By admin 
The answer, to their collective surprise and a few raised eyebrows, was a minivan. Not just any minivan, but the 2024 Kia Carnival, specifically in its top-tier SX Prestige trim. While many might envision a spirited sports car or a sleek convertible for such an iconic drive along the dramatic cliffs and winding roads of the Pacific Coast, the Carnival offered a different kind of luxury: spacious comfort, versatile utility, and an unexpected oasis for a father-son journey. The anticipation for the new 2025 Carnival Hybrid was high, promising even greater efficiency, but it wouldn’t be ready in time for our adventure. Yet, the current model, renowned as one of the roomiest minivans on the market, proved itself an ideal companion. Its plush SX Prestige trim, featuring opulent second-row captain’s chairs complete with extending footrests, transformed the family hauler into a sophisticated, mobile lounge – the perfect roadtripper for an odyssey of self-discovery and reconnection.
Our ambitious itinerary was set: fly from our home in Chicago to visit friends in bustling San Francisco, then embark on a southward drive. The plan involved navigating the legendary Highway 1, though we’d have to strategically bypass the infamous washout near Big Sur, a testament to the untamed beauty and occasional ferocity of the California coast. From there, we’d cut inland to Highway 101, blending nights under canvas at various campgrounds with the comforts of a few hotel stays, before eventually flying home from Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). This varied approach necessitated a vehicle offering unparalleled flexibility, a quality the Kia Carnival promised and, as we would discover, delivered in spades.
The trip began not with the smooth take-off we’d envisioned, but with a series of flight cancellations and other unforeseen logistical challenges – a chaotic prelude to what was meant to be a relaxing journey. Despite the mounting frustrations, my son, on the cusp of adulthood, seemed remarkably unfazed. His calm demeanor, bordering on apathy, was a stark contrast to my own rising stress levels. "Do you even want to go?" I snapped, my patience wearing thin. A month before he was due to leave for college ten hours away in the Northeast, I desperately needed to see some sign of life, a flicker of excitement, anything other than the deepening disengagement that had become a hallmark of a summer overwrought with planning and preparation.
His response, delivered with a calm, measured tone and a slight, knowing smirk, was both a challenge and a revelation. "This is my graduation gift, right?" he countered. "As part of that gift, I don’t wanna plan anything." His words, a simple declaration of youthful prerogative, instantly recalibrated my perspective. He was setting the tone, asserting his desire to simply be rather than do. I realized then that this trip was as much for me as it was for him – a crucial opportunity to "check in," to gauge where we stood, and to consciously reconnect before the physical distance of college became a new reality.
Little did he know, or perhaps he did, that a week confined within the comfortable, yet inescapable, confines of a minivan would provide all the reconnecting he never explicitly asked for. It was an enforced intimacy, a shared space where conversations could organically unfurl and moments of quiet companionship could be savored.
Setting out from the hilly streets of San Francisco, we meticulously prepared the Carnival’s interior for our long haul. The third-row seating was effortlessly tucked into the floor, transforming the rear into a cavernous cargo hold, perfect for our camping gear, luggage, and road trip essentials. We then moved the second-row captain’s chairs, which were a key differentiator of the SX Prestige trim, as far back as possible, creating an expansive legroom akin to a first-class airline cabin. A cooler was strategically wedged behind the center console, ensuring easy access for either of us from the front seats, a minor logistical detail that would prove invaluable for hydration and snack breaks.
The deep storage bucket nestled under the center armrest became our command center for immediate necessities, housing sunscreen, bug spray, extra phone accessories, a medley of trail mix, and, of course, the obligatory Sour Patch Kids. While I noted that the Carnival’s console didn’t quite optimize space and storage with the same multi-tiered shelves and numerous side pockets found in some rival minivans, it was nonetheless sufficient, keeping our essentials conveniently handy for our frequent and varied stops. Our first significant detour took us inland to Pinnacles National Park, a dramatic shift from the coastal chill. There, the temperature soared by a full 20 degrees, the dry, baking heat only relieved by the cool, subterranean air as we explored the ancient, prehistoric-feeling caves. The Kia Carnival’s cooled front seats, a standard luxury on the SX Prestige, were an absolute blessing as we re-emerged, sweat-drenched but exhilarated, ready for the next leg of our journey.
