Glacier and Banff Day 6: Black Hole Sun

 Date: July 2, 2025
Location: Going-to-the-Sun Road, Glacier National Park

The landscape turned dramatic, the sky brooded, and the mountains looked like they were pulled from Middle Earth. There’s something humbling about Glacier’s scale—it pulls you in, quiets the noise, and makes you feel small in the best way.

We got up early and were on the road by 6:45 AM, determined to reach Logan Pass before 8:00 in hopes of finding a parking space. The route took us down US-49—the same road we weren’t allowed to enter from due to Kevin’s length. It was full of sharp twists, no guardrails, and sweeping drop-offs. Not exactly the most relaxing drive, but the scenery was absolutely spellbinding. We stopped several times just to soak it in – and there went the schedule.

Passing through St. Mary in East Glacier, we were greeted by wildlife right away—a bald eagle gliding overhead and deer grazing near the lake. We pulled over at Wild Goose Island, which looks so picturesque it could’ve been painted. It’s hard to believe it’s real.

At Jackson Glacier Overlook, we may or may not have seen a glacier—it was still heavily covered in snow. That’s the thing about Glacier: it keeps its secrets.  It was at this point that Rob and I looked at one another and asked, “What makes a glacier a glacier?”  Phew!  I was really glad another adult had that question.  Basically, a glacier is a mass of ice that has formed when more snow accumulates than melts over time.  The snow compresses into glacial ice and the mass becomes so heavy that it moves under its own weight due to gravity.  

Jackson Glacier

The Going-to-the-Sun Road is a marvel in itself—tight turns, steep drop-offs, and jaw-dropping views at every bend. Waterfalls cascade over cliff sides, tunnels cut through rock, and valleys stretch far below. If you’re the driver, it’s all nerves; if you’re the passenger, it’s pure awe.  You cannot look and drive – the two do not mix on this road!  

We stopped to touch snow—carefully. Though it was a warm 75 degrees and we were in short sleeves, snowdrifts remained from the long winter. Avalanche risks (and, let’s be honest, park rangers) kept us from walking on it, but we couldn’t resist picking it up.

We missed our window at Logan Pass. By the time we arrived just after 8:00, the lot was full and cars circled like vultures. Many of the trails in this area were closed anyway, due to snow or active bear mating – no one needs to be caught up in the middle of that. Avalanche risk remains high as the snow melts.

Hoping to hike Trail of the Cedars and Avalanche Trail, we continued west, but parking remained impossible—even before 9:00 AM. So we kept moving, eventually arriving at Lake McDonald. We hopped out to trek down small trails and admire more falls and scenery. The water was crystal clear, the stones underneath vibrantly colored and perfectly smooth—ideal for skipping, which seems to be Glacier’s unofficial pastime.

We didn’t want to risk losing our eastbound route, and we had hiking plans, so we doubled back with a new strategy: find any open trailhead with parking and make it count. We were geared up with hydration packs, snacks, and all-weather clothing. We weren’t about to leave without a hike.  Boy, did we get one.

We found parking near a trailhead for The Loop, a multi-day trail that also allows for shorter day hikes. With little prior research (none), we picked a 4.5-mile hike to the Granite Park Chalet. We weren’t entirely sure what the Chalet was, but we were eager to get going.  And besides, “chalet” gives Alpine vibes – I pictured meadows of wildflowers I could pick and weave into a crown.  I could not have been more wrong.

It became clear very quickly that this would be a hot and exposed hike. With little to no shade, the sun beat down on us relentlessly. It might have been 75 degrees, but it felt much hotter. I had my trek poles, a game plan to take it slow, and a healthy dose of determination—but no sunhat, no inhaler, and no lightweight long sleeves – left those in the car. Rookie mistakes.

This trail might as well have been on the surface of the sun. I focused on my bootlaces, taking one step at a time. Pika—adorable little mountain rodents—scurried across the rocks, offering the only distraction.

After an hour, I encouraged the others to go ahead. Rob stayed back with me, despite my silent wish to be alone in my misery. The girls sprinted up the trail with the kind of energy I could only envy.

After two and a half hours, a 1,600-foot climb, and 2.5 miles, I knew I was done. We were still two miles from the top, and I didn’t have it in me. I turned back, disappointed, exhausted, and angry at my own limits. I had hoped I’d be further along—but still, I showed up. That counts.

Rob stayed with me, supporting me as always, until we arrived at the trailhead, before heading back up to meet Alyssa and Marlie on their way down the mountain. I collapsed in the Jeep’s front seat, where a kind group of hikers eventually (and gently) checked on me through the window.  When I started awake, I realized I had been slumped  over to the side with my head lolling off the seat, totally and completely passed out.  Rob returned soon after, out of water, and not long after, the girls appeared—sunburned, blistered, and glowing with pride. They had made it.  It turns out the Granite Chalet is a National Landmark, hike-in backcountry accommodations for multi-day hikers.  So, in choosing to take The Loop, on a multi-day hike, you can also sleep in a room with strangers, eat freeze-dried food, and take care of your torn up feet at the Granite Chalet.  

Tired, but accomplished!

We drove the scenic road back quietly, each of us soaking in the cool air and surreal beauty of Glacier. After dinner and much-needed showers, we collapsed into our beds—tired, satisfied, and ready for a gentler adventure tomorrow. Maybe more of a nature walk. And definitely a moose hunt.

 Today was both breathtaking and brutal. We traversed the iconic Going-to-the-Sun Road, chasing snowfields under a high mountain sun and searching for parking in a land of impossible beauty and impossible crowds. Despite setbacks and physical limits, we hiked through heat, elevation, and personal doubt to experience the quiet power of Glacier on foot. Some of us made it to the Chalet, some of us made peace with our own pace—but all of us ended the day tired, proud, and awed. This park doesn’t just show you nature; it humbles you with it. And in the strange stillness of a mountain evening, Black Hole Sun feels like the perfect echo.

End of Day Stats:
Mileage: 100 miles (driven); 15+ hiking/walking
Elevation Gains: 2,600 feet for some of us, 1,600 for others
States Today: elation, delusion, exhaustion
Rubber Ducks Deployed: 0 (out of respect for wildlife)
Wildlife Spotted: ~3 million pika, deer, mountain goat

Cue: Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden to vibe with Glacier’s dramatic and looming landscapes.

Glacier and Banff Day 5: Even Flow

Day 5: July 1, 2025, Malta, MT – Two Medicine Campground, Glacier National Park

Today was mellow, with smooth roads, scenic overlooks, and a surprisingly chill family vibe. Nothing dramatic, nothing broken, and only one passive-aggressive comment about parking the camper. From scenic Montana buttes and prairie towns to the first glimpses of the Rockies, the journey was filled with contrast and anticipation. Each family member brings a unique vibe to the trip—some thrive on the road, others in the woods—but we’ve found our groove.Travel flow: achieved.

