By admin 
The decision to opt for a minivan, particularly the opulent SX Prestige trim of the 2024 Kia Carnival, was rooted in practicality, comfort, and a subtle defiance of automotive stereotypes. While many might envision a spirited two-seater for a coastal adventure, the reality of a multi-day road trip involving diverse activities—from camping to hotel stays, and covering significant mileage with varying gear—demanded a vehicle capable of being a mobile command center. The Carnival, which Kia markets as an MPV (Multi-Purpose Vehicle) rather than a mere minivan, transcends its segment with an SUV-inspired aesthetic that hints at capability beyond school runs. Its spacious interior, a hallmark of its design, sets it apart, earning it the unofficial title of the roomiest minivan on the market, a critical factor for two individuals needing personal space and ample cargo capacity.
Our specific model, the SX Prestige, elevates the minivan experience to near-luxury levels. Central to its appeal for this particular journey were the second-row captain’s chairs, complete with extending footrests. These "VIP Lounge Seating" options transform the rear cabin into a comfortable retreat, offering unparalleled relaxation for passengers. While the eagerly anticipated 2025 Carnival Hybrid, promising enhanced fuel efficiency and a fresh suite of tech upgrades, wouldn’t be ready in time for our expedition, the current model’s robust 3.5-liter V-6 engine and the SX Prestige’s premium features promised a sophisticated and comfortable ride. This choice subtly challenged the preconceived notions of what constitutes a "road trip car," proving that practicality and luxury can indeed coexist, especially when the journey’s true purpose lies beyond mere transportation.
The genesis of this trip was multifaceted, born from a blend of celebration, a long-standing promise, and an unspoken parental imperative. It was primarily framed as a graduation gift for my son, who had navigated the tumultuous waters of the pandemic years to graduate with highest honors. This wasn’t just any graduation; it marked the end of an era profoundly shaped by unprecedented global events. His cohort, in particular, bore the brunt of disrupted normalcy: the cancellation of 8th-grade graduation ceremonies, the absence of traditional rites of passage like school trips to Washington D.C. or post-dance boat rides on Lake Michigan, followed by freshman year consumed by remote learning, and sophomore year spent behind masks and plexiglass barriers. The cumulative psychological and social impact on these young adults was, and still is, largely unquantified. This trip, then, was not just a reward but a fulfillment of a pandemic promise made to him and his sister: "Anywhere within the contiguous United States, your pick."
Beyond the celebratory aspect, there was a deeper, more personal motivation. With my son poised to leave for college ten hours away in the Northeast, I felt an urgent need to reconnect, to "check in," and to ensure we were "okay" before this significant transition. The summer leading up to his departure had been, for me, "overwrought with planning," a stark contrast to his apparent apathy. His calm, measured, and smirking response to my exasperated "Do you even want to go?"—"This is my graduation gift, right? As part of that gift, I don’t wanna plan anything"—was a clear boundary. It was a subtle yet profound declaration of his budding independence, reminding me that this journey was as much about my letting go as it was about his growing up. A week confined within the spacious yet intimate confines of a minivan, I realized, would provide all the reconnecting he never explicitly asked for but perhaps, on some subconscious level, also craved.
Our meticulously planned itinerary began with flights from Chicago to friends in San Francisco, followed by the drive south. The route was strategically mapped to bypass the notorious Highway 1 washout near Big Sur, necessitating a detour via Highway 101 for a segment, before cutting back to the coast. The plan involved a blend of camping nights and hotel stays, offering flexibility that a minivan like the Carnival could easily accommodate, ultimately culminating in a flight home from LAX. This flexible approach was crucial, especially given the initial logistical challenges and flight cancellations that kicked off our journey, a fitting prelude to the unpredictable nature of both road trips and life itself.
