By admin When my automotive friends heard that my son and I would be driving down U.S. Highway 1 on California’s Pacific Coast, their first question was not if we were going, but what car we would be taking. Convertible? Coupe? Mustang? Porsche? The suggestions flowed, each one conjuring images of wind-in-the-hair exhilaration and iconic coastal drives. My answer, however, was met with a pause, then a collective shrug: "Minivan. The 2024 Kia Carnival, to be specific." The new 2025 Carnival Hybrid would not be ready in time for our trip, but the current model, celebrated as one of the roomiest minivans on the market, especially in its posh SX Prestige trim with its second-row captain’s chairs featuring extending footrests, promised to be the perfect road-tripper. It was a choice that prioritized comfort, utility, and unspoken emotional space over the perceived glamour of a sports car – a decision that, in hindsight, was entirely fitting for the complex journey ahead.
This wasn’t just any road trip; it was a carefully orchestrated, yet ultimately improvised, odyssey designed to bridge a gap. The plan was ambitious: fly from Chicago to San Francisco to meet friends, then embark on a southward drive along the iconic California coast. We would bypass the notorious Highway 1 washout near Big Sur, cutting inland to Highway 101 before rejoining the scenic route, alternating between camping under the stars and hotel stays, eventually flying home from LAX. The itinerary demanded flexibility, both logistically and emotionally. What I hadn’t fully grasped then was how much I needed this flexibility, this reconnection, as much as my soon-to-be college-bound son.
The trip started, as many grand plans do, with a dose of reality: flight cancellations and other logistical challenges beyond our control. I found myself increasingly frustrated, while my son seemed unfazed. "Do you even want to go?" I snapped, a question loaded with my own anxieties. A month before he was due to leave for college ten hours away in the Northeast, I desperately needed to see signs of life, some flicker of excitement, anything other than the apathy or disengagement that had seemingly deepened during a summer overwrought with planning. His response, delivered with calm, measured tones and a slight smirk, was a quintessential teenage mic drop: "This is my graduation gift, right? As part of that gift, I don’t wanna plan anything." He was setting the tone, asserting his newfound independence even as I wrestled with the waning days of his childhood. I knew then that this trip was as much for me—to check in, to see if we were okay, to reconnect—as it was for him. A week confined within the spacious interior of a minivan, a "mobile den" as I would come to call it, provided all the reconnecting he never explicitly asked for, and perhaps, all the space for reflection I unknowingly craved.
Setting out from San Francisco, the Carnival immediately proved its worth as a versatile travel companion. We tucked the third row neatly into the floor, transforming the rear into a cavernous cargo area. The second-row captain’s chairs were slid as far back as possible, creating expansive legroom, while the cooler was strategically wedged behind the center console, ensuring easy access from either front seat. The deep storage bucket under the center armrest became a treasure trove of essentials: sunscreen, bug spray, extra phone accessories, trail mix, and the ever-important Sour Patch Kids. While the console didn’t boast the multi-tiered shelves and side pockets seen in some competitor minivans, it was more than sufficient for keeping our frequently accessed items handy. The Carnival, marketed by Kia as an "MPV" (Multi-Purpose Vehicle) to distance itself from the traditional minivan stigma, truly lived up to its name, blending SUV-like styling with minivan functionality.
Our first major stop was Pinnacles National Park, a dramatic landscape where the inland temperature abruptly jumped 20 degrees. The intense heat was only relieved by the exhilarating experience of caving through the prehistoric-feeling bowels of the park. Back on the road, the Carnival’s comfort features shone. We cranked up the cooled front seats, a standard luxury on the SX Prestige trim, and headed south toward San Simeon, anticipating the most highway miles we’d cover in a single day. The 280-hp 3.5-liter V-6 engine, paired with an 8-speed automatic transmission, had plenty of power for passing on single-lane highways, though I occasionally wished for paddle shifters to manually override the automatic for more immediate response on uphill climbs where the big lug sometimes lagged. Despite this, the ride remained remarkably quiet and smooth, a testament to Kia’s engineering and sound dampening.