Back on the open road, with the cooled seats working their magic, we pointed the Carnival south toward San Simeon, anticipating what would be our most highway-intensive day. The minivan’s heart, a robust 280-horsepower 3.5-liter V-6 engine, proved itself more than capable, offering plenty of power for confident passing on the often-single-lane highways. However, a small critique emerged: the absence of paddle shifters meant overriding the 8-speed automatic transmission for on-demand power during uphill ascents was not an option, and in such instances, the "big lug," as I affectionately thought of it, occasionally lagged. Despite this minor quibble, the overall ride quality was remarkably quiet and smooth, making long stretches of driving surprisingly pleasant and reducing fatigue.
It wasn’t long before my son, lulled by the gentle hum of the engine and the comfortable ride, drifted off to sleep – a scene reminiscent of his baby days. He didn’t bother adjusting the 4-way power lumbar support, nor did he even recline the passenger seat. In a subtle gesture of consideration, he plugged in only his outboard earbud, leaving the one nearest me open, a silent invitation for conversation should the mood strike. This became our comfortable, unspoken default setup: he, either napping or absorbed in his phone with one earbud in, one out. I appreciated these moments of partial presence, recognizing that his engagement, though sporadic, was still greater than what I typically experienced at home.
During his quiet moments, I found myself engaging with the van itself, exploring its features. I’d occasionally activate the cabin camera, displayed on the expansive 12.3-inch touchscreen, to observe how our belongings in the back had been tossed about on some of the more rugged access roads. One persistent minor irritation, however, was the console clutter, a detail Kia has reportedly addressed in subsequent models. While my phone charged wirelessly in its dedicated pad, my son’s phone, tethered by a sprawling 9-foot cord, snaked across the console and slopped over the side. It was a visual echo of a perennial parenting irritation at home – the scattered shoes by the rear entryway, a battle I’ve long since given up fighting. I imagined this would be one of those endearing, yet exasperating, memories he and his sister would later recount: "Line up the damn shoes, close the damn door, have you drank enough water today?"
The good news for future Carnival owners is that the 2025 model now boasts wireless smartphone connectivity, promising a much tidier cabin experience. For our trip, we defaulted to his phone for music, and his carefully curated playlists became the soundtrack to our journey. I was delighted to discover his recent appreciation for Radiohead, and he, in turn, introduced me to the vibrant sounds of Rainbow Kitten Surprise. I reciprocated by reintroducing him to the timeless artistry of Wilco and playfully requested more Grateful Dead, fostering a shared musical landscape that bridged our generational gap.
After a day of driving, we set up camp on a picturesque bluff at Washburn Campground in Hearst San Simeon State Park. The evening was perfect. We grabbed a frisbee, some refreshing beverages, and made our way down to the beach, where he experienced his first sunset over the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean. This, I remembered, was the only specific request he had articulated months ago when the initial planning began: "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 not merely a graduation gift; it was the fulfillment of a deeply personal pandemic promise made to both him and his sister for graduating with honors. "Anywhere within the contiguous United States, your pick," I had told them. He had graduated with highest honors, a humblebrag I feel justified in making, given the unprecedented challenges of those pandemic years. For his cohort, the cancellation of their 8th-grade graduation, along with all the associated rites of passage – the school trip to Washington D.C., the post-dance boat ride on Lake Michigan, countless parties, the isolation of remote learning freshman year, and sophomore year spent behind masks and desks barricaded in plexiglass – had accumulated into significant, yet largely unknown, emotional and social consequences.
We, as parents, had no idea if these kids would truly be alright. And to be honest, I suppose we still don’t. Parenting, I’ve come to understand, is an ongoing journey of never truly knowing, a constant navigation of hope and uncertainty. That night, however, under a blanket of stars that at 3 a.m. transformed into a breathtaking kaleidoscope, all those anxieties seemed to fade into the vastness of the universe.
The following day proved ambitious and, at times, fraught. The easy laughter and deep conversations from the previous night crashed on the shores of breaking down an ill-equipped camp and the inevitable pressure of moving on. Charting a course of genuine connection with an 18-year-old son, particularly one on the cusp of independence, felt like navigating unmapped territory, with the known danger zone of the "Hangry Straights" always looming.
By the time we reached Morro Strand State Beach, we were both thoroughly beat. We pulled the Carnival under the sparse shade of a scrawny beach tree and silently agreed to chill for a while before tackling the camp setup. He was asleep in the passenger seat before I even finished draining the cooler. I climbed in behind him, powered down, and found my own moment of respite.
The SX Prestige model’s seven-seat layout, with its two luxurious captain’s chairs in the middle row, offered an unparalleled level of comfort. Unlike lesser Carnival models that allow for the complete removal of middle seats for maximum cargo, the SX Prestige’s power-reclining, heated, and cooled chairs, while incredibly comfortable, are fixed. I slid the seat to its farthest rear position, which would normally butt against the stowed 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 features two sunroofs: one for the front occupants and another over the second row. This dual setup is a nice touch, arguably superior to a single panoramic roof as it effectively divides the cabin into two distinct zones with their own skylights, offering individual control and a more intimate feel.
