Sunday Afternoon Drive (and Drivers)

Yesterday afternoon, Bill and I took a fall foliage drive through Albert County. We drove the highway to Anagance, and from there on it was on the back roads, often in valleys, and at one point on a dirt road. Even though the reds and much of the oranges have fallen, it was still beautiful to look up, way up, to a hill covered with colorful hardwoods and softwoods. It was also very pretty near the rivers and brooks.

As I drove along, I thought of the many drives my father took us on when we were children, mostly on Sunday afternoons. What do I remember most about those drives?

Getting lost. "Are we lost, Dad?" "I think we are." "Which road should I take?" My adult self thinks he knew those roads like the back of his hand.

Gettin out of the car and wandering. Once, I remember, there was still snow in the woods, but it was a nice warm day. I thought it highly unusual to play in the snow without so much as a sweater on.

Ending up at the airport. At least once a month. Back in the day, we could wander outside and watch the planes come in. Or, he'd take us to the small airport and put us up on the wing so we could look inside. We never once got into trouble doing that.

Buying us a bottle of pop. I have a fuzzy memory of my first bottle of mountain dew . . . pop was not common in our house when I was a child, and it was a treat when he'd stop at a corner store and ask us what kind we wanted.

Getting behind a Sunday driver. You know what a Sunday driver is, don't you? One who has no where to go, scenery to look at, and takes his good old time, especially when there are no passing lanes in sight. One day, we drove along at a snail's pace behind a dozen or so other cars also going at a snail's pace. Dad said, "I bet Miles is the Sunday driver." (Dad called his parents by their first names, as per their wishes.) We came to a passing lane and all the cars passed and sure enough, there at the head of the line was Miles, meandering along without a care in the world. How did he know? Or did he?

Those days are gone, or rare. We can't afford the luxury of a leisurely Sunday afternoon drive anymore. The price of gas must have been relativly cheap back in the day when we drove the back roads of New Brunswick on Sunday afternoons.