HIT THE ROAD

My family’s first RV trip was also our last

- Megan Murphy

IN THE SUMMER OF 1989, at the age of 10, I broke my elbow in my hometown of Peterborough, Ont., during a rousing game of street broomball. It was Neil’s fault. He was my 11-year-old, olive-skinned Adonis neighbour who took me out at the ankles with a sneaky cross-check. The worst part about it, other than my elbow surgery and failed relationship with Neil, was the subsequent cancellation of our 14-day family trip to the Maritimes.

Dad, eternal optimist and champion of whimsy, came up with a Plan B: renting an RV. I was ecstatic. So were my sisters: 11-year-old Kate and seven-year-old Kerry. Mom, who was not consulted, was not. For her, the prospect of spending a few weeks inside a 12-metre chunk of metal with her beloved offspring sounded less like a holiday and more like spiritual penance.