Within minutes, my son was asleep, a familiar sight reminiscent of his babyhood. He didn’t bother to adjust the 4-way power lumbar support or even recline the passenger seat. Out of a silent, almost instinctual respect, he plugged in his outboard earbud, leaving the one nearest me open, a subtle invitation to conversation that rarely materialized. This became our default setup: him napping or engrossed in his phone, one earbud in, one out. He was present with me, I estimated, about 25% of the time – a statistic I surprisingly appreciated, as it was significantly greater than his engagement levels back home.
Left to my own devices, I began to "play" with the van’s features. The cabin camera, displayed on the 12.3-inch touchscreen, allowed me to observe the back, noting how our contents had been tossed about on some of the rougher access roads. One minor irritation I couldn’t overcome, but which Kia has since addressed in the 2025 model, was the console clutter. While my phone charged neatly in the wireless charger, his phone and its sprawling nine-foot cord snaked over the console, spilling untidily over the side. It was a visual echo of the shoes scattered by the rear entryway at home, a persistent parenting irritation I’ve never quite diffused. I suppose it’s the kind of anecdote he and his sister will later use to poke fun: "line up the damn shoes, close the damn door, have you drunk enough water today?" The 2025 Carnival’s promised wireless smartphone connectivity will surely reduce this visual chaos for future travelers. We defaulted to his phone for music, and I was delighted to learn he had recently discovered Radiohead. He introduced me to Rainbow Kitten Surprise, and I reintroduced him to Wilco, requesting a healthy dose of Grateful Dead. Our shared soundtrack, a silent language, began to weave itself into the fabric of our journey.
After setting up camp on the bluff at Washburn Campground in Hearst San Simeon State Park, we took a frisbee, some beverages, and a good mood down to the beach for his first sunset on the Pacific. This was the only specific request he had articulated when the planning began months ago: "I guess I want to see the sun set on the Pacific." It was a simple wish, yet loaded with significance. The trip was not just a graduation gift, but a pandemic promise made to him and his sister for graduating with honors. "Anywhere within the contiguous United States, your pick." He had graduated with highest honors – a humblebrag I justify by the fraught nature of the pandemic years. For his cohort, having 8th-grade graduation canceled, losing associated rites of passage like the school trip to Washington D.C., the post-dance boat ride on Lake Michigan, the parties, enduring remote learning freshman year, and sophomore year in masks behind plexiglass barricades, all added up to significant, yet unknown, consequences. We had no idea if the kids would be alright. Still don’t, I suppose. Parenting is, after all, never really knowing.
At 3 a.m. that night, the stars were a breathtaking kaleidoscope, a silent affirmation of the vastness and beauty of the world, and perhaps, the journey we were on.
The next day was ambitious – a visit to the elephant seals, then up to Hearst Castle, before hitting the road again. It was also fraught. The easy laughs and deep conversations from the previous night crashed on the shore of breaking down an ill-equipped camp and the pressure of moving on. Charting a course of connection with an 18-year-old son is unmapped territory, except for the known danger zone of the Hangry Straights.
We were thoroughly beat when we reached Morro Strand State Beach. We parked under a scrawny beach tree and agreed to chill before setting up camp. He was asleep in the passenger seat before I finished draining the cooler. I climbed in behind him and powered down. The SX Prestige has a seven-seat layout with two opulent captain’s chairs in the middle row. Unlike lesser models without power reclining, heating, and cooling, this luxurious setup prevents you from removing the chairs entirely, but it allows for unparalleled comfort. I slid the seat to its farthest rear position, which would normally butt against the third row. Powered back, legrest kicked up, and with the sun setting over the ocean, I opened the sunroof. The Carnival thoughtfully features two sunroofs – one for the front, one over the second row – a nice touch, better than a single panoramic setup as it effectively divides the cabin into two zones with individual skylights. Even in that most stretched-out position, I couldn’t fully extend my legs, but tucking them to the side was perfectly fine. I suppose I could have switched to the other side and moved the driver’s seat forward, but the beach breeze blowing in from the open side door was pretty much perfect. There were snores and drool. It wouldn’t be the last time we napped in the Carnival, a testament to its unforeseen role as a mobile sanctuary.
