By admin 
Minivan. The 2024 Kia Carnival, to be specific. This unconventional choice for a legendary coastal drive raised more than a few eyebrows, but its performance as a "Life Utility Vehicle" (Kia’s preferred term for its segment-blurring design) ultimately proved its worth, not just as transportation but as a mobile sanctuary for a pivotal father-son journey. The highly anticipated 2025 Carnival Hybrid, with its promised efficiency boost, wouldn’t be ready in time for our expedition. Still, the current model, recognized as one of the roomiest minivans on the market, particularly in its posh SX Prestige trim, offered an unparalleled blend of comfort and utility. Its second-row captain’s chairs, complete with extending footrests, transformed the cabin into a luxurious lounge, making it the perfect road-tripping companion for two travelers embarking on a quest for connection.
The meticulously planned itinerary began with a flight from Chicago to San Francisco, where we would meet friends before heading south. Our route would trace the iconic U.S. Highway 1, with a necessary detour inland to bypass the infamous Big Sur washout – a testament to the raw, untamed beauty and occasional capriciousness of the California coastline. We envisioned a flexible journey: a few nights under the stars, a few in hotels, culminating in a flight home from LAX. This blend of spontaneity and structure mirrored the underlying dynamic of the trip itself.
The journey’s genesis, however, was immediately tested by unforeseen logistical challenges, including flight cancellations, which threatened to unravel our carefully constructed plans before we even left the ground. Yet, my son, on the cusp of leaving for college, seemed unfazed. His calm demeanor, a stark contrast to my mounting frustration, prompted a sharp, uncharacteristic question: “Do you even want to go?” A month shy of his departure for a university ten hours away in the Northeast, I desperately sought some sign of engagement, an ember of excitement beyond the apathy that had settled over him during a summer burdened with preparations for his next chapter.
His response, delivered with a measured calmness and a knowing smirk, cut through my anxiety: “This is my graduation gift, right? As part of that gift, I don’t wanna plan anything.” It was a statement of independence, a quiet assertion of his boundaries, and a poignant reminder that this trip, ostensibly for him, was just as much for me. It was a pilgrimage to check in, to gauge the health of our relationship, and to reconnect before the inevitable geographic distance separated us. A week cocooned within the spacious confines of a minivan, ironically, provided all the intense, unasked-for reconnecting we both unknowingly craved.
Setting out from the bustling urban landscape of San Francisco, the Carnival’s interior was quickly reconfigured to suit our needs. The third row effortlessly folded into the floor, creating an expansive cargo area for our luggage and camping gear. The second-row captain’s chairs were slid back to their farthest position, maximizing legroom and comfort. We ingeniously wedged a cooler behind the center console, making it accessible from both the front and second-row seats for easy snack and beverage retrieval. The deep storage bucket under the center armrest became our command center for essentials: sunscreen, bug spray, spare phone chargers, trail mix, and, of course, Sour Patch Kids. While the Carnival’s console didn’t boast the multi-tiered shelves and numerous side pockets found in some rival minivans, its practical design proved sufficient for keeping our necessities within arm’s reach during our frequent stops.
Our first major stop was Pinnacles National Park, a dramatic landscape carved by ancient volcanic activity. The inland journey saw the temperature soar by 20 degrees, a stark departure from the cool coastal breeze. The oppressive heat was only relieved by the cool, cavernous darkness of the park’s talus caves, a subterranean adventure through the bowels of a seemingly prehistoric world.
Back on the open road, the relief of the Carnival’s cooled front seats, a standard luxury on the SX Prestige trim, was immense. We pressed south toward San Simeon, embarking on what would be the longest stretch of highway miles covered in a single day. The Carnival’s heart, a robust 280-horsepower 3.5-liter V-6 engine, coupled with its 8-speed automatic transmission, provided ample power for passing on single-lane highways. While the engine generally performed admirably, a set of paddle shifters would have been a welcome addition, offering the driver more immediate control to override the automatic transmission on demanding uphill passes where the "big lug" occasionally lagged. Despite this minor quibble, the cabin remained remarkably quiet and the ride exceptionally smooth, insulating us from the rigors of the road.
