Extremely short non fiction smile blast

On a hot August morning in 1997 my son Michael, then aged 7, and I packed up the car for a trip to a rental cottage in the Laurentian mountains of Quebec. After strategically nesting our family dog Vixy between assorted luggage and water toys, we began our first cottage adventure together.


Two days later, we sat parked on a side of the road at the foot of those Laurentians. Our directions were documented with an engineers' precision right down to the exact minute and kilometer of each leg. As I drove, Michael carefully read aloud, calling out the odometer count and timing while I kept constant watch for the next milestone. Then came what the directions called the 'tricky' one – Ann's Road.
Oh, dear.

We twisted and turned every 30 or 40 feet, on dirt spits between marshes, or inches from the forest walls, all the while going up, up, up.
Then at the exact seventeen minutes into our climb we landed at the cottage.
“Cool”, said Michael smiling, his gaze turning back to the road.

Days later, having completed our first grocery run in town, Michael earnestly pleaded to have a try at the wheel.
“I'll think about it”. I said quietly.
Stopping at the Ann's Road crossroad, and taking a deep breath, I pulled him over and plopped him on my lap. He gripped the wheel.
“Ready?”
“Ready”.
With ferocious concentration, he slowly steered while I manned the pedals, hands floating but an inch above his. Driving as slow as possible, we inched up the mountain. After his nerves began to settle with small successes, a slow smile appeared. After a challenging hairpin turn, I heard a soft 'whoa' under his breath. Then he began to roar with laughter, squeals and yips. This was some serious fun.

After that day, no matter what our supplies, Michael always found a way to convince me that we absolutely had to go back to town. And every day.

That holiday isn't remembered as the cottage vacation in Quebec. Not thought of as our first road trip, but as the Anne's Road vacation, and his first road.