Booked Up

I'm a list maker. I always kept a daily calendar. I get this wonderful organizational trait from my dad. If the family is planning a campout or barbeque, we race to pull out our pocket calendars. We are the keepers of dates.
Somehow, I made it to the end of August 2010 without a calendar. After we got home from the trip in June I was writing down birthday parties and appointments on a piece of paper. Haircut, 1:30 Tuesday or return library books next Saturday. When my page filled up I got a new piece of paper and wrote 1-30 on individual lines and filled in the September events. Finally, I realized what I really needed was a calendar.
I went to my dad's department store to get one. "We usually get rid of them by March, Becky," he said. "Why do you need one now? What happened to yours?" At first, I couldn’t explain myself. I just don't have one. I'm here to buy one. "I guess I haven't needed one until now, Dad," I explained. I told him that on our trip I didn't really keep track of the days the same way. His eyes showed his disbelief. Well, there might be some calendars in the Back to School merchandise, we decided.
And I found one. It goes all the way to next July. Six months ago I didn’t even know what day it was. Now I guess I’m back on the schedule.

When will I travel again?

Dan and I watched a movie last night. It was "Memoirs of a Geisha." It's a few years old. I picked it up at the library because I remember reading the book for book club and wanting to see the movie. The story was as good as I remember. What caught my eye this time around was the landscape. "Memoirs" was set in Japan around World War II. The opening scene shows the ocean. It was rainy and dark, but it made me long to be at the ocean again. I was also fascinated by the gardens, the architecture, and the clothing.
We knew something the day we came home, or maybe even before. Our bodies may stop traveling, but our minds will not. Now everything reminds us, calls us to come see it, to travel. For as many places in America that we dove headfirst into the culture and scenery, there are thousands of more places around the world to be discovered. Even in America we could do the trip all over again and see the same places but in different seasons. Last year I lived a dream. This year I can only dream.

There's a first time for everything

Some days, like when I'm writing, I get caught up in the idea that everything has been said and done before I ever got here. Millions of people have been to the Grand Canyon. Women have babies every single day. Books have been written on every topic. There's not one word, song or experience that Google doesn't know about already. Nothing is new or novel. This line of thinking is a real problem. There's no fun, no creativity. Some days, I call it writer's block.

That's when I have to think about all the firsts I accomplished last year on our trip. Last year on this very day, I was in Maryland at a seafood festival. I ate a crab cake for the first time ever. Surprisingly, I ate the whole thing. Yum. Dan's fried squid, on the other hand, was not a treat I was ready to sample. I doubt I’ll ever join that club. I racked up a lot of firsts last year though. First time in Boston, first alligator experience, first time to Spring Training, first time driving an RV. It really was a year of firsts.

I checked off another first this week when I went knee boarding on Lake Martin. After watching my 4-year old nephew climb on top of the board and cruise along behind us in the boat, I realized I was missing a lot of fun. I was terrible at it. I kept getting pulled under water or falling off. But it was so much fun. I felt like a kid again.

Despite what they say, there really is a first time for everything because no one experiences crab cakes or knee boarding or Gettysburg just like I do. And once I cross that line, trying something for the first time, there are tons of people waiting on the other side, to discuss it and embrace me as part of the group of "those who have." And that's the best part, sharing experiences with others. This is what I try to remember some days when I'm writing.

Our Trip Took Us into the Ocean

On a yearlong RV trip, I never imagined that we'd take a cruise too. But as luck would have it, that's just what we were doing last year on this day.

We discovered the Cape May-Lewes Ferry when we were trying to plan a route along the Atlantic Coast. We'd been to New York and Philadelphia, we were in New Jersey and we were headed to Maryland, Delaware and Washington D.C. That's when we found a shortcut across the ocean. It's a 17-mile, 85 minute trip between New Jersey and Delaware. It was under $100 bucks for the ride (it's much cheaper for passenger cars than 45-foot RVs) and it saved us a ton of time looping around the states, not to mention gas money. On top of that, once we boarded the big ship,and left our camper down in the parking area, we discovered that it was a Family Fun Cruise, with a DJ and activities for the kids on all three levels of the boat.

The thing I remember the most about our cruise across the Delaware Bay was how amazing it felt to stand with Dan and the kids at the bow, looking down at the inky water and wondering how I got so lucky.

The first century Roman philosopher, Seneca, said "Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity." I guess I believe that. We did a ton of preparation to give our family the opportunity to travel together. But sometimes the beauty of luck just sneaks right up on you.

I heart NY

Dan and I dream of living in NYC someday, if only temporarily. The city charmed us years ago, during a visit to see Dan's brother. Unaware of traffic or really anything in New York, we simply drove right into the middle of it, without even a map. Through Lincoln Tunnel to Manhattan and into Queens, we soaked it in. The next day, sightseeing, we put in several miles on foot. We slept on the floor of tiny apartment, smaller than any we'd lived in. And we fell in love the city. We didn't want to go home. There's so much we didn't see, so much to offer.
Last year on this day, we were leaving New York again. We spend three short days of our trip touring the city, showing Abby and Carter all the places we wanted them to love too. Most of our favorite things to do were free, including a ride on the Staten Island Ferry, gazing at Times Square, a walk in Central park, Grand Central Station, the South Street Seaport and the bridges, Brooklyn and Manhattan. There are enough parks and shops and museums and eateries to fill a lifetime.
It would be hard, not to mention expensive, to raise kids in New York. I doubt that is in our future. But as for visiting, I'd go back today if the chance came up. As for living there, I can dream!

One of my favorite bloggers linked me to a site that analyzes your writing and tells you what famous author you write like. Check it out I Write Like

Here's my results:

I write like
Dan Brown

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Remembering the PIP

Every road has rules. That's why we need a driver's license. But what if you're in a different state, the rules change, sometimes only slightly? And let's say the road is not a road, but a parkway. In some states that changes the rules more than a little.

While driving on the PIP, the Palisades Interstate Parkway, which is a scenic run from New Jersey to New York, be sure you're not driving an RV. That's prohibited. So are commercial vehicles, buses and trucks that are meant for hauling goods, not people. There are signs to let you know about the rules. But if you cruise by the sign at 60 mph like everyone else, there's no way you'll get the information you need. If you are driving a prohibited vehicle, you're breaking the law. The locals know it too. They honk and scowl and use hand signals as they speed past you.

But don't worry, the cops see this all the time. That's what they said when they pulled up behind us. We were not only driving