Setting out from San Francisco, the Carnival transformed into our mobile sanctuary. We tucked the third row neatly into the floor, creating an expansive cargo area perfect for our camping gear, luggage, and provisions. The second-row captain’s chairs were slid as far back as possible, maximizing legroom and personal space. A cooler was strategically wedged behind the center console, ensuring easy access from either front seat for snacks and drinks during our frequent stops. While the center console, with its deep storage bucket for sunscreen, bug spray, phone accessories, and an endless supply of trail mix and Sour Patch Kids, proved sufficient, it didn’t quite optimize space with the tiered shelves and side pockets found in some rival minivans. This minor quibble, however, was easily overshadowed by the sheer utility and comfort the Carnival offered.
Our first significant stop was Pinnacles National Park, an inland oasis where the temperature soared by 20 degrees, making the cool, subterranean exploration of its caves a welcome respite. Back on the road, the 280-hp 3.5-liter V-6 engine of the Carnival proved its mettle. It provided ample power for passing on single-lane highways, though I occasionally yearned for paddle shifters to manually override the 8-speed automatic during uphill climbs, where the large vehicle could feel a touch sluggish. Yet, its overall quietness and smooth ride remained impressive, cocooning us in comfort as we headed south toward San Simeon, embarking on what would be our longest stretch of highway miles in a single day.
Within minutes, my son was asleep, a habit he’d maintained since infancy. He didn’t bother adjusting the 4-way power lumbar or reclining his passenger seat. Out of a silent, mutual respect, he plugged in only his outboard earbud, leaving the one nearest me open, a subtle acknowledgment of shared space. This became our default setup: him napping or engrossed in his phone, one earbud in, one out. I valued these moments of his presence, however partial, knowing they were more frequent than at home.
I, meanwhile, engaged with the Carnival’s features, particularly the cabin camera displayed on the 12.3-inch touchscreen, which allowed me to check on how our gear was holding up in the back on some of the rougher access roads. One persistent issue was console clutter. While my phone charged wirelessly, his phone and its nine-foot cord snaked across the console, spilling over the side—a familiar parenting irritation akin to scattered shoes by the entryway at home. This small detail, a microcosm of domestic life, served as a humorous reminder of the ongoing saga of parental frustrations, a likely future topic for him and his sister: "Line up the damn shoes, close the damn door, have you drunk enough water today?" Thankfully, the 2025 Carnival addresses this with wireless smartphone connectivity, a welcome upgrade. Our musical journey, dictated largely by his playlists, introduced me to his recent discovery of Radiohead and Rainbow Kitten Surprise, while I, in turn, reintroduced him to Wilco and requested more Grateful Dead, fostering an unexpected intergenerational soundtrack to our adventure.
Our first night of camping was spent on a bluff at Washburn Campground in Hearst San Simeon State Park. As the sun began its descent, painting the Pacific in fiery hues, we ventured to the beach with a frisbee and some beverages. This moment was particularly poignant, as seeing the "sun set on the Pacific" was the only thing my son had articulated when we first discussed the trip months prior. This seemingly simple desire carried immense weight, symbolizing the quiet aspirations of a young man on the cusp of a new chapter. The stars later that night, at 3 a.m., were a breathtaking kaleidoscope, a fitting backdrop to the silent profundity of the trip.
The following day proved ambitious and, at times, fraught. After visiting the elephant seals and making a quick stop at Hearst Castle, the easy camaraderie and deep conversations from the previous night crashed against the shore of breaking down an ill-equipped camp and the pressures of moving on. Navigating the emotional landscape of an 18-year-old son is uncharted territory, particularly the perilous "Hangry Straights." By the time we reached Morro Strand State Beach, we were both exhausted. We parked under a scrawny beach tree, agreeing to simply "chill." He was asleep in the passenger seat before I finished draining the cooler. I climbed in behind him, seeking my own repose.
The Carnival SX Prestige’s seven-seat layout, with its power-reclining, heated, and cooled captain’s chairs, doesn’t allow for their complete removal, unlike lesser trims. However, their ability to slide far back and deploy legrests made them ideal for napping. I slid my seat to its farthest rear position, kicked up the legrest, and opened the second-row sunroof. The Carnival features two sunroofs—one for the front and one over the second row—a thoughtful design choice that creates distinct, skylit zones within the cabin, superior to a single panoramic roof for individual comfort. Even in that most stretched-out position, I couldn’t fully extend my legs, but tucking them to the side was perfectly comfortable. The beach breeze from the open side door was heavenly. Snores and even a little drool became the soundtrack to our spontaneous, restorative naps in the Carnival, a recurring theme throughout the trip.