The morning began with views of the Little Rocky Mountains, a modest but distinctive range rising 2,500 feet above the surrounding plains. Despite their relatively low elevation (Antoine Butte tops out at 5,720 feet), they’re striking in contrast to the flat prairie. These rugged buttes, part of the Fort Belknap Indian Reservation, mark one of the last geological features before the true Rockies rise. Road construction made this part of the trip slow and dusty!!

The Little Rockies

We stopped for provisions at Walmart in Havre, the largest town we’ve seen on US-2 so far. Granola bars, drinking water, and more bread – good grief, we go through a LOT of bread!. A little farther west, we gave Kevin (our RV) a much-needed spa day at Chester’s Car Wash. It took three of us—one on power wash duty, one with the long-handled brush, and one manning the quarters—but by the end, Kevin was bug-free and gleaming. Honestly, this may have been Rob’s favorite stop yet.

As we cruised westward, the Bear Paw Mountains came into view—another unexpected rise on the plains. They stood solitary and stoic, breaking up the vast Montana landscape.

I’ve had people ask whether the kids really enjoy RV travel, and the answer, as with most things parenting, is: it depends.

  • Amaya, our oldest, is not with us this summer—off on an adventure with her boyfriend, Matt. I’m thrilled for her. She’s earned this time and space.
  • Kai also opted out this year. He’s saving up for his car and spending time with his close-knit crew. I respect his decision and suspect we’ll lure him back next year with talk of ATVs and target shooting.
  • Marlie is our road-tripper. She hops out at random stops, entertains herself with art, snacks, and music, and turns the over-cab bunk into her creative nest. While she’s less keen on the “camping” part—bugs, dirt, general wildness—she’s present and positive.
  • Alyssa is the opposite. She goes into hibernation during drives, nestled in her bunk with headphones and a sleep mask, emerging only when nudged. But once camp is set up, she comes alive: frog-chasing, mud-stomping, fishing for hours. Hiking? She’ll go—sometimes reluctantly—but can surprise us all with spurts of bold, adventurous energy.

It’s wild to think how far we’ve come since our first RV trip. Back then, we were flying blind, crashing at truck stops and missing half the journey in our rush to the destination. Now, we’ve refined our style. We’re more flexible, more prepared, and definitely more relaxed. With upgraded cookware, better route planning, and a few seasons under our belts, the journey—yes, cliché incoming—really has become the best part.

Around Shelby, the Rocky Mountains finally appeared on the western horizon. Even from more than 100 miles away, they were breathtaking. Rob was glowing.

As we drove, I researched trail closures in Glacier National Park. I had hoped to hike the Grinnell Glacier Trail, but snow and bear activity closed major portions of it. Fortunately, Two Medicine offers beautiful alternatives right from our campground. We’re still planning to drive the Going-to-the-Sun Road and stop at Logan Pass, but it’s Glacier—is there really any shortage of sights to see?.

After Cut Bank, we glimpsed even more snow-capped peaks before detouring around Route 49 (too tight for our rig) and heading through Browning and East Glacier Village to approach Two Medicine from the east. The drive in was beautiful—rustic, serene, and flanked by wild scenery. We rolled into the Two Medicine Campground, flashed our America the Beautiful Pass, and found our assigned site in Loop C, where we balanced Kevin on a leveling jacks and made peace with a slightly tilted camper.

Two Medicine is remote and rugged. Three campground loops ring the lake, mixing tents, vans, and RVs. Even backpackers hiking in on foot have reserved sites. Towering peaks surround Two Medicine Lake, mirrored perfectly in its still waters. As we set up, a gang of scruffy mountain goats wandered through, bold and goofy.  It was the welcome we needed after some long travel days.

After grilling dinner, a trip down to dunk our feet in Two Medicine Lake and a quick hike to stretch our legs, we doubled back through East Glacier Village to gas up the Jeep for tomorrow’s exploration—and spotted our first bear! A cinnamon-colored black bear casually crossed the road and vanished into the trees. A thrilling moment and a good reminder to stay bear-aware.

The evening was wrapped in nature’s soundtrack: frogs croaking, bugs humming, wind rustling the leaves. It feels like we’re in the right place. Sleep comes easy when the world around you is this still, this alive.


Tomorrow, we are going to the sun!

End of Day Stats:
Mileage: 270 miles
States Today: MT → MT
Rubber Ducks Deployed: 0
Hippos: Ready to rest!

Cue: Even Flow by Pearl Jam as we lean into that natural flow of travel and adventure.

Glacier and Banff Day 4: Into the Great Wide Open

Day 4, June 30, 2025 — Leonard, ND → Malta, MT

The trees thinned, the sky stretched out forever, and suddenly the world felt huge. There’s a moment on every trip when the horizon swallows you whole—and this was it. We rolled into the great wide open, chasing adventure on four wheels (plus towing four wheels), trusting the road to take us somewhere unforgettable.

Before leaving Sheyenne Oaks this morning, we were visited by a surprise guest—the friendliest dog we’ve ever met. He appeared out of nowhere, tail wagging, and trotted right into the RV like he lived there. Not a bark, not a beg, not a shoe out of place—just calm companionship and happy sighs as he soaked up belly rubs. A perfect canine sendoff as we headed out via dirt road and back onto I-94.

Thoughts from the Road:

  • What are pelicans doing in North Dakota?
  • What if we get blown off the road from the strong crosswinds?
  • What is this yellow crop? (Turns out it’s canola.)

Around lunchtime, we took one of our favorite detours of the day: the Enchanted Highway, a 32-mile roadside art installation made entirely of scrap metal. Created by local artist Gary Geff, the sculptures are massive and surreal—rising from the plains like a dream. Most of the metal is old scrap metal from oil field materials, vehicles, and machinery. We stopped at the first two installations on the route:

  • Geese in Flight (the world’s largest scrap metal sculpture—left a duck here!)
  • Deer Crossing, which features a walkable maze

We grilled burgers roadside and the girls tossed a football under perfect 80-degree skies. Sunshine, breezes, and burgers—it doesn’t get more road trip than that.

Our next detour came courtesy of Theodore Roosevelt National Park. We pulled off at the Painted Canyon Overlook and were rewarded with sweeping views of the multi-colored Badlands. Way down in the canyon, we spotted a juvenile bison grazing in the shade. Dad’s zoom lens came in clutch—thank goodness for real cameras in moments like this.

With three hours and fifteen minutes left to Malta, we left the interstates behind and crossed into Montana. We’re officially in Big Sky Country.

From Wibaux to Malta, Route 2 winds through the Great Plains—rolling, open, and starkly beautiful. Scrubby grass, scattered cattle, and tiny towns spaced just far enough apart to make you feel truly remote. We passed more roadside sculptures, including the Hillside Animal Statues in Glasgow and a whimsical Chinese Dragon in Saco. No traffic. No people. Just Kevin, the Jeep, and us.

The land flattens again as we neared Malta, broken only by distant hills that get Rob unreasonably excited. Every time they appear, he yells, “Mountains!” and I dutifully snap photos even though I know the Rockies are still hours away. But hey, he’s the driver. He gets hopeful.