Even in that most stretched-out position, I couldn’t fully extend my legs, but tucking them to the side was perfectly comfortable. I suppose I could have switched to the other side and moved the driver’s seat forward, but the gentle beach breeze wafting in from the open side door was, quite simply, perfect. Soon, there were snores and a bit of drool. It wouldn’t be the last time we sought refuge and rest within the comfortable embrace of the Carnival.
Later, my son discovered a Lego minifigure shop in San Luis Obispo and, with a spark of boyish enthusiasm, wanted to trek back. Thanks to the Carnival’s comprehensive suite of driver-assist technologies, which included parking sensors, dynamic backup lines, and a blind-spot camera that audibly alerted me to an approaching cyclist I couldn’t initially see, parallel parking the second-largest minivan on the market was surprisingly effortless. At a coffeehouse, where he happily downed a milkshake and eyed the comic book store across the street, I was reminded that this almost-man, my son, was still very much a boy in many ways.
As much as I tried, and often failed, to act like a peer, to let him lead, to weigh in on all decisions equally, he still instinctively deferred to me as the parent. I was, am, and always will be the parent. Duh. When I playfully 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 subsequent hike to a waterfall in the forest of a county park, a classic teenage assertion of independence.
By the time we made it to our first hotel, a rather dismal establishment on Pismo Beach with no air conditioning and windows that stubbornly refused to open, we had reached the halfway mark of our journey. He clearly needed a break from the enforced proximity, and his room, with a door that he left barely ajar, offered that much-needed space.
I walked the boardwalk and the pier through a breathtaking sunset, replaying conversations, dissecting what I had said and shouldn’t have said, how I should and shouldn’t act. Dolphins gracefully intermingled with surfers in the twilight. A beer sat, unopened, in the cooler. In the growing dark, I futzed around in the van, methodically repacking the camping gear we no longer needed. It was a microcosm of parenting itself: constantly moving on, adapting, often before I ever fully grasped what was truly going on beneath the surface.
I carefully stuffed my dad’s Army duffel bag from Vietnam with the tent, sleeping bags, mementos, and other accumulated items we wouldn’t need for the remainder of our hotel stays. It was the first time I had ever used it, and it perfectly fit our gear without being a burden for flying, unlike my old, framed backpack meant for serious backcountry trekking. Before we left home, I had asked my son if he could figure out how to properly shut the duffel, with its four rings and single clip. I, the adult, would have instinctively turned to YouTube. He, with a quiet confidence, figured it out in 30 seconds.
I admired the durability and simplicity of that duffel bag. It became, in my mind, the luggage equivalent of the Kia Carnival: nothing flashy, perhaps not the first choice for everyone, but so damn practical and reliable. Like my dad. In January, he had told me he was done considering options to treat his lung cancer. My brother, distraught, worried he could die that very night. I was in Toronto with my daughter; the earliest flight I could catch 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. In that moment, this boy, my son, truly became a man.
He met me later that night, the nocturnal creature he’s become, for a different kind of connection. We found a local spot with a dartboard. He opted for a root beer, we talked trash, and he proceeded to beat me at Cricket, the second time he’d won in as many times as he’d played. It was another subtle shift in our dynamic, a recognition of his growing skill and independence.
It had been an eventful year, much more so for him than for me. In just three short weeks, he would be leaving behind all he had ever known, to be surrounded by no one he knew, in a place he had 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, unspoken anxieties and excitements swirling within.
For a memorable interlude, we left the Carnival behind for a ferry ride to hike Santa Cruz Island in Channel Islands National Park. At a key junction on the trail, he challenged me, with a glint in his eye, to hike to the peak, extending our planned five-mile loop to a grueling 10 miles. He wouldn’t care less, he declared, 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 wholeheartedly revel in the unbridled adventure of youth. We didn’t, of course, but his magnetic spirit was undeniable. On the ferry ride back, I gently nudged him awake as the captain slowed the boat near a nursing pod of dolphins – "more one-week olds than she’d ever seen," she announced – and the water around us danced like a celebration, a perfect, spontaneous crescendo to our journey.
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, supremely comfortable, incredibly roomy, witnessing my son growing up
Cons: Wired Apple CarPlay (addressed in 2025 model), not inexpensive, the bittersweet reality of my son growing up