Waiting for Summer to Shift

We wait.

There’s a rhythm to being a Canadian who drives a convertible. Summer: top down, sunglasses on, life is good. Winter: top up… in the garage… under a cover… nowhere near salt… life is still good, but in a “deep breath, long exhale, why does the universe do this to me?” sort of way. Every autumn I go through the ritual of “How many more drives can I squeeze in before the snow hits?”

This involves monitoring the weather app like it owes me money, and convincing myself that 6°C is “balmy” if the heated seats are on and the toque is snug. I’ll turn a quick errand into a 45-minute scenic detour because, well, why not? The car deserves it. I deserve it. The squirrels judging me along the side of the road? They’ll get over it.

Then comes the signal: the first flurry of snow, followed immediately by the city’s very enthusiastic decision to coat every road with enough salt to season a small country. That’s my cue. A quick wash and I roll the car in, plug in the tender, and whisper something slightly absurd but heartfelt:

“Sleep well, Red. Dream of Michelin Pilot Sports and dry pavement. I’ll be back. I promise.”

And then…winter. And the waiting.

Waiting really is the unofficial winter sport for convertible owners. Others ski, skate, or build questionable igloos. We stare mournfully at the garage door like it’s a dear friend we can’t quite hug. But even in the depth of the freeze, the car becomes a symbol…a quiet, Carmine Red promise that freedom will return.

Because summer isn’t just a season when you own a convertible. It’s freedom season. Freedom to head out with no destination, just a vague notion of “somewhere twisty.” Freedom to drop the top on a whim and let every care (except maybe the rapidly descending fuel gauge) fall politely out of the car and roll away down the shoulder. Freedom to meet up with friends at 7 a.m. for no reason other than “it’s nice out out”, to stand around pointing at cars like amateur metallurgical scientists before disappearing into the next set of bends.

And then there’s the freedom of being completely alone. The quiet, selfish sort of freedom that comes when the road is yours for no reason other than your own whims. Turn left because the light hits the pavement right. Turn right because the map shows a squiggly line you’ve never tried. Keep going straight because the air feels too good to stop.

No schedules, no obligations, no snowplows sliding sideways in the distance, just you, the curves, and the growl of the engine. Those solitary drives are something winter can never give you. In winter, the car is tucked away, the roads are shared with plows, salt trucks, and cars practicing their best impression of ice skating. In winter, spontaneity hibernates and frankly, so do I.

Those warm summer mornings, whether alone or with friends, are magical. The world feels bigger, friendlier, and infinitely more possible. The car becomes a key…one turn, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the best version of yourself: the one who laughs more, breathes deeper, and sees the curve ahead as an invitation rather than an obstacle. The engine sings, the tires grip, the horizon stretches, and all the noise of daily life falls behind you, as distant as a snow shovel abandoned in a snowbank.

But right now?

Winter is just getting started. The boots are out, the scraper is back in the daily driver, and the forecast is looking less “convertible weather” and more “enjoy your block heater.”

So what gets me through these months?

It’s the thought of that freedom.

The memory of sun-warmed pavement. The anticipation of the first top-down day when the world feels like it cracks open again. The promise of twisty roads, early-morning drives with friends, the laughter at fuel stops, and the glorious little escapes where the only real worry is whether you remembered your sunglasses. And sometimes, the solitary stretches, where you follow nothing but your own whims and feel entirely untethered.

That anticipation, that little spark, is enough to melt even the longest winter.

So we wait.

With patience, with a grin, with just a touch of exasperation, and with summer already warming the corners of our minds.

~ Luke