As we pulled into Malta, we wrapped up our second full audiobook. Plot twist? Totally got us. Dozens of wild guesses later, we were wrong again. But we’re hooked. These thrillers are our driving soundtrack and the hippos are keeping score. (Spoiler: the hippos are unimpressed.)

Malta is small—like, really small. We aimed for Trafton Park, a first-come, first-served campground with water hookups. Just $5 in an envelope, and you’re good to go. We found a pull-through site quickly, surrounded by rodeo grounds, cattle auction lots, and a scattering of tent campers and cars (though, likely, some were just parked for the night).

Dinner was at Stretch’s Pizza, a short walk across the train tracks. While waiting for our order, Rob challenged me to an air hockey rematch. This time, I emerged victorious. My redemption arc is complete.

We ended the day battling mosquitoes with After Bite and collapsing into bed, ready for tomorrow. Glacier National Park is just four hours away—and I’m more than ready to see the Rockies rise up on the horizon. Bring on the mountains.

End of Day Stats:
Mileage: 602 miles
States Today: ND → MT
Rubber Ducks Deployed: 2
Hippos: Dusty, observant, and skeptical of our amateur detective skills. Holding steady.

Cue: Into the Great Wide Open by Tom Petty – to inspire that awestruck feeling of being in so much space!

Glacier and Banff Day 3: Where the Streets Have No Name

 Day 3, June 29, 2025 — Poplar Grove, IL → Leonard, ND

The further west we go, the more the world opens up. By the afternoon, we’d left behind street signs, traffic, and strip malls—driving straight into the unknown. No cars. No mile markers. Just winding roads, rolling plains, and the creeping sense that we had finally made it to somewhere truly wild. This is the part of the map where things get real.

Rob and I woke up early and took a long walk around the grounds of the Poplar Grove Airport and museum in the cool morning air. Before heading out, we spent a few quiet moments with our morning coffee and I left a duck at the foot of the statue in front of the hangar—another marker of our journey left behind for someone else to find.

After a quick Walmart run to stock up on water and some much-needed rechargeable fans, we were on the road again—cutting across Wisconsin and Minnesota with our sights set on North Dakota by nightfall.

Given how much ground we needed to cover today, we did not stop at as many roadside attractions.  We agreed on one planned stop: The Goat Tower in Waunakee, WI.  Interestingly, this is not a mini-golf course or a petting zoo, but a Bavarian-themed manufacturing business (because why not?) created by the Endres family—four generations in and still going strong. The property boasts a quirky goat playground in Kappel Park, where actual goats (and their adorable kids) frolic up and down the whimsically spiraled Goat Tower.  I had to do a double take to judge whether or not the goats were actually real. Equal parts charming and strange—10/10 roadside attraction.  Marlie fed the goats all of our lettuce (an approved snack) while I made friends with a certain bearded black goat, and now we both want goats.


Wisconsin is a place I still want more time to explore.  It’s full of surprises, from the Dells, which is the Waterpark Capital of the World to stunning lakes and some fascinating cities.  The state is known for its food industries too: brewing, cranberries, and, of course, dairy.  Local convenience stores boast a variety of local agricultural products such as pickles, pastries and lefse, a Norwegian flatbread common in areas with large Scandinavian populations. And then there is the cheese: blocks of cheese, cheese spreads, flavored cheese, cheese curds on cheese curds, cheese whips and more! To say there is an abundance of cheese is an understatement. 


Minnesota’s terrain is diverse. In our journey across the midsection of the state, we passed rolling hills that eventually flattened into an agricultural grid of wheat and sugar beets.  I imagine what it must have been like to be Laura Ingalls or Sarah Wheaton, two of my favorite characters from childhood books.  Their families traveled by wagon and they endured life out on the prairie in all seasons!  While it is beautiful and fertile now, in summer, I imagine that the winters were long and harsh.  They must have gone weeks without seeing another soul.  I am left with new appreciation for those who settled here, worked the land, and how connected they were with the natural world around them.  


As we pushed toward North Dakota, grain processing facilities lined the highway. The thunderheads started forming in the distance—massive, towering clouds promising a good Midwestern storm.

Grain processing plant
Another grain processing plant


We made a slight change in our planned route thanks to a GPS showdown. One route would get us to the campground 45 minutes earlier. We picked it, naturally. Only once we stopped for gas did we realize the new route involved several miles of unpaved roads. Too late to turn back. We pressed on, knowing that at least now we have Starlink—which gives Rob a lot more confidence behind the wheel. If we ended up stranded in the middle of the prairie, at least we could call a tow truck from County Route Who-Knows-What-Number.


Without a lot of stops, we entertain ourselves with audiobooks and podcasts while the kids sleep, watch movies, or game in their bunks.  We do also talk to one another and play some car games, but I-Spy gets to be a little redundant when everything is green, the buildings are few and far between, and the only animals you see are cattle.  Yesterday’s audiobook was a total flop—too complicated, too many characters, and way too much thinking. We bailed. Today, we pivoted to a new murder mystery thriller. It’s essentially a Lifetime movie in book form. Perfect road trip fare. We pause often to hash out our theories, clarify plot holes, or just admit we weren’t paying attention. Call us amateur sleuths in training. Watch your back, Charlie Cale—we’ve been watching way too much Poker Face.

Hello, North Dakota!  Crossing the Minnesota-North Dakota border, we noticed a sudden uptick in farming equipment for sale and a collection of industrial buildings dedicated to agricultural engineering. Farms here don’t just grow food—they’re often research facilities for agroscience.

Fun fact dump:

  • 90% of North Dakota is farm or ranch land
  • ND is the #1 honey producer in the U.S.
  • The entire state has 797,000 people… fewer than Hartford County, CT (896,000), which is less than 1/100 the size.
    Needless to say, we earned the North Dakota sticker on Kevin’s map door today.

Again, beautiful in the summer. Not sure we’d brave it in the winter.

The seven miles of dirt roads into the campground were wide, technically 55 mph zones—though at that speed, the Jeep would have disintegrated. Kevin is now wearing a coat of dust and bug goo so thick we may need to rename her. She’s looking… rugged.  We passed exactly ZERO cars in the 30 minutes it took us to navigate them.

When I called to confirm our late arrival at Sheyenne Oaks Campground, the kind woman on the phone had that quintessential Midwestern lilt—warm, casual, and totally unbothered. “Just pull in, you’re all set,” she said. No gate codes, no paperwork. Just good vibes. I could’ve listened to her talk all day.

The Sheyenne National Grasslands themselves are stunning—over 70,000 acres of federal land plus 123 acres of private trails. More than 40 miles of marked routes offer opportunities for hiking, biking, horseback riding, kayaking, bird watching, hunting, and fishing. Sadly, we’ll be doing none of those. 

As we entered the Sheyenne National Grasslands, we spotted trailheads, rustic campsites, clusters of trees, and a few deer grazing in the soft twilight. Gorgeous and wild—right in the middle of all that farmland.

