Read this before your holiday road trip
By CarsGuide team · 22 Dec 2025
Yes, there’s Santa Claus, Clark Griswold-style lights on the house up the street and retail insanity… even spiritual observance. But nothing says it’s the holidays quite like a road trip. New destinations, or maybe the same ones for the umpteenth time, getting away from the usual grind is an exciting prospect for many of us. Except for one friend of mine (a parent of young children) who calls it, “Looking after the kids… somewhere else”.So, if you’ve had the car checked over, serviced the outboard on the tinnie and pumped up the caravan’s tyres, before you hit the road we hope you’ll enjoy this CarsGuide staff holiday road trip review. Our most memorable ‘roadie’ stories involving everything from Irish robberies and Russian police escorts to wrong turns in Queensland and an obstinate moose in Canada. Let’s roll…The most memorable road trip I’ve ever been on was traveling through the Scottish Highlands with my parents and little brother (who was only seven at the time) back in 2004! My Dad was driving a little Ford Mondeo (they were littler back then) and it handled terribly on the winding country lanes we were traversing. I like to joke it was Dad’s driving that may have contributed to anyone seated in the back feeling woozy but he disagrees!Here I am navigating, with an old paper map mind you, and I, ahem… may have taken us on a much longer scenic route than we were meant to take. We dodged tractors on single lanes, saw epic stone fencing that went for kilometers and even stopped to have a picture with a fat donkey. But the eventual reality hit that I had gotten us lost and it resulted in a long day of winding roads, stop-starts and petrol-station meals. Not a great combo for a delicate seven-year old’s stomach and suddenly an empty Pringles can became the catch-all for what seemed like a never-ending stream of puke. Mum got it on her, the seats were sprayed and by the time we reached our awesome accommodation (a Castle with a resident Irish Wolfhound!)… we had all managed to have a heave-hoe.Still to this day we think of the poor bastards who had to drive that hire car after us!Convertibles. To the Snow. Tops down the entire way. Very much one of those ideas that seems spectacular when bandied about in the pub - where all that Dutch courage has convinced you all that you're much, much hardier than you actually are - but less so when the grim, and utterly freezing reality sets in.Male group-think is an amazingly powerful thing. If any one of the three of us — myself and fellow motoring scribes Stephen Corby and Ben Smithurst, all writing for TopGear at the time — were travelling solo, a roof would have been up before we even hit the end of the M5 from Sydney. But who wants to be the first person to break in front of their mates?And so we sat shivering, ice forming on our eyebrows and lips turning as blue as a certain cartoon dog, quietly praying we’d see someone else’s roof going up before all of us were taken into the cold, dark night. Sadly, none did. And yet we somehow made it, learning along the way that bonds forged in ice are every bit as strong as those forged in fire.The stupidest bit? We decided to keep them open on the way home, too. My father wasn’t the greatest when it came to vehicle maintenance and I have vivid memories of short pants me sitting in the back of the family Renault 10 with my sister; mum in the front and dad behind the wheel, on holiday, waiting at the traffic lights on the busiest intersection in Katoomba in the NSW Blue Mountains.As the lights turned green dad’s face began to take on the reddish-brown hue of a lusty burgundy as he struggled to engage first gear and move forward. A raucous grinding of cogs and clutch accompanied by suitably fruity language was soon followed by a calamitous crash as the engine and gearbox (immediately behind us) gave up and dropped onto the bitumen. Suffice it to say my sis’ and I had to bite down hard, keeping jaws firmly clenched for fear of an impromptu kookaburra duet. Best road trip ever! We’ve never forgotten it. Road trips are great fun. I've been shot at (i), bashed (ii), arrested (iii), snapped my lower right leg (iv) and robbed of all my possessions (v), all while on road trips around the world.