A few years ago, I took a road trip with Burtdad. We met in Frankfurt and drove down to Barcelona, enjoying the views along the way. The weather was perfect, the laughs kept coming and the road never disappointed. We drove through the south of France, where some of Europe's most gorgeous nature can be seen - over tall bridges, around mountain tops, down into deep valleys and along some of the most stunning coastlines I'd seen to date. It was going very well...

The story began when, during a cold and lonesome winter, we'd decided to get out and see something new. We planned to meet in Frankfurt, as it was approximately half-way between our homes in Czech Republic and England, then drive down to Spain and enjoy the sun. We'd do it in March, as it wasn't technically winter and we couldn't wait any longer. In other words, we were able to fool ourselves that it was going to be warm.

I took some comfort in the joyful reports of all the jobs that had been done on the van, as my dad's reputation is tatty at best when it comes to reliable vehicles, as his preference seems to be keeping the purchase price down and then wasting countless hours fixing the problems himself, as compared to spending more money and saving a lot of aggravation later on. But I was assured that no, this time, we would not be experiencing any issues like we had on our Dutch Adventure. There was a new battery, he'd made a fold-out bed that exceeded the highest standards, and the van was beyond ready for the trip. And I trusted him.

When the day came, I boarded the bus at 5am in Prague, slept a while and ate my way through all the snacks I'd prepared the night before. I can never sleep when the next day involves travel, so I was tired by the time I got on the bus. It wasn't anything like sunny, but Spain would obviously be different. I knew that in my heart. Excited to see the bus station, I collected my bags and stood up in front of my seat, unable to wait any longer to touch the ground. When we pulled in, I braved the freezing wind as I circled the block looking for the old van with British plates, where I would surely find my excited dad, glad to see me and preparing hot tea and a game of cards, as was traditional.

I searched for a few minutes, then spotted him parked up on the kerb, and ran over to rap on the window and get myself out of the cold. I rapped. And I waited. And rapped yet more. The curtains were closed and I imagined him snuggled up cosy, not quite ready to open the door and let the warmth out. I rapped so hard, I almost broke the window. Cursing began to brew, but then I saw him coming down the path. He'd been investigating a bakery or something, but had returned empty-handed. We greeted each other and hopped into the van, and it was then, at the very beginning of the adventure, that things began to get a little sketchy.

"Now, before we start, I do need to warn you that the battery doesn't seem to be charging very well, but apart from that, everything's tip top." I shot him my you-have-to-be-joking face as I listened. The precise reason was irrelevant. It was the realization that I'd been sold a dream that was starting to sting. "What else is busted?"
He gave me one back; his "well, you know..." look, that meant quite a few things weren't exactly up to scratch. For the sake of adventure, I took a thick straw and guzzled it up.

As we moved out onto the road, the mood changed for the better. That lasted almost five seconds, until I turned on the heater to bring some color back to my frozen hands. "Heater's bust."
Of course it was. I took a breath and worked on my happy face.