We arrived at Sheyenne Oaks Campground in Leonard, ND a little after 9PM – while it was still very light outside!  Sheyenne Oaks lived up to its promise. The paddocks were right next to each RV site. The grounds were clean, quiet, and surrounded by woods. Rod, one of the owners (likely the husband of the kind woman on the phone), personally guided us to our pull-through site. Bonus: the Jeep is still hitched—hasn’t been disconnected the entire trip.

This unique campground caters to both RVers and equestrians. Riders can bring their horses, camp with them, and explore the Sheyenne National Grasslands by day, boarding their horses in private paddocks by night.  After dinner, we wandered the grounds, saying hello to more horses than people, until darkness finally caught up with us. We counted at least eight sites with horses, their heads poking out over paddock gates. Our first time camping with horses!

We left another duck near the drop box and took advantage of the full hookups—hello, glorious hot showers. 

Tomorrow, we ride into Montana. One step closer to Glacier.

DUCK UPDATE!
Shoutout to Samantha from Chicago! She and her family found one of our ducks at the tri-state marker in Fremont, IN—on their first day of vacation. They looked up the blog and reached out to say hi. So cool! We love hearing from people who find them—if you’re reading this and you’ve found one of our ducks, drop us a line!

Mileage: 608ish miles
States Today: IL → WI → MN → ND
Rubber Ducks Deployed: 2
Hippos: Minor side-eye during GPS drama. Coated in dust and concern.

Cue: Where the Streets Have No Name by U2… seriously, “County Road” isn’t much to go on!

Glacier to Banff Day 2: Kickstart My Heart

Day 2, June 28, 2025 – Westfield, NY – Poplar Grove, IN
We hit the road at 7:30 AM, coffee in hand and the day stretching wide ahead of us. A long haul was in store, but the promise of roadside oddities, small-town charm, and one very cool vintage airplane hangar made it worth every mile.

Our first stop? Love’s Truck Stop. Now, hear me out. If you’ve never been to a Love’s, you’re missing out on one of America’s finest roadside institutions.   While it doesn’t rate as high as Sheetz on the culinary delights scale, you can pretty much do everything at a Love’s.

Need gas? Obviously.
Want snacks? Like, every kind of chip and snack imaginable: Beer Can Chicken flavored Pringles, Dill Pickle Goldfish Crackers, a blueberry pancake sausage burrito on a hot dog roller…
Looking for a new hoodie repping a college team you’ve never heard of? Done.
Work gloves with reflective patches that double as Cleveland Browns spirit wear? Got ‘em.
Need a spot to spend the night with full RV hookups? Pull right up.
Lottery tickets from a vending machine? Ka-ching.
Clean bathrooms? Immaculate-ish.(Better than most – A for effort.)
Need to reassess your life choices? Plenty of time for that in the parking lot.

Refueled (in both gas and spirit), we rolled toward Cleveland, OH, for our first official roadside wonder: the Euclid Beach Park Archway.

This arch is a piece of amusement park history, built in 1921 and once the grand entrance to Euclid Beach Park—a beloved Cleveland amusement park that closed in 1969 after more than 75 years in operation. The arch is shaped like a giant “H” (for “Humphrey Park,” the original name), and while the area around it has long since changed (the amusement park is now a senior living high-rise), the arch remains as a reminder of simpler times spent on the southern shores of Lake Erie. Workers were on site removing the faux stone exterior (making it lighter and easier to move, prepping it for a 150-foot move to keep it safe from modern vehicles that can’t always clear a 100-year-old structure.

The arch will be moved on July 2 to it’s new location, 150 feet away – see the orange barricades?

We parked near an abandoned building, soaked in the strangely nostalgic decay of the area, and watched city workers peel back layers of time. A local senior with a pushcart wandered by, pointed at Rob and casually noted, “Barndoor’s open.” Rob blurted, “Oh jeez! Wonder how long that’s been like that?”
The man shrugged and smiled: “Who cares?”
Legend.

After a quick hop back on the highway, we made our way toward Fremont, IN, for a quirky and delightful bucket list moment: standing in three states at once—Indiana, Michigan, and Ohio.  Taking these opportunities to stretch our legs and experience these unique sights across the U.S. might just be the real highlights of the trip.  I’m getting so much better at finding them and getting us there.  

Getting there was its own mini-adventure. Emergency vehicles blocked our country road detour, and we were too long to turn around. So we waited, chatting with a friendly officer with strong opinions on where we should eat lunch. Eventually we crept down a narrow dirt lane (County Road 1), parked near a stone marker, and walked about 130 feet south to find the embedded “M” in the road—the official tri-state point. It was simple, quiet, and weirdly satisfying. We left our first rubber duck of the trip on the stone, tucking it in right next to a painted rock left by another visitor.

Camper in 3 states at once… had enough?

Lunch was a walk-up food stand in Fremont, DJ’s Tempting Treats & BBQ—walking tacos, BBQ, burgers, and soft serve. A blast of summer nostalgia served in a styrofoam container.

We started noticing hitching posts outside businesses and realized we were deep in Amish and Mennonite country. Sure enough, as we gassed up, horse-drawn carriages pulled into nearby lots. Turns out, many Amish and Mennonite families work in the camper industry here—as farming opportunities declined in the area, the RV industry provided steady work for the men in the Amish community and now upwards of 50% of Amish men in the surrounding communities are employed by the RV industry.  They can’t drive RVs, but they can build them.

Then, with one last burst of energy (and after enough driving to make us wonder where our backsides ended and the seats began), we made one final pit stop in Schaumburg, IL, a suburb of Chicago, at the Prairie Center for the Arts.

Here we found the Awaking Muse—a stunning, larger-than-life stone sculpture of a woman emerging from the earth, stretching into the light. She’s powerful, grounded, and—let’s be honest—she looks a little peeved that she was woken up halfway through her nap – probably the one glorious nap she has taken in months. I felt her in my soul. She is tired. She is me. Get this woman a snack.

Surrounding the art center was a lush, beautifully maintained green space, and to our surprise, a family of mute swans, cygnets and all, glided across a pond nearby. Turns out the Village of Schaumburg brought them in to keep Canada Geese away—apparently the two species don’t play well together. Honestly? Genius. I’m putting in a vote for swans in Canton.

We stretched our legs, admired the grounds and left another duck—this time at the feet of the Muse.

Finally, we rolled into our night’s destination: the Poplar Grove Vintage Wings and Wheels Museum. It’s the kind of place that feels lost in time in the best way.  We parked near the museum, a 1930s art deco style hangar built as a Works Progress Administration (WPA) Depression-era project in Waukesha, WI.  The hangar was in disrepair until the Vintage Wings and Wheels museum brought it to its current location and restored it. The museum sits alongside private hangars, Slim’s Garage (also relocated and restored) and an old Sunoco filling station.  We were lucky enough to stay over on a day when the museum was hosting a group called “Ladies Love Taildraggers” (a women’s pilot organization whose members fly conventional landing gear aircraft) who were finishing up their trip, a tour of Lake Michigan, and spending their last night flying, and celebrating here at the museum.  We meandered around the grounds and settled into our camp chairs outside the RV with bowls of Korean beef and broccoli to watch the fireworks from the Belvidere Heritage Days celebration a few miles away. As the last firework fizzled into the night, we sat quietly staring up into the wide, black sky, the silence deep, watching fireflies flash in the darkness. It was a fitting place to end a long, curious, and delightfully weird day on the road—parked in peace, surrounded by history, and ready to sleep beneath the wing of an old biplane.