* i) Northern Territory, ii) Ireland, iii) also Ireland, iv) Zimbabwe, v) USAI've also been the victim of the most pointless theft of all time in Greece while on a backpacking-in-a-car extended road trip through Europe. They took our van's welcome mat, ffs!I've been on road trips during which my car has broken down as well as my relationship. But I don't regret any of them. Relationships, yes. Road trips, no.Because road trips are all about creating enduring memories... as well as copping bruises, broken bones, and, on the odd occasion, speeding fines.I was about eight years old with mum and dad on one of my first European trips. We headed over to Switzerland to do the scenic and ludicrously twisty Davos to Stelvio Pass drive, the latter designated by TopGear as the best driving road in the world.It was around August, so the snow was melting and we were in Europcar’s finest 2010 Ford Focus GL. The mighty non-turbo 2.0L four battled up the pass, the high altitude causing it to gasp as it struggled to get enough air into its wheezy lungs.It was somewhat terrifying looking down at perilously steep drops as we twirled around each hairpin, but it was a very impressive road, even in that breathless rental. I 'fondly' remember road tripping around the US in the ‘90s as a kid. I cannot remember the exact model, but my family was getting around in a minivan, to use the American parlance. But I do recall Rob Thomas and Santana's ‘Smooth’ was the soundtrack that summer.My younger sister decided to spice things up with a vomiting episode that I swiftly forgot about. Then at one point I got back into the minivan and so confidently put my hand in one of the cupholders only to find her sticky residue within. How delightful…My road trip story involves a moose while commuting to the airport. I was driving to Saint John Airport in Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada and we were stopped unexpectedly by a moose taking a stroll along the road.They are big animals and national icons, so of course I morphed into a full-blown, shameless tourist snapping away and gawking at the majestic creature, while my Canadian counterpart was less excited and more worried about missing the flight. However, you don’t mess with the moose!You just have to wait for them to re-route on their own and move out of the way. I am sure there is also a spiritual message I was supposed to have interpreted. But it was pretty cool either way. At the dawn of the internet in late 1994, two lost Gen-X souls – who had worked together in Melbourne – randomly bumped into each other on the London Underground. For me, the chance reunion was like somebody had switched on the sun. That particularly cold UK winter no longer felt as frigid or lonely, and we soon agreed to set off together on a Christmas road trip to explore Scotland. Jo and I split the cost of a £50 Chrysler Alpine of which the seller said “this motor'd drive ya back to Australia”. But as we hit the M25 with Portishead, Madonna and Dinosaur Jr cassettes at the ready, sparks and smoke started to billow from beneath the bonnet. I threatened to set the Alpine alight myself, but Jo calmly reminded me that the seized Chrysler was still in the slippery vendor’s name. Pushing it off the London Orbital with ownership papers in full view, we declared it car art and caught a coach to the great North. Revenge is best served at 2.0°C on a wintry Wednesday morning.We rented a new Fiat Cinquecento (for far less than the cost of fixing our stricken steed), and found ourselves lost in the breathtaking scenery of Scotland’s otherworldly Inner Hebrides.Not only did I find a kindred spirit in Jo, I also fell in love with city cars, as the tiny Italian hatchback weaved and snaked its way over ancient roads and through quiet villages. Immersed in the driving experience I felt compelled to write about it. I’d found my calling at 27 although nearly three years passed before I finally broke into motoring journalism. The crisp Scottish air and deafening silence of that holiday road trip gave me the headspace to listen to what I want. Or, more likely, Sheryl Crow’s ‘All I Wanna Do’ that BBC radio played on high rotation at the time (much to our annoyance) since the answer to everything was right there in the lyrics all along.I’ve only ever driven once with a police escort. And while the term ‘police escort’ suggests you’re in something of a hurry, it also infers a level of safety thanks to the intervention of the law. Unless you’re in Russia.I was driving a Porsche Cayenne in an event called the Transsyberia Rallye. Fourteen days, 7500km across Russia and Mongolia. Some road trip! Lucky me, huh? Yeah well…The rally started in Red Square in downtown Moscow and the first leg was a transport stage to the countryside. Which is where the police escort came in. Except this escort involved one set of cops ahead of us, leap-frogging each other to close each intersection, while the competing cars, including ours, barrelled along behind a (presumably confiscated) BMW full of cops, blazing through red lights at 160km/h through the Moscow `burbs.Of course, the Russian civilians being what they are, didn’t always see the point of obeying the direction to stop and allow several dozen rally cars to flash by at 100 miles per hour. I have never been so terrified at the wheel of a car. And I’ve driven a Daewoo Lanos.I’ve done countless road trips but the most memorable of them all was in 1988, when my brother and I drove from Adelaide across the outback via Birdsville and Mount Isa to the northern-most point of the Australian continent – Queensland’s Cape York Peninsula – in a well-used 1974 VJ Valiant Charger.No 4x4s for us. We