Is there anything worse than an unexpected bout of car sickness, and why does it always happen at the worst possible time? Read on for the worst of Autobunker experiences at the wheel of the porcelain bus…
Before I start to write this column I have taken precautions not to jinx myself on the subject in hand – fingers have been crossed, wood has been touched and a sizeable offering has been made to the driving gods. The cursed subject I am trying to avoid smiting our family with is every parent’s waking nightmare on a long journey – car sickness. The uncontrollable, unpredictable stench fest that is a small person retching over car seats, carpets and upholstery in the back of your pride and joy. Usually at the most inconvenient point of the journey and always when you have no cloths or wipes to hand.
At the Autobunker family headquarters, we have been blessed over the years with virtually puke-free family motoring. I think we can count on one hand the number of times that our girls have been sick in the car. My own view on this is that treating them to some spirited driving from birth builds a certain familiarity with being bounced around in a car seat – resulting in resilience on longer trips as they grow older. My eldest was whisked home in the back of a Subaru Impreza WRX notchback estate, her newborn gurgles in perfect harmony with the flat four exhaust burble. This seems to have stood her in good stead for many more driving adventures to come (this theory is based on no scientific evidence whatsoever, but in our experience, the children of parents who are very cautious drivers do seem to be more prone to an unpredictable puke when they get in a car).
We have unfortunately suffered the odd incident of sickness, and the timing of each event has been exquisite perfection in terms of bad timing. The first was when we were trading in a BMW M5 touring at a dealer in Cambridge (a car that goes on the ‘one that got away’ list, but that’s for another column). A delay with the replacement car meant we were on holiday when the trade was to be made, we would call in after a week on the coast in Norfolk on the way to the Peak District for second leg. The car was cleaned and fully packed with holiday gear in readiness for ‘one last blast’ through the East Anglian A-roads. Unfortunately, a particularly bouncy set of long straights made my eldest sick all over the back of the car, 15 minutes before we were due at the dealership. Thankfully we were equipped, and contained most of the puke in a muslin cloth followed by copious quantities of baby wipes to rectify the mess. At the dealership the salesman had spotted that we were loaded up with luggage when we arrived. As we signed paperwork, he secretly arranged for the entire contents of the old car to be transplanted into the new car so we could carry on our holiday. Top notch customer service, but it was only when we got to our accommodation in the Peak District that we noticed he had very carefully transferred the puke-filled muslin we had intended to bin into the new car without a word, poor chap.
The second incident of exceptionally poor puke timing was on the return leg from a friend’s wedding in a tiny village in the Alps. We were on the last minute to get back to Geneva airport early on a Sunday morning, requiring the rental Peugeot 307 to be marshalled down the winding mountain roads at a brisk pace. Unfortunately this resulted in the return visit of a banana-based breakfast for one my girls in the back seat, with nowhere to stop safely for miles! The pervading odour of wet wipes and fermented fruit was still lingering in the car when we handed it back to rental company. Amazingly, we managed to avoid a soiling charge and just managed to make the flight by the skin of our teeth.
My girls are now wizened teenagers, highly experienced and seasoned in the art of a high-speed passenger journey. Let’s just hope my offering to the driving gods keeps it that way.
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