And then we ruined it by turning on our generator because it was 100 degrees inside the camper and we desperately needed to sleep.

Mileage: 549+ miles
States Today: NY → PA → OH → IN
Rubber Ducks Deployed: 2
Hippos Still Holding: Steady
Barndoor Status: Briefly open, eternally unbothered

Westfield, NY to Poplar Gove, IN

Cue up: “Kickstart My Heart” by Motley Crue– because here is where we begin doing what we love!

Coming Next:  North Dakota, wide open roads, and the long haul west…

Glacier & Banff Day 1: Send Me On My Way

Day 1, June 27, 2025 – Canton, CT – Westfield, NY

It’s always a big day when the key turns and the engine hums to life for the first day of a new trip—that low, familiar rumble that signals the beginning of another adventure. This time, though, the trip feels different. For starters, Kevin (our trusty Class C RV) is sporting some serious upgrades. And more personally? For the first time ever, I’m hitting the road without either of my kids.  This trip to Glacier National Park in Montana, and Banff National Park in Alberta, Canada, is two years in the making.  Despite the curveball thrown my way this year, I am optimistic and enthusiastic about this adventure.  I feel happy, healthy, and strong and I have goals for this trip.  Let’s go!

Let’s talk about the new gear, because honestly, we’ve leveled up for this trip.  

The biggest change? Starlink is now riding shotgun—mounted on the roof, always locked on. That’s right: in-motion internet. I could stream, Zoom, or even host a webinar while cruising at 65 down I-90 (not that I would, but the point is: I could). And the kids can play X-Box, watch movies or scroll Tik-Tok while on those long 12-hour travel days.  Combine that with three 200-watt solar panels, and we’ve got a camper that’s ready to chase horizons without constantly begging for a power plug. Fewer generator hours and more boondocking opportunities – there are so many Bureau of Land Management (BLM) areas, State and National Parks where we can stay for longer periods of time.  We also added a portable 30-gallon water bladder to our camping equipment.  This way, we can refill the freshwater tank without moving the RV when we are without hookups.  Thank goodness for our very own Fix-It-Felix, Rob.  He dedicated some serious hours to the installation process.

Kevin also gained some new flair since our last trip—a few fresh stickers, proudly documenting the states and memories we’ve collected along the way. Kevin is not just a camper anymore; she’s a rolling scrapbook.  We are also looking forward to adding another state sticker to our map – North Dakota, specifically.  

Then there’s our “Toad” (a.k.a. the Jeep we’re towing). Outfitted with a new Blue Ox Patriot brake system and a fresh set of tires, she’s ready to trail behind without drama—though the A/C remains a mystery. Will it be refreshing or just blow a lot of hot air? Only time will tell.

Kevin’s dashboard now boasts a herd of tiny purple hippos, because every trip needs a little absurdity. And in the spirit of joy-spreading, we brought along a bag full of rubber ducks to leave as tiny surprises along the way—our version of cross-country pixie dust.

We rolled out around 11 AM—a bit later than planned, but absolutely on brand. (Honestly, Rob told us his goal was to leave at 10 AM, but he knew full-well we would leave at least an hour later.  He’s getting really smart.)   The goal today was simply to get some miles behind us and settle into the rhythm of the road – sort of like the warm-up lap before a big race. 450 miles, four sandwiches, and one audiobook later, we pulled into Westfield, NY KOA, situated right on the edge of Lake Erie.

There’s something deeply comforting and familiar about a Kampground of America. Full hookups? Yes, please. Dinner tasted extra delicious (it always does after a long drive), and we capped off the night by exploring the campground which was full of trees, streams, and a small vineyard, as well as the park across the street next to the lake. The sun set at 8:58 PM and spilled pink and orange across the sky, and I let it sink in: we’re doing this. A new trip, a long-haul drive, a different kind of quiet. I set aside the emptiness of having neither Amaya nor Kai on this adventure and focused on the excitement of upcoming adventures with Rob, Alyssa, and Marlie in Glacier and Banff. Bittersweet, maybe, but also full of possibility.

Tomorrow’s destination? A surprise twist—an overnight stop at an airplane hangar. (Because why not?)  But who knows what roadside oddities lie between here and Poplar Grove, IL?  

For now, the good tanks are full and the icky tanks are empty, the fridge is humming, and Kevin is parked under a blanket of stars. Day one is in the books.

Today’s miles on the map

Rubber Duck Count: 0
Hippos Secured: 6
States Traveled: CT → NY
Miles: 450
Next Stop: Somewhere with wings

Cue up: “Send Me on My Way” by Rusted Root– because this trip is officially underway.

We Ride at Dawn (or 9:30ish)

Departure day is bittersweet.  It signals the end of vacation, but it also signals the countdown to sleeping in your own bed (the best feeling EVEEEEERRRRR!!!).  Usually it’s just me and Rob enjoying that last cup of camper coffee (nothing like it!) and stowing everything in its place.  Everything has its place in the camper.  We Tetris the pots and pans into place so nothing bangs around during our trip.  The doors need to be secured so they don’t flap open.  We bring in the slide, we close and lock all the windows and vents in the camper part of the RV.  You will get your RV Pilot’s license revoked if you drive with the slide or windows open (just kidding, but you WILL get relentlessly ridiculed by other camper families on the road).  Leaving a window or vent open while driving is a good way to get it ripped off and ruin your entire trip.  The people who are most guilty of this are usually driving the Cruise America, rented RVs.  I swear, Cruise America puts their advertising on the sides of their RVs as a warning to experienced drivers – give them a wide berth.

We threw anything smelly or wet in the back of the Jeep and made sure to collect our trash.  There wasn’t much to collect outside, as we used this campsite as a hotel, a place to stop between excursions.  Very little was done to set up our site – no awning, grill, carpet or tables.   We were there just to sleep, shower, and eat.  Rob cleaned out our tanks and disconnected us from the hookups and we ate a quick breakfast before hooking up the Jeep to the hitch.  And it was just a stroke of good luck that we got to enjoy a show with breakfast!

You never know who your neighbors will be at a campground.  Sometimes you get folks who want to make friends and sometimes you get a quiet couple who keep to themselves and whom you barely ever see.  But sometimes, you get a “camper of chaos”.  The RV next to us housed a family of seven: two parents and five tween to teen kids.  There are six in our camper and it’s tight at times.  These kids weren’t exactly naughty, more like busy and boisterous, and really, really… active.  