Within minutes, my son was asleep, a familiar sight that transported me back to his infancy. He didn’t bother to adjust the 4-way power lumbar support or even recline the passenger seat. In a silent gesture of consideration, he plugged in only his outboard earbud, leaving the one nearest me open, a tacit invitation for conversation, or at least shared silence. This became our comfortable default: him either napping or absorbed in his phone, one earbud in, one out. I cherished these moments of shared space, noting with a quiet satisfaction that his presence, even if only 25% engaged, was significantly more than I typically experienced at home.
While he retreated into his own world, I explored the technological features of the van. The cabin camera, accessible via the 12.3-inch touchscreen, offered a novel way to monitor the back, occasionally revealing the chaotic aftermath of our spirited driving on unpaved access roads. One persistent issue, a minor but recurring irritation, was the console clutter – a challenge Kia has reportedly addressed in the newer models. While my phone charged neatly on the wireless pad, his phone and its nine-foot charging cord snaked across the console and draped over the side, a visual echo of the perpetually scattered shoes by the rear entryway at home – a parenting battle I’ve long since conceded. I imagined this would be one of the lighthearted grievances he and his sister would later recount: "Line up the damn shoes, close the damn door, have you drank enough water today?"
The 2025 Carnival’s integration of wireless smartphone connectivity promises to alleviate such visual clutter, a welcome evolution. During our journey, we largely deferred to his phone and his curated playlists. To my delight, I discovered his recent foray into the eclectic sounds of Radiohead. He, in turn, introduced me to the vibrant energy of Rainbow Kitten Surprise, while I gently steered him back to the comforting familiarity of Wilco and requested more Grateful Dead. Our musical exchange became another subtle layer of reconnection.
After establishing our camp on a dramatic bluff overlooking the Pacific at Washburn Campground in Hearst San Simeon State Park, we ventured down to the beach, armed with a frisbee, some beverages, and a shared anticipation. This moment fulfilled the only specific request he had articulated months earlier during the nascent stages of planning: "I guess I want to see the sun set on the Pacific." It was a simple wish, yet profound in its quiet significance.
This trip was more than just a graduation gift; it was the fulfillment of a pandemic promise made to both 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 recalling the fraught, uncertain years of the pandemic. For his cohort, the cancellation of eighth-grade graduation, the loss of rites of passage like the school trip to Washington D.C., the post-dance boat ride on Lake Michigan, and the numerous parties, followed by freshman year in remote learning and sophomore year confined by masks and plexiglass barriers, had accumulated into significant, yet largely unquantified, consequences. We had collectively worried about whether "the kids would be alright." And even now, I suppose, the answer remains elusive. Parenting, after all, is a perpetual state of never truly knowing.
At 3 a.m., from our tent on the bluff, the California sky erupted into a breathtaking kaleidoscope of stars, a silent, cosmic reminder of the vastness beyond our immediate concerns.
The next day was ambitious, almost to the point of being fraught. We aimed to visit the impressive elephant seal rookery and the opulent Hearst Castle before resuming our southward journey. The easy laughter and deep conversations of the previous night seemed to crash on the shore of breaking down an ill-equipped camp and the pressure to keep moving. Charting a course of connection with an 18-year-old son is unmapped territory, save for the universally acknowledged danger zone known as the Hangry Straights.
By the time we reached Morro Strand State Beach, exhaustion had set in. We parked the Carnival under a scrawny beach tree and silently agreed to a period of "chill" before the arduous task of setting up camp. He was asleep in the passenger seat before I had even finished draining the cooler. I, too, climbed into the back, powered down, and sought refuge.
The SX Prestige trim features a seven-seat layout with two luxurious captain’s chairs in the middle row. Unlike lesser models where seats can be entirely removed for maximum cargo space, this premium setup, with its power reclining, heating, and cooling functions, means the chairs are fixed. I slid the seat to its farthest rear position, which would typically butt against the third row. With the seat powered back, the legrest kicked up, and the sun beginning its descent over the ocean, I opened the sunroof. The Carnival thoughtfully offers two sunroofs: one for the front occupants and another positioned over the second row. This dual arrangement is a nice touch, arguably superior to a single panoramic setup, as it effectively divides the cabin into two distinct zones, each with its own skylight.