His discovery of a Lego minifigure shop sparked an impromptu detour back to San Luis Obispo. Here, the Carnival’s suite of driver-assist technologies—including parking sensors, backup lines, and a blind-spot camera that once alerted me to a cyclist I couldn’t see—made parallel parking the second-largest minivan on the market surprisingly effortless. At a coffeehouse, watching him down a milkshake while eyeing a comic book store across the street, I was reminded that this almost-man, my son, was still very much a boy. As much as I tried (and often failed) to act like a peer, to grant him autonomy, to involve him in all decisions, he still instinctively deferred to me as the parent. When I gently called him out for walking behind me in town, engrossed in his phone, instead of beside me, he reacted by walking far ahead on our subsequent hike to a waterfall in a county park, a subtle rebellion against the parental leash.
Reaching our first hotel, a rather dismal establishment on Pismo Beach with no air conditioning and sealed windows, marked the halfway point of our journey. He needed a break, retreating to his room, leaving the door barely ajar. I walked the boardwalk and the pier through sunset, replaying conversations, second-guessing my words and actions. Dolphins mingled with surfers in the waves. Back in the dark, I reorganized the van, repacking the camping gear we no longer needed. This moment felt like parenting in a microcosm: always moving on before fully grasping what was truly happening.
I stuffed my dad’s old Army duffel bag from Vietnam with the tent, sleeping bags, and accumulated mementos. It was the first time I had ever used it, and its rugged simplicity perfectly accommodated our gear without being a burden for flying, unlike my old framed backpack. Before we left, I had asked my son if he could figure out how to close it—a simple task involving four rings and one clip that had stumped me, requiring a YouTube tutorial. He figured it out in 30 seconds. I admired the bag’s durability and straightforward design, realizing it was the luggage equivalent of the Carnival: nothing flashy, but profoundly practical. Like my dad.
In January, my dad had made the difficult decision to stop treating his lung cancer. My brother, fearing the worst, rushed to his side. I was in Toronto with my daughter, the earliest flight back being the following day. In a moment of desperation, I asked my son the impossible: "Can you go to the ER to be with Grandpa Duff in my place?" Without hesitation or protest, he went. This boy, my son, was a man. Later that night, he joined me, the nocturnal creature he had become. We found a pub with a dartboard, he opted for a root beer, and we talked trash as he effortlessly beat me at Cricket, the second time he’d won in as many attempts.
It had been an eventful year, more so for him than for me. In three weeks, he would leave everything he had ever known, venturing to a place where he knew no one. What I understood of his inner world felt like the surface of the ocean—at once serene and stormy, hinting at vast, unseen depths.
Our final adventure took us beyond the Carnival, to a ferry bound for Santa Cruz Island in Channel Islands National Park. During a hike, he challenged me to extend our planned five-mile loop to ten, hiking to the peak, unconcerned if we missed the ferry and were stranded overnight with dwindling supplies. I was almost charmed enough by his youthful spirit to forsake the wisdom of age and embrace the recklessness of adventure. We didn’t, but his magnetic energy was palpable. On the return ferry, I nudged him awake as the captain slowed for a nursing pod of dolphins—more one-week-olds than she had ever seen—their joyful dance across the water a fitting celebration of our shared journey.
The 2024 Kia Carnival, far from being a compromise, emerged as the unsung hero of this deeply personal road trip. It proved that sometimes, the most practical choice can facilitate the most profound experiences, providing the comfort, space, and reliability needed for a journey of reconnection and reflection. As my son steps into adulthood, and I navigate the evolving landscape of parenthood, the Carnival stands as a symbol of adaptability, quiet strength, and the unexpected joy found in the unlikeliest of vehicles.
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
Pros: Mobile den, quiet, comfy, roomy, my son growing up
Cons: Wired Apple CarPlay, not cheap, my son growing up