Yesterday, when we came back from Jamestown, Rob, Marlie and I found that the neighbors’ camper was wide open – door and screen – without a sign of any of its occupants.  The minivan was gone, but the campsite was a disaster – cans and bottles, lawn games, bikes, chairs overturned – like there had been a struggle.  Even the back bay was open with all their tools and equipment just left in the open.  Very strange – no one leaves their campsite like that on purpose.  Thoughts of Dateline episodes ran through my mind, but we returned from dinner to find the five kids playing some kind of ball game where they hit or kicked the ball and shouted at each other.  After about 45 minutes of bicker-screaming, the ball slammed right into Kevin’s left flank and that was the end of the game.  Two exhausted parents ripped into their kids and hustled them into their RV.

Fast forward to this morning and the dad was up early picking up their campsite with no sign of any kids.  Mom emerged and threw some things haphazardly into the minivan –  still no signs of kids whatsoever.  The only words we heard uttered all morning were, screamed at top volume “Then get up and look for it!” , followed by Mom jumping in the mini-van and driving away separately from the rest of her family who followed in their RV.  She was worn out.  Good for her, getting some alone time.  I hope she listened to her audiobook and sipped her iced coffee on her solo ride. 

With two out of four kids still asleep, we made our way to the highway to begin the journey back, the familiar rhythm of the road humming beneath the wheels. 

Kevin and the “toad” all packed up and ready to hit the open highway!

It was a fairly uneventful ride, except for bits of holiday traffic, especially around the DC area.  Rob is our route planner and he likes to to avoid the George Washington Bridge.  It is my responsibility to find some kind of roadside oddity to break up the monotony of the long drive.  Today’s wacky and weird pitstop was at Cult Classic Brewing, a microbrewery in Stevensville, MD.  The outside walls are painted with scenes from cult classic horror movies, plus some local additions as well (firehouse, local sites, etc.).  There are dinosaurs, aliens, a giant crab with the face of Donald Trump, spiders, praying mantis, King King and more!  It takes exactly two minutes to get a good look – just enough time to take a silly photo or two, stretch your legs and be on your way again.  If you ever start road tripping extensively, we highly recommend working in a way to see one interesting thing every day, especially if it seems super weird.  You will not regret it.

In total, we drove for about 10 hours.  Good Friday felt like the perfect day to head home—quiet, reflective, and full of gratitude. We’d packed in history, beaches, thrill rides, mini-golf, and ghost stories we’ll be telling for years (or at least until the next trip!).

By the time we pulled into our driveway in CT, Kevin was a little messier (and a little smellier – we definitely need a new seal in our toilet), our heads a little sleepier, and our family a little closer (maybe also grumpier?).  

I took one look at the laundry in the back of the Jeep and slowly shut the door. I’ll think about it in the morning.  There’s time for cleanup when the sun rises, but for now… My bed is calling, and I must go!

History, Mystery & Barbecue

Being a New Englander of a certain age means that you have been well-schooled in the Puritanical story of the first years at the Plymouth Colony – cold, miserable, and governed by harsh rules. On this leg of the trip, we wanted the kids to experience what colonial life was like in the mid-Atlantic – hot, miserable, and governed by harsh rules (Harsh?  Yes, but we can all learn a thing or two from Jamestown’s own Captain John Smith, with his part explorer, part strict dad energy—who laid down some tough rules for the settlers: “He that will not work shall not eat.”   I like it.).  While Plymouth was built on belief and freedom from religious persecution, Jamestown was built on ambition and capitalism. 

You may notice a pattern as you read these blog entries.  Only three of us take early-morning adventures, while three of us prefer to sleep in.  We don’t force family fun before noon – that family fun is optional.  So, if you haven’t already guessed, Marlie, Rob and I set out for Jamestown (add the “e” at the end if you prefer the spelling from “ye olde times”). Our America the Beautiful Pass got us onto the part of the settlement owned by the National Park Service and we paid a little extra to be able to enter the original archeological site and museum –  well worth it!  Nearby, there is a re-creation of the original fort called Jamestown Settlement – this is where every child enrolled in Virginia Public Schools was on a field trip this week.  All of them.

We crossed a wooden bridge over a turtle-filled buzzing swamp toward the banks of the James River, the location of the original Jamestown fort.  Since the original structures were made primarily of wood, they are no longer there, but the brick and stone foundations are visible and The Jamestown Rediscovery Foundation actively works to preserve, re-create, and dig up artifacts from the original colony.  It is an active dig-site, and we observed a team of archaeologists sifting through wheelbarrows of dirt to find the remnants of the colony from over 400 years ago.  Additionally, a carpenter was re-creating some of the wooden palisades by using an ax to remove the bark from logs.

We walked the same ground where early settlers tried (and nearly failed) to start a new life. Jamestown was gritty, messy, and full of drama—the original Survivor, 1607 edition. 104 of 105 passengers (all men and boys) survived the passage on three ships.  (Most of the 39 crew members returned to England on two of the ships.)  Picture this: three boatfuls of “gentlemen” with no farming experience show up hoping to strike it rich, plant zero crops, and find themselves in a swamp full of mosquitoes and mystery illnesses. Let’s just say their survival plan was… optimistic. And relationships with the local Powhatan people were complicated.  Yes, there is a statue of Pocahontas, favorite daughter of Chief Powhatan, on the Jamestown site.  Her story is not the romantic Disney version, but rather ends in tragedy with her death from respiratory illness at age 21.

Jamestown eventually found its footing thanks to tobacco farming and a little stubbornness, but not before some very lean years, including the “Starving Time” during the winter of 1609-1610 where settlers (now including a few women) resorted to eating rats, snakes, shoe leather and people.  Yup.  Cannibalism happened at Jamestown.  Forensic evidence revealed human remains with post-mortem injuries consistent with butchery.  In summary, the first few years were brutal.  I’m actually not sure how anyone made it.
 

After scooping up the rest of the crew back at the campground, we headed into Colonial Williamsburg.  We took a raincheck on the visitor’s center and decided to meander around the area without a formal ticket, taking our chances with sightseeing on our own.  Colonial Williamsburg takes you back in time, and surely, life was not easy for people in the colonial period, it could not have been nearly as miserable as Jamestown.  Brick buildings, stores, churches, craftsmen, and carriages give it a more modern and relatable feeling.  I have only been to Williamsburg once before, when I was seven and I don’t remember much.  What I do remember was how hot it was and that my brother and I both got colonial hats – I got a white bonnet with a tiny yellow bow and my brother got a black tri-cornered hat that he promptly lost when we stuck his head out of the window of our brown Subaru hatchback about 15 minutes after it was purchased.  I still have my bonnet.  Please enjoy these side-by-side, now -and-then photos of said bonnet below.

From 1699 until 1780, Williamsburg was the capital of the American colonies. It was a hub for political thought, especially in the lead-up to the Revolution. People believed that the government should reflect the will of (some of) the people (wealthy,  land-owning white men).  Interestingly, the Revolutionary War left Williamsburg relatively unscathed and it saw much more action during the American Civil War, when many of its buildings were used as hospitals for wounded soldiers.  Church was a major part of community life. Morality, order, and personal virtue were considered essential for a good citizen and those not living this life were publicly castigated.  (Nothing like a good dose of shame to round out the early American experience.)  Freedom and liberty were woven into much of the conversations of the day.   However, alongside all the talk of freedom and revolution, exists a harder truth: much of Williamsburg’s economic success was built on slavery.  The stories and voices of enslaved people are vital to understanding the history of our nation and the contradictions in our society that still exist today.  Williamsburg gives voice to the experiences of the enslaved people that lived and worked there so that their stories are not forgotten in time.