wanted a real adventure, in the true pioneering spirit of motoring legends like Francis Birtles and his Model Ts in the 1920s. With its trusty 265 Hemi six and three-speed floor-shift, the Charger was prepared at home on a tight budget for Cape York duty with jacked-up suspension, widened steel wheels, off-road tyres (retreads of course), huge twin-tank 180-litre fuel capacity (the second tank was from an old Bedford truck), bull-bar, roof-rack, 12v car fridge and basic recovery gear.In just eight days, we conquered thousands of kilometres of outback roads, thick bulldust, deep sand, sticky mud and crocodile-inhabited rivers to reach the tip of Cape York – and then drove home again. That trusty old Charger proved to me the inherent toughness of Australian-made cars and how well suited they were to our harsh conditions. I’ll never forget it.I have many very fond memories of road trips as a child, mostly because I’m so old that cheap air travel was not a thing during my childhood. But it gave me an appreciation for this big country of ours and I would not trade that time squashed in the back of our family Mitsubishi Magna for all the air travel in the world.As I’ve grown older and the demands of adulthood/parenthood take up more and more of my time, the road trips have reduced. Fortunately, though, I had a brilliant trip up and down California in 2025. I originally intended to drive a Ford Bronco or something equally sizable up the California coast, but for logistical reasons that fell through and I was forced to go with Plan B… a Porsche 911.Obviously a small German sports car is probably not the ideal set of wheels for a week-long road trip in terms of pure practicality, but let’s be honest with ourselves - a Porsche 911 is never the wrong car. And thus it proved to be an excellent road trip companion. Surprisingly comfortable and even more surprisingly capable of swallowing luggage, it provided me one of the most enjoyable weeks behind-the-wheel. Driving through the California landscape, from the urban jungle of Los Angeles to the surf-friendly coastline to the arid inland wilderness and eventually to my destination at Big Sur. One of the most stunning parts of the world, the Pacific Coast Highway at Big Sur is one of the best roads on the planet, so if you haven’t been, make sure you get yourself there one day - even if it’s not in a 911.When I was in early high school dad bought a 1998 AU Falcon XR6. For a dyed in the wool ‘Ford Guy’ it was a pride and joy moment. We had that car for years. He loved it. And that’s why I still hold guilt over what I did to it.We had been to visit my grandparents on the NSW mid-north coast and were in the first hour of the eight-hour trip back home on New Years Eve. I’d woken up with a bit of a headache and had felt a little wobbly, but nothing too bad. Until we got onto the highway. I was playing my Game Boy, not something that normally made me car sick. So when a sudden wave of nausea hit me it felt like it came out of nowhere. At first I told myself one of the great lies humans are capable of when struck by nausea - ‘I can handle this’.Turns out, I could not ‘handle this’. I managed to say “I feel sick” and dad desperately looked for a place to pull over while my mum urged me to “just hang on”. But with traffic and limited space on the side of the road we’d barely stopped when, like a motorist cut off in traffic, I honked.We spent the next half hour cleaning the back seat and the door. Turns out I’d come down with one of the worst stomach bugs of my young life, and once home I rang in the new year dividing my time between fever dream sleep and collect calls to God on the porcelain telephone.Plot twist. The following year on a road trip to Melbourne, there was an issue with the rear window on the afflicted side of the poor XR. An auto electrician mentioned there was “some weird substance” that had messed with the electronics. Oops.To this day, my dad maintains the XR was “never the same” after that. And I can’t blame him.One of my fondest memories of owning my 2020 Suzuki Jimny was one of my first trips back home to my family’s farm halfway between Melbourne and Adelaide.It was almost Christmas time, I’d just clocked off work and was ready to make the 4.5-hour commute. Little did I know I’d be heading into some of the busiest traffic over the West Gate Bridge I’d ever seen (thanks, roadworks…). My Jimny is a manual and I haven’t worked out my left leg anywhere near as hard since.What made it more memorable (worse) was the incredibly fierce winds while making my way out of Melbourne through Ballarat. I was almost blown into the next lane on a few occasions and it was the first time my cruise control disengaged from losing too much speed up a hill.I eventually made it to my destination completely knackered but with a story that sticks with me to this day.Mount Cordeaux is known as one of the best sunrise hikes in South East Queensland. I still can’t confirm that myself, though, because here’s