“It’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey” is about as cliché a tourist line as you can get. However, there is one destination I have visited that this stands true for despite my desire to avoid the norm—a road trip I took with two friends from Rhode Island to Montreal, Canada in the dead of winter 2007.
The idea for this started when Melissa and I were freshman dormmates living on the campus at the University of Rhode Island. One night while bored, we came up with the idea that we needed to take a road trip, destination: unknown. As the night went on we determined that we would need to take a road trip to a foreign country, just so that we could tell people in the future that we had done so. With Mexico exponentially further, we decided on Canada for our fantasy trip. We laughed and put it to the back of our minds, only to surface during sophomore year when we were bored one night. Convincing our old RA (now Melissa’s fiancée Seth) to join us, we booked the cheapest hotel Montreal had to offer, and on a cold morning, got into my car and left.
The first few hours were nothing out of the ordinary—we switched off drivers every hour or so, and whomever wasn’t navigating drew on all available surfaces with chalk (at the time, I was known amongst our group of friends because I had quotes and drawings on each surface possible in my car. It was part of my whole ‘self-expression phase’, which luckily was something which could be erased with a sponge and water rather than tattoos or piercings which would not be so simple). As we crossed the state line into New Hampshire, Melissa and I took control of the radio and, much to Seth’s chagrin, proceeded to play every Disney song we had been able to get our hands on pre-trip. Somewhere between ‘I Just Can’t Wait to Be King’ and ‘A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes’, we passed a sign warning us that the next gas station was not for 100 miles—but due to our interpreting Disney Princesses as we sang, we didn’t notice. It wasn’t until 40 miles later that we realized we weren’t sure where we were as judged by nothing but trees for miles, and we were almost out of gas. Our hopes for the best, however, were dashed when the streetlights which came up every hundred yards suddenly and inexplicably stopped appearing on the horizon.
Fearing the worst and searching for help, we pulled off the throughway at a rest stop—only to notice that since it was nearing midnight, no one was there. It was only when we discovered the phone there was out of service and plants were growing over the doors in the back that we came to the realization that the station was abandoned. On edge from the general creepiness of the empty rest stop and Seth’s ghost stories, Melissa and I entered the side bathroom using our phones as light; silently moving the beams from corner to corner in attempt to determine whether the noises were coming from a trapped animal in a stall or the rain and snow which were starting up outside. Seth didn’t help matters either, sneaking and banging on doors while hiding from us in an attempt to either kill his girlfriend in fright or have a silent and angry ride the rest of the way to Montreal.
Luckily, despite driving on empty for ten or twenty miles, a lone gas station near the border appeared like a beacon of light on the horizon. After celebrating for a few minutes and praying we wouldn’t stall out just yards from the entrance, we were able to get gas and make the final push into Canada—passing an extremely bored border guard who waved us through, and entering into a city which was shut down in preparation for a snowstorm the following morning.
Our three days in Canada presented us with little memorable besides staying in bed for the majority of the weekend due to the bitter cold snap that had taken over outside. With temperatures around -20 degrees F, we found it more fun to stay in our hotel and watch football during the evenings and venture through the underground tunnels to get food during the days. When it came time to leave, we changed the chalk in my car to real ‘Rhode Island or Bust’, crossing out Montreal—little did we know, this would be an actual question.
The snowstorm which had threatened us coming up to Canada was in full swing the morning we were slated to return. Although it didn’t start until a few minutes before we were in the car heading out, it hit hard—with snow and sleet and ice piling up by the inches within minutes, my car turned into a sled on the streets of downtown Montreal as my brakes literally would not work. Luckily, the few others brave enough to be on the road were sleds as well—we slid sideways past a tractor trailer who shrugged through the window at me and wished us luck, laughing as we nearly hit a skyscraper.
As we took turns sleeping and driving out of the snowstorm back south, conversation turned to the future. I was leaving in two weeks to go on Semester at Sea, and after that I was transferring to Clemson in South Carolina; this would be the last time I’d see Melissa, one of the closest people to me. The further south we got, the more it hit home that I wouldn’t be going back with her to URI the next week; things were different now, and we’d had our final adventure.
Four years and some months later, I still look back fondly on our road trip—which is relevant in particular because just one week ago, Seth asked Melissa to marry him. This trip has always and will always be overshadowed due to the fact that it was only a few days before I left on Semester at Sea, and I had already said goodbye to the life I lead in Rhode Island. Yet, it serves as a reminder that life isn’t always about the destination, it’s about the voyage. I can only hope that in their marriage, Melissa and Seth remember the trip as well as I do.