You certainly work up an appetite traveling back to “days of yore.”  We all enjoyed a delicious barbecue dinner at Two Drummers Smokehouse in nearby Toano.  Eating at a local restaurant is always on our list of “must dos” when we visit a new area.  Our waitress placed trays heaped with smokey meats and sides in front of us and we dug in – fueling up for our “Williamsburg After Dark” adventure, a ghost tour right in the heart of Colonial Williamsburg.  No one was more excited for barbecue than Kai.  

Like any historical location, Williamsburg is alive with stories of hauntings and spirits.  We booked a 9:00 PM tour with Colonial Ghosts, meeting our guide and our group at the Thomas Jefferson Statue in Merchant Square.  Tom, a third year law student at The College of William & Mary (right there, smack dab in the middle of Colonial Williamsburg) guided us to half a dozen locations, each with their own fantastical stories.  Rob had rented an Electromagnetic Frequency Detector (EMF) and the kids all took turns testing it out at the various locations.

We learned about so many Williamsburg residents, from the colonial period and beyond.  We heard the story of Thomas Moore, local lothario, whose lover’s husband killed him and whose spirit now haunts young women working in local businesses near where his home stood in the 1860s (now the site of a lululemon!).  The ghost of both wives of Reverend Scervant Jones of Bruton Parish can be heard arguing near the church at night and if you look carefully at the lightning-struck obelisk marking the grave of a man and his favorite dog, you can see the image of their ghostly faces.  There are tales of Civil War amputees, treated at several of the makeshift hospitals by the notorious doctor known as Head Devil, digging on the grounds searching for their lost limbs.  Since its construction in 1715, thirty people have died in Randolph house, famously one of the most haunted homes in America.  Sadly, two young children fell from the upper left window years apart and lore has it that a silhouette can sometimes be seen against the window.  Would you believe that during a housing shortage at William & Mary in the 1960s, students were housed in one of the rooms in the house?  They didn’t even make it through the night before feeling icy hands tug on their legs while they slept!  In the Wythe house, one of the stateliest homes near the Governor’s Palace, guest Lady Skipwith’s ghost haunts the residence looking for her lost red high-heeled shoe.  Are the stories true?  I’ll leave it to you to decide, but I wouldn’t spend the night in one of these old homes for all Yankee Doodle dollars!

We made it. No ghosts or humans harmed.

A fun, but non-ghost related fact about Colonial Williamsburg is that most of what we see in the historical district is not original.  In fact, when the State capital was moved from Williamsburg to Richmond in 1780, it became a quieter rural and college town.  In the 1920s, John D. Rockefeller, Jr. funded the restoration of Williamsburg to its 18th century appearance.  Many of the buildings that had been demolished were reconstructed according to the original building plans and it became the living museum it is today.

So, what did we learn from this day steeped in Colonial American history?  

  1. None of our crew would have survived in Jamestown – heck half of us wouldn’t have even been invited on the first trip!  Also, we are all much too tall to have lived back then.
  2. When anyone complains about being hungry, I will remind them of the “Starving Time.” 
  3. I am able to remember a surprising amount of lyrics from Disney’s Pocahontas. 
  4. Ghost tours are 40% history and 60% jump scares by the people in your group.
  5. There is a limit to the amount of barbecue Kai can eat.  He reached it today.
  6. I still look cute as a Colonial American.

It’s a travel day tomorrow.  We will be battling that Easter holiday traffic all the way back to Connecticut.  The good news is, we will be traveling paved roads and in the comfort of our trusty RV, Kevin.  And when the kids complain about the length of the trip, I will remind them that they could be traveling over cobblestones in a horse drawn carriage and playing stick and hoop while eating a big bowl of shoe leather soup.

Roller Coasters and Reminiscing

The problem with being young at heart, is that sometimes your body doesn’t get the message about your actual age.  I know that people say that you are only as old as you feel.  This morning I felt 21 and this evening I am rubbing in Gold Bond Therapeutic Foot Cream and drinking a hot cup of ginger tea.  The mind and body are at odds.  This is a really tough age.  Forget being a teenager with all the angst and drama.  Being a fortyager is hard (please see the post where I fell from a very low height).  You’re not a cool twenty-something bouncing back from roller coaster whiplash and 20,000 steps with minimal hydration, and not yet a senior citizen (even if I have received more than two mailings from AARP), sitting out and guarding the snacks while the rest of the family enjoys a day of thrills.  After spending the entire day in Busch Gardens, I am asking myself, “What will hurt tomorrow?” and “How did I get that bruise?”  I don’t even know how I got to this point. I did, indeed, bring a fanny pack of single serve snacks and a Ziplock bag of Advil, and darn it, I was glad for both of those things.

Leading up to our big day, I reminded myself to take it easy.  I’m about four-weeks post surgery and feeling really good, but I didn’t want to set myself back.  I prepped with extra ice under my arm and made sure to prop it up on my special pillow while sleeping.  I thought I would just hang with Rob, who is not taking any chances with high-speed rides after his stroke two years ago. I didn’t plan on riding a single roller-coaster, but ended up on a few after all.  I was the only one of our crew who had been to Busch Gardens, and that trip was 40 years ago.  To say my memories were sketchy is generous.  

Starting the day out at Busch Gardens!

The park is organized into different countries, with the rides and restaurants aligned with the theme of the country: Italy, England, Germany, Scotland, France, Ireland.  Crowds were mercifully light during our visit, so we didn’t wait too long for any one attraction.  We broke off into two groups and made our way around the park, stopping to check out the animal exhibits – lorikeets, bald eagles, gray wolves, Scottish Highland Cattle, and hopping on and off rides.  I think this may have been the most relaxing trip to a theme park EVER!  No plan, no checklist, no expectations!  

Busch Gardens has around ten big roller coasters.  The two oldest are “The Loch Ness Monster” and “The Big Bad Wolf,” (currently under renovation) both of which were innovative and cutting edge coasters back in the 1980s.  They are both still there, “The Loch Ness Monster” is a bit of a relic these days – I would compare it to “Space Mountain” at the Magic Kingdom – a nostalgic ride, like the grandparent of thrill rides—still kicking, still wild, but definitely showing its age.  The bright yellow cars clank up the first hill with a dramatic rattle that sounds like it’s held together by memories and rust. The cars creak and jerk as if they’re protesting every foot of the climb.. Then suddenly—bam!—you’re whipped over the edge and slammed into a turn that feels more like a chiropractic adjustment than a thrill ride. Every dip and curve jolts your spine, rattling your head like a bobblehead in a windstorm.  We left with new appreciation for the sturdiness of the harness. Classic? Yes. Smooth? Absolutely not.  I’m all set for another 40 years.