what happened.Back when I lived in Brisbane, my friend Emerald and I decided that we were going to catch sunrise from the top of Mount Cordeaux. We started our two-hour drive, fuelled by caffeine and road trip snacks, fully convinced this was a great idea.We arrived in pitch darkness, parked, and started hiking. About an hour in, we were completely confused. Why were we going deeper and deeper into the forest? Shouldn’t we be on an incline by now? After enough confused wandering, we gave up and headed back… only to realise we’d started at the wrong entrance. The correct trailhead was only a hop, skip and a jump away from where my Swift was parked.We drove the two hours back to Brisbane questioning every decision we’d ever made.A couple of weeks later we tried again - and the correct track was closed due to fire risk. But the day wasn’t a total loss. We ended up having breakfast by Lake Moogerah, pretending that was the plan all along. Moral of the story. Check the track is actually open and embrace the detours along the way.A few years back, my brother and I decided it was a great idea to drive my VW Amarok from Sydney all the way to Fraser Island (now K’gari) with nothing but two swags, a fishing rod, and the kind of blind confidence you only get from brothers who should probably know better. The plan? Get to the top of the island. The reality? Sand. Just… sand. In our clothes, our food, our souls.We somehow made it to Sandy Cape, the very northern tip of Fraser. Feeling like explorers who’d accidentally taken a wrong turn into the most picturesque postcard. The Amarok copped a workout on the beach run, including a few ‘we might be stuck here forever’ moments, but it pulled through like a trusty steed. Nights were spent in our swags under the stars, and days were filled with fishing, crappy camp-cooking and arguing over who forgot to pack the cutlery (it was him).By the time we rolled back into Sydney, we were sun-kissed, sleep-deprived, and still shaking sand out of places sand should never be. But honestly, it was one of the best trips I’ve ever done. Equal parts adventure, near-disaster, and absolutely top-tier laughs. A perfect holiday if you’re into adventure, memories that last forever… and sand that lasts even longer.Chris Thompson - Senior JournalistIn 2011 teenage me was on the way to a camping trip with his parents and brother. I was sitting in the back of the family’s Holden Jackaroo, likely annoying my younger brother Nick to no end, when a fairly loud ‘snap’ sound from the camper trailer accompanied by a huge jolt meant Dad was suddenly in ‘don’t crash the car’ mode doing 100km/h on a mercifully straight and empty Warrego Highway.Dad, a truck driver, had managed to pull the Jackaroo and trailer up safety (with some expletives) and off the road for us to discover the left-side wheel of the trailer was now at the rear - the trailer’s axle had come loose at the left side and was diagonal rather than perpendicular to the direction of travel.The camping trip didn’t eventuate, of course, and I still have a bit of a thing about towing trailers, but no one was hurt and I got what at the time seemed like a very funny photo out of it. Anyway, check your trailers and caravans regularly, I reckon!Tom White - Deputy News EditorThe most memorable road trip of epic scale I’ve taken in recent years took me from my home in Sydney all through the Victorian high country, via Bright, down to the Victorian coast and then along the south-east waterfront of the nation back to Sydney. Over a long weekend, we camped at four incredibly scenic locations including Lake Hume and the Koala sanctuary of Raymond Island.Wielding an older Subaru Forester with worn shocks and tired tyres though, It was my travelling companion’s enthusiasm for unsealed trails in the High Country which really beat me up.After entering the Dargo High Plains Road near the Hotham Ski resort, I immediately started bouncing and shuddering around in my comparatively unladen AWD wagon carrying just a swag and an Eski. Radioing behind to my friend (who had chosen the route, and just happened to be in a Ranger Raptor complete with giant mud-terrain tyres and Fox shocks), I asked how long this corrugated, rutted, and rough textured trail was.After all, he had a compressor on board, so if this trail was to continue for long, I thought I may as well air down a few PSI to make the ride comfort at least bearable.“Only a few kilometres, you’ll be right” comes the response.After roughly 50km more of this punishment, my dust covered, rattled and unmodified Forester rolls into the front of the famous Dargo Hotel (known for its array of bizarre chicken parmigiana variants) where it attracted a few odd looks eclipsed by a catalogue of Australia’s favourite heavily modded 4x4s.Needless to say, I spent that night in my swag looking up how much it will cost to replace my suspension and tyres. Anyway, at least the views were good.
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