But we could at least try the chairlift. So, for lack of better judgment, we did, thinking there was a roundtrip option.

We excitedly hopped on the chairlift and got ready for the ultimate ride of our lives.

When we reached the top, the safety bar automatically lifted. We asked the lift operator if we could ride the lift back down. He almost seemed unbothered by our concern, and dismissingly said “No, the only way down is through the slopes.” Just perfect.

Panic set in at the thought of going down the slopes, the blues (intermediate level), for that matter.

Hesitantly, we got off the lift and started moving towards the edge. It nearly gave me vertigo. We stared at the skiers hurtling down the mountain at dizzying speeds. That freaked us out. I was usually brave and confident, as long as I knew what I was getting into. But it was way above our skill level. We could seriously injure ourselves, or worse, die in there, no kidding.

Curiosity killed the cat. There is a really good reason for that saying.

Left with no choice, we set out together in the deep snow. We went slow and stayed on the sidelines, as “invisible” as possible.

We didn’t make it too far because my friend went full speed and toppled over.

Newsflash: Skiing slowly in a steep run is hard, unless you’re an expert.

After much thought and consideration, we agreed to just hike the way down–no easy chore with 5 lb skis slung over our shoulders. Slow and steady wins the race.

Every so often, I would alternately walk and “semi-ski”, just to keep a fraction of my dignity intact.

When the slopes get overwhelming, I would take a break mid-run, sit in the snow and think about that big mug of hot chocolate I could be cozily drinking in front of a fire, if only I weren’t stuck high up in the hills.

I coudn’t count how many times I skidded out of control, tumbled over the bend and got ejected from my skis after a hard drop.

As a matter of fact, the only skill I’ve ever mastered all throughout the run was the “falling technique”. Yes, there is such a thing.

There’s no denying how tough it was out there (apart from embarassing), given my lack of skill. But having said that, I actually had fun humiliating myself.

You gain perspective under the hardest circumstances. I learned how not to give up, despite getting knocked down over and over.

To my credit, I’ve always had a lot of staying power. That holds true for pretty much everything I do in my life, to this day.

I had a better chance of surviving by moving forward than stopping. In my mind, it doesn’t matter how I’d get to the bottom, as long as I get there.

“If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.”

~ Martin Luther King Jr.

After an hour of trudging along in -20 degrees, blowing snow, I made it to the bottom of the mountain, starving, bone-tired, and sore in all places.

It could have been worse.

Round Trip

We were headed to a local farm for our first apple-picking adventure. Since we took the scenic route, off the main road, it took us longer to get there. Our friends whom we expected to be running late, arrived earlier than us, wondering where on earth we were. Of course, there was an amusing story behind it.

We made a complete circumnavigation of the island. We couldn’t turn back when we realized we were about to board a ferry crossing to the nearby island. Screw it. We’ve never been to that part of the province and what better way to explore the place than by sightseeing from the water? Another 15 minutes off our timetable, but it was a fun alternative to driving while enjoying the beautiful scenery surrounding the lake.

On a scale from 0-10, how likely are you to go on a roadtrip with me?

Sisu