At some point in the early afternoon, we all met up and Kai suggested we all hop on a ride together – a really sweet idea for a 16-year old boy.  The ride he suggested was called the Roman Rapids, a six-person raft ride where you go through some twists and turns and you may or may not get totally soaked.  Now, normally, I’m not a holdout on a water ride.  On an 80-degree day, I’m all in -100%.  But at 63 degrees and breezy, I hesitated.  Seeing Kai’s disappointment, and checking out the riders disembarking the Roman Rapids – only about one in ten was drenched – I reluctantly agreed.  We had no ponchos, no extra clothes, no waterproof pouches, just the sweatshirts on our bodies.  At first, the ride was gentle.  There was a small dip and some light splashing, but it quickly escalated, sending a wall of water over the side and right on top of Marlie.  After a few more twists and turns, Marlie got pummeled again – I mean, completely and utterly drenched.  Kai and Jools took a couple of hits.  I thought that given the cooler temperatures, the water cannons surely would not be turned on.  Wrong.  Alyssa, Rob, and I couldn’t escape, rounding out the soaking of our entire tube of people.  Even after we took a spin in the giant family dryer, it was absolutely no use for Marlie.  Her sweatshirt was so saturated, we had to wring it out onto the ground.  No amount of holding it near the hand dryers would help. 

Everyone has their opinion on theme parks, but we have had some of our best bonding experiences in theme parks.  Sure, they’re loud. They’re chaotic. They sell churros that cost $12.  Someone’s always hungry.  No one can agree on the next ride.   But then something happens—you’re all screaming together on a raft ride in 60-degree weather, laughing at the on-ride photo, or holding up your socks in the people dryer—and suddenly, you’re not just a group. You’re a unit. A team.  Because nothing says bonding like surviving a 90-minute wait for a 90-second ride with someone who wasn’t in your life eight years ago but now knows exactly how you flap your hands at the top of the first drop of a roller coaster.  And that is what makes the experience worth it.

Virginia is for Rv’ers

Let’s start this blog entry with a pop quiz:  Based on the paint transfer you see here on Kevin’s left rear bumper, name the gas station/convenience store chain where Rob dinged the gas pump?  

Please see the paint transfer above…

Hint:  They have pretty delicious coffee.  Bonus points if you can identify the number of minutes Rob thought the world was ending or the number of times he said we would need to get a new camper because this one was ruined.

Answers below.

Wawa

73

19

Now, let’s begin…

Our last morning on Assateague started out rainy.  After collecting our soaked camp chairs and drying off our grill, Rob, Marlie and I ventured out to the last trail in the park, Life of the Marsh.  Making a quick detour on the way, I pulled the Jeep into one of the loops when I spied horses grazing in the fields among the campers. The horses seem to like the campsites on the bayside, which is where we have seen the majority of the horses.  There are about 150 horses on the island, and I bet we have seen 30 different ones.  Admittedly, on our first day, I uttered the statement, “They all look the same.  When you’ve seen one horse, you’ve seen them all.” I regret those words.  I am not tired of looking at them and they do look different.  And, yes, I still yell out “horse” every time I spot one.

The Life of the Marsh trail is an extensive wooden walkway that extends over a mucky marsh teeming with plant and animal life.  Far out into the swampy ooze, a small group of horses grazed lazily, not bothered by the people or the drizzle.  They truly are everywhere in the park.  If you think a horse wouldn’t be there, you are wrong.  They even swim and cross deep channels when they want to search out food.  These incredible creatures are a marvel and keeping the herd healthy and wild is top priority for the park services here on Assateague.

Having enjoyed the peace on Assateague, but also fighting constantly with the amount of sand six people tracked into the camper over a 48-hour period, we headed out toward Williamsburg.  Travel days can be long and boring unless you are traveling with us.  Inevitably, something will throw a kink into our plan, and, good or bad, we make the most of it.

Owning an RV is a delicate balance between pleasure and pain.  We love the freedom to move around the country in our self-contained unit.  We love having our own comforts from home and seeing the country from the road.  That said, there is no shortage of repairs that have to happen each and every time we head out.  Luckily Rob is handy and after the initial panic-attack, he leaps into action and fixes the problem.  Today’s problem was an old friend that keeps cropping up – the right rear jack.  The jacks that stabilize the camper when we are parked  retract automatically, except for the right rear one.  Despite numerous resets, the system repeatedly alerted that the jacks were not completely retracted.  This meant that Marlie had to sit near the control panel for the leveling system and reset it every time it began beeping – roughly every four minutes.  This prompted a stop at, you guessed it, Tractor Supply Co., for a ratchet strap to hold the jack in place while the RV is in motion.  Rob “McGyvered” a temporary solution while I took the rest of the crew for burgers at Hardee’s – and just like that, we were back on the road.  No photo of this process due to grumpiness.

Back on the road, we headed over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.  At the toll booth, we were instructed to pull over and shut off our propane tank before crossing.  Due to high winds, Rob drove slowly in the right lane as Kevin was jostled by a brisk ocean breeze.  The bridge-tunnel is 17.6 miles and has two tunnels that go underneath the bay at a depth of 25-100 feet.  Normally, there is a fishing pier about halfway across the bridge where you can park and get a great view out over the water, but it is currently under construction.  It’s an incredible feat of engineering, but getting across it and onto solid land was a huge relief.  Getting pushed around like a toy in a 30-foot tin can would make anyone’s blood pressure skyrocket!

Crossing over from Maryland into Virginia, we immediately found ourselves in the land of chicken production.  The circle of chicken expertise surrounds this specific area of the state.  Within a span of 5 miles, both Tyson and Perdue have enormous farms and processing facilities.  Massive galvanized steel barns set off the road house thousands of chickens, while just up the road, giant factories process birds, moving the products to industrial warehouses and distribution facilities.  To be honest, it’s a little grim.  

The Williamsburg Campground was like a magical oasis of hot water and electricity.  Upon arrival, I immediately evacuated the camper in order to sweep the last of the sand out the door.  It was in every nook and cranny.  I swear, we took half the beach with us.  I even had a little grit on the rim of my coffee mug this morning.  We rested. We showered. We charged every device we had. Ahhhh.  The campground is not the peaceful oasis that was Assategue, but we strive for balance in this family and I think I speak for the entire camper when I say just how happy we were to spend an hour doom scrolling on our devices and exploring possible activities for the next couple of days.

To cap off our first night in Williamsburg, we took the crew to mini-golf at The Pirate’s Cove!  It’s always a good time mini-golfing with a party of six. (My sincerest apologies to the people behind us.)  Rob and I are fiercely competitive in mini-golf and frequently are neck-in-neck for the top spot.  I didn’t come out on top tonight which puts me two games behind him.  To his credit, he was a good sport and quietly celebrated his victory.

Tomorrow’s adventure is Busch Gardens!  I haven’t been to this park since I was about seven, so I’m looking forward to visiting the park and maybe getting on a ride or two… being very mindful of my healing body.  Stay tuned to see who rides the big coasters and who chickens out!!!