My mother-in-law and her husband recently purchased an Airstream RV. Newly imported from Texas, it now resides in a nearby campsite here in Hudson, and last weekend was our chance to ‘blood’ the silver bullet by taking it to Mauricie National Park.

I once deluded myself that the way to catch people’s attention was to drive a sports car. But I have been set well and truly straight on the truth of this matter: if you want to get attention, drive around towing an Airstream.

If you’re unfamiliar with Airstreams, imagine a two-ton cigar tube. Claiming to sleep six (six of what is not stated in the brochure), the interior offers most modern conveniences, including a flatscreen HDTV, a small but well-equipped kitchenette and all kinds of gadgets we couldn’t test out, because we ended up at the wrong campsite and had no electrical supply.

Jasper, used to being the centre of attention, for once found himself upstaged by the eight-wheeled stainless steel phallas we pulled along. Part of me found gawking bystanders quaint; another cringed and wanted to hide under the seat.

Once set up, we reheated a delicious lamb stew, made an abortive attempt at a fire and fed the mosquitoes, before heading indoors to rearrange cushions into something resembling beds. The little man’s bassinet was wheeled from side to side to make space for our comings and goings.

Later, he lay wide-eyed in my arms as rain spattered the steel sides and dripped down from the canopy of trees above us, rattling loud against the shell of the RV. Morning seemed a long time in coming, and when it did, we ate, broke camp and drove home again.

The saddest part about this trip? No, not the chicken dinner at Benny’s. It’s that Jasper won’t remember it because he’s too little. We’ll just have to keep creating new memories until he’s old enough to share them with us. Sleep well.

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