Warning: Don’t try this at home; you have to hit the road.

Courage in 2001 can be defined as being confined with two granddaughters under four, their parents, and your wife in a metal cylinder for 2,500 kilometres over several days.

That the cylinder had a snug bedroom, microwave, gas stove and oven, air conditioning, shower and toilet, loads of beds, high-tech simple-touch gauges and room to relax, may counter those of you who seriously question my sanity.

But, the cylinder (or motorhome, as the folks at Fraserway RV Rentals assured me it was called), did present a modern-day challenge to this baby boomer. At a time when some are trying to get away from their kids and their offspring, we were choosing to have an up-front close encounter.

Memories flooded back, reminding me that the best holidays we’d taken in North America with our own four sons were all motorhome adventures to such places as Alberta or Disneyland, even though the last was well over a decade ago.

Why not extend those thrills to another generation? Surely then, other boomers would be tempted to give it a try. We could be pioneers . . . is this what boomer grandparents will be doing in future?

When Peter from Fraserway RV did his polished check-out run through the almost-new vehicle, I came away feeling overwhelmed. So many things to remember: left release handle first on the black water dump, then do the gray water (I’d heard stories about Vancouver water, but this was ridiculous), close all vents before driving off, don’t forget to switch the stove’s pilot light off when travelling, leave the steps down and you could seriously hamper someone’s progress . . .. Each time you pull away, it seems, you need to do a ground check to rival a commercial airline pilot.

So there I was, driving back over the Alex Fraser Bridge in Delta at the controls of a V-10 Ford for the first time, and without a pilot’s licence. It gave me time to reflect. I was the only bus on the road during a transit strike, or at least that’s how the 29-footer felt at first. Later, after hundreds of kilometres, it almost became like a sports car in my mind, but I get ahead of myself.

Our first sanity check had come with my suggestion that we hit the road at 4:30 a.m. Sure I’d fathered four sons. Sure I knew what two children under four could be like at that time of the morning. Cassidy at 11 months and Lauren aged three had yet to have their first sleepover with Grandma and Grandpa, and here we were about to hurtle through asphalt space with them before daylight.

“They’ll sleep,” I encouraged bravely. And so they did. By the time they knew what was for breakfast we were almost in Kamloops and well on our way to the Rockies and Alberta. Round One to Grandpa.

Then came another test. At three, Lauren reasoned she was big enough to wander around the motorhome unrestrained. There was a car seat, properly belted and just for her, facing a large window. BC law about being belted while in motion was on my side. Strangely, I mused, bus passengers are exempt. This was a bus, wasn’t it?

Parents Brent and Libby won though, and Lauren took the seat. Round Two to them.

As the trip wore on so did the temptation grow among the adults as they looked longingly at the comfy bedroom. More than one wondered if they could quietly lounge on the almost queen-size bed and not worry about belts. The only RCMP patrol car we saw on the highway on a long weekend had pulled over a motorhome. Perhaps they were being checked for belt or bedroom use.

Our steady diet over the next few hours became one of open roads, blue skies rendered abstract by clouds only artists would dare paint, and mountains straight from those glossy calendars we usually send overseas, but can’t afford for ourselves. This is the stuff grandparent memories will manage to make even better over the years.

Eventually, we forget the high gas prices even though about 20 miles to the gallon is as good as it gets. Our hotel on wheels had many other compensating benefits, we decided. Any anxiety over expensive gas soon dissipated as we puzzled over the “service engine soon” warning light on the dash which came on and stayed on for the whole trip from the base of the Coquihalla elevated highway.

Fraserway RV has its own 1-800 emergency number and we used it. I remember Peter, my checkout agent, saying they welcome the calls. One woman apparently returned after a two-week trip to complain that the fridge wasn’t working. She’d spoiled her trip memories simply by not calling to learn the ailment could have been fixed over the phone or at a service station.

So I called on the cell phone and was told not to worry. They’d deal with it on our return. Something to do with atmospherics, or was it fuel? Whatever, we didn’t let it spoil our fun.

The motorhome had come with a convenience package of pots, pans, crockery, cutlery and bedding. Mealtimes were a delight if somewhat simple. Proudly, we declared on our return to anyone slow enough to be trapped listening to our bragging that we’d had only one “fast food” attack on the whole trip.

Getting the grandkids to sleep never turned into the marathon it can often be at home, either. The tiring days played strange games with their get-up-and-go until they eventually simply gave up. The grandparents never lost a wink of sleep the whole trip. The parents managed better than expected. Must be the motorhome magic. Hey, this is fun.

One of the greatest pleasures of any motorhome trip is stopping . . . wherever you want, well, almost, and having the kitchen, bathroom and bedroom always handy when young or old feel the urge. I imagine it would work even better if you weren’t in the hurry we were in covering Vancouver to Cardston in one long day, just to free up time over the weekend.

The grandkids were, well, grand – occasionally over-tired but never onerous. The Slumber Queen motorhome proved better equipped and easier to drive (ok, not quite a sports car on those hills) and control than those we’d rented decades earlier. The experience, definitely one for the photo album, and hopefully a builder of memories for those little minds and hearts.

Would we do it again as grandparents? In a flash. My son, his wife and kids all survived our trial by motorhome, which has brought yet another dimension to our approaching gray-haired years. Say, can you drive the West Coast Trail?

Ray Dykes is a Delta freelance writer and has travelled widely around the world with his wife Muriel, but never before with the grandchildren.
In saner years, he has hiked the West Coast Trail twice with his sons.