SOWERBY'S ROAD
A dicey romantic getaway
Will an impulsive 24-hour road trip fan the flames of love?

I was relaxing in the living room when the realization hit me like a blistering line drive. The month of December had been a bustle of activity, but the holiday season was light on romantic interludes with my wife, Lisa. I suspect this was true for many couples.

So while the fire snapped in the fireplace and Lisa snoozed on the sofa, I concocted a plan for 24 hours of romance commencing at noon the next day.

One of the ingredients for the getaway was parked in the driveway. The 2004 GMC Canyon extended cab pickup truck would be our escape tool. I was itching to give its 225 horsepower, 5-cylinder engine a back road session, while an impending snowstorm would challenge its 4-wheel drive system.

Other key elements were needed. I robbed a set of dice from a board game and gathered a selection of romantic CDs. The final factor, my unsuspecting wife, was still asleep in front of the fire. She would obviously cherish a quality, romantic hiatus with her husband after a month of doing everything for everyone.

I devised rules for the getaway. We would write 48 locations or activities on pieces of paper, each with a number. The dice would be used to determine which instruction to follow. No second chances. No getting cranky.

The goal was to follow as many dicey directives as possible, have a romantic dinner, score romantic accommodations and get back home within 24 hours. Each successful directive would garner five points. Dinner and the overnight accommodation would be subjectively scored up to 25 points each. The game would rely on honesty.

I called my brother, Larry, and friend, Joe Tippett, and asked if they were keen to spring the game on their wives.

"Go where? Dice? Tomorrow at noon?" They were hooked.

But when they envisioned selling their mates a romance that might involve driving all night through a snowstorm, their voices went hollow.

"We'll do it ourselves," I declared. Just Lisa and I out there in the name of romance, our movements decided by the dice.

I woke Lisa and rambled on about the merits of the plan - travel, mystery, adventure and passion. She suspiciously agreed; probably to pacify me so she could drift off again.

In the morning, I wrote 35 options onto small pieces of paper. Lisa contributed the final 13. We numbered them and shoved the directives into an envelope.

At noon we loaded the sporty red Canyon and rolled the dice, which broke the 48 options into eight categories. Another roll sent us into the envelope looking for directive No. 38, the Cape d'Or lighthouse.

Gulp. At the head of the Bay of Fundy, the dramatic cape was one of the furthest possible locations from our Halifax home.

Located off one of the most remote stretches of road in Nova Scotia, the lighthouse was right where the snowstorm was predicted to hit.

My first inkling was to roll again rather than drive for hours to the other side of the province.

"Cape d'Or. It's our duty," Lisa said, stoically.

As it turned out, the most direct route took us through Upper Economy, the sleepy village where we were married. We checked out the gazebo overlooking Cobequid Bay where unique geographical seascapes provided a stunning backdrop for our vows.

The drive to Cape d'Or was a perfect opportunity to relive our wedding day. The dice had done us good so far. And I was having a ball putting the perky 3.5-litre, 5-cylinder Canyon through its paces.

Then the snow started. Visibility dropped to near zero as I slipped the Canyon into 4-wheel drive and motored up the twisty coastal road.

"Whose stupid idea was it to do this in the middle of the winter?" I heard Lisa mutter to herself.

I didn't answer but silently questioned if we should forget the dice and settle into the Four Seasons Retreat where we got married back in Upper Economy. I didn't mention the temptation. It was too early to stop. What would we do all evening?

We reached the lighthouse by late afternoon and watched the raging current caused by the 17-metre Fundy tides. Lisa rolled the dice again.

"Take a photo of the Hockey Museum in Windsor."

Windsor! Only 50 kilometres across the Bay of Fundy as the crow flies, but the birthplace of hockey was a 365-kilometre drive. We figured we'd arrive at about 9:00 p.m., severely restricting options for a romantic dinner and accommodations.

Once inside, Lisa closed all the curtains while I made a fire. We actually had the house to ourselves. The fact that no one knew we were home made us feel delinquent. Romance flourished!

In the morning we were up early for the drive to the Hockey Museum. It was closed but we took the picture and rolled the dice.

Item No. 27: "Kiss on a bridge over a river with a name that starts with the letter L, O, V or E." We found Little River before heading home to make the 24-hour curfew.

On the way back I thought about some of the missed activities I had hoped for. The 45-minute 'lover's lane' parking session, head massage and other delights. The UFO landing site at Shag Harbour. The Big Strawberry.

But Valentine's Day is just around the corner. And you never know, with a little lead-time, Larry and Joe just might be able to talk their mates into challenging us to another dicey romantic getaway.