Later, he discovered a Lego minifigure shop and, with renewed energy, wanted to trek back to San Luis Obispo. Thanks to the Carnival’s comprehensive suite of driver-assist technology, which included parking sensors, backup lines, and a blind-spot camera that audibly alerted me to an approaching cyclist I couldn’t see, parallel parking the second-largest minivan on the market was surprisingly easy. At a coffeehouse, where he downed a milkshake and eyed the comic book store across the street, I was reminded that this man, my son, was still very much a boy. As much as I tried and failed to act like a peer, to let him do his own thing, to weigh in on all decisions, he still deferred to me as the parent. I was, am, and always will be. Duh. When I called him out for walking behind me in town, glued to his phone, instead of beside me like a "norm," he reacted by walking far ahead of me on our hike to a waterfall in the forest of a county park, a silent yet clear expression of his burgeoning independence and perhaps, a hint of adolescent frustration.
By the time we made it to our first hotel, a rather uninspiring dump on Pismo Beach with no air conditioning and windows that didn’t open, we had reached the halfway mark. He needed a break. His room had a door that he left barely ajar, a symbolic gesture of both separation and lingering connection. I walked the boardwalk and the pier through sunset, replaying what I said and shouldn’t have said, how I should and shouldn’t act. Dolphins intermingled with the surfers. Beer sat in the cooler. In the dark, I futzed around in the van, repacking the camping stuff we no longer needed. It was parenting in a microcosm: moving on before I ever fully grasped what was truly going on.
I stuffed my dad’s Army duffel bag from Vietnam with the tent, sleeping bags, mementos, and other accumulated gear we wouldn’t need anymore. It was the first time I had ever used it, and it perfectly fit our bulky equipment without being a burden for flying, unlike my old framed backpack meant for hoofing it in the backcountry. Before we left, I had asked my son if he could figure out how it shut, with its four rings and one clip. I needed YouTube. He needed 30 seconds. I admired the durability and simplicity of it. It became the luggage equivalent of the Carnival: nothing flashy but so damn practical. Like my dad.
In January, my father, "Grandpa Duff," had told me he was done considering options to treat his lung cancer. My brother, in a sudden shift, worried he could die that very night. I was in Toronto with my daughter; the earliest flight back was the day after. I called my son and asked the impossible: "Can you go to the ER to be with Grandpa Duff in my place?" He did it without hesitation or protest. This boy, my son, was a man.
He met me later, nocturnal creature that he’d become, for a late-night outing. We found a place with a dartboard, he opted for a root beer, we talked trash, and he beat me at Cricket, the second time he’s beaten me in as many times as he’s played. It’s been an eventful year, much more for him than me. In three weeks, he’d be leaving all he ever knew to be surrounded by no one he knew in a place he’d never known. What I knew of what he was going through was like the surface of the ocean, simultaneously serene and stormy. There was so much more going on below his surface.
We left the Carnival behind for a ferry to hike Santa Cruz Island in Channel Islands National Park, a brief respite from four wheels. At a key junction, he challenged me to hike to the peak, to extend our five-mile loop to 10 miles, assuring me he wouldn’t care less if the ferry left us behind overnight with no food, dwindling water, and no shelter. I was almost charmed enough to forsake the wisdom of age and revel in the boundless adventure of youth. We wouldn’t, but his spirit was magnetizing. On the ride back, I nudged him awake as the captain slowed by a nursing pod of dolphins, more one-week olds than she’d ever seen. The water danced like a celebration, a fitting end to a journey that had been as much about discovery as it was about destination. The Kia Carnival, the unassuming minivan, had not just transported us across California, but had provided the mobile sanctuary for a father and son to navigate the complex, beautiful terrain of growing up and letting go.
2024 Kia Carnival SX Prestige
Base price: $47,665, including $1,365 destination
Price as tested: $49,480
Drivetrain: 280-hp 3.5-liter V-6, 8-speed automatic transmission, front-wheel drive
EPA fuel economy: 19/26/22 mpg (city/highway/combined)
Pros: Mobile den, quiet, comfy, roomy, my son growing up
Cons: Wired Apple CarPlay (addressed in 2025 model), not cheap, my son growing up