Even in that most stretched-out position, my legs couldn’t fully extend, but tucking them to the side was perfectly comfortable. I considered switching to the other side and moving the driver’s seat forward, but the gentle beach breeze wafting in from the open side door was utterly perfect. Soon, the rhythmic sounds of snores and a touch of drool filled the cabin. It wouldn’t be our last nap in the remarkably comfortable Carnival.
A chance discovery of a Lego minifigure shop sparked an impromptu detour back to San Luis Obispo. Thanks to the Carnival’s comprehensive suite of driver-assist technologies – including parking sensors, clear backup lines, and a blind-spot camera that provided a crucial alert to an unseen cyclist – parallel parking the second-largest minivan on the market was surprisingly effortless. At a coffeehouse, watching him meticulously down a milkshake while his eyes lingered on the comic book store across the street, I was powerfully reminded that this emerging man, my son, was still very much a boy.
As much as I tried and sometimes failed to act as a peer, to grant him autonomy, to involve him in all decisions, he still instinctively deferred to me as the parent. I was, am, and always will be. It’s an unspoken truth. When I gently called him out for walking behind me in town, engrossed in his phone, instead of beside me like a "normal" companion, he reacted by walking far ahead of me on our subsequent hike to a waterfall in a county park, a clear, if silent, protest.
By the time we reached our first hotel, a rather dismal establishment on Pismo Beach with no air conditioning and sealed windows, we had reached the halfway mark. He clearly needed a break from the constant proximity. His room had a connecting door, which he left barely ajar, a symbolic gesture of lingering connection. I walked the boardwalk and the pier through the sunset, replaying conversations, second-guessing my words, and pondering how I should and shouldn’t act. Dolphins frolicked among the surfers, oblivious to my introspections. Back in the dark, I busied myself in the van, repacking the camping gear we no longer needed. It was a microcosm of parenting, I realized: always moving on before fully grasping what was happening.
I carefully stuffed my dad’s Army duffel bag from his Vietnam service with the tent, sleeping bags, mementos, and other accumulated items we wouldn’t need for the latter half of our journey. It was the first time I had ever used it, and it perfectly accommodated our gear without being an unwieldy burden for flying, unlike my old framed backpack designed for backcountry treks. Before we left, I had struggled with its archaic closure system – four rings and a single clip. I needed YouTube. He, with the innate problem-solving of his generation, figured it out in 30 seconds. I admired the bag’s durability and simplicity. It became the luggage equivalent of the Carnival: nothing flashy, but so damn practical. Like my dad.
In January, my father had delivered the heartbreaking news that he was done considering options to treat his lung cancer. My brother, fearing the worst, rushed to his side. I was in Toronto with my daughter, and the earliest flight back was a day later. I called my son and asked the impossible: “Can you go to the ER to be with Grandpa Duff in my place?” Without hesitation or protest, he went. In that moment, this boy, my son, became a man.
He met me later that evening, a nocturnal creature in his element. We found a place with a dartboard. He opted for a root beer, we traded friendly trash talk, and he decisively beat me at Cricket – the second time he had beaten me in as many attempts. It had been an eventful year, far more so for him than for me. In three weeks, he would leave behind everything he had ever known, to be surrounded by strangers in an unfamiliar place. What I understood of his inner world was like the surface of the ocean – simultaneously serene and stormy, with so much more churning beneath.
We left the Carnival behind for a ferry to hike Santa Cruz Island in Channel Islands National Park. At a key junction, he challenged me to hike to the peak, extending our planned five-mile loop to a grueling ten miles. He declared he wouldn’t care if the ferry left us behind overnight, despite dwindling water, no food, and no shelter. I was almost charmed enough to forsake the wisdom of age and revel in the sheer adventure of youth. We didn’t, but his magnetic spirit was undeniable. On the ferry ride back, I nudged him awake as the captain slowed the boat near a nursing pod of dolphins – more one-week-olds than she had ever seen. The water around us danced and shimmered, like a spontaneous celebration of life.
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 of comfort, remarkably quiet cabin, supremely roomy interior, facilitating profound father-son connection as my son grows up.
Cons: Wired Apple CarPlay (addressed in 2025 model), not an inexpensive vehicle, the bittersweet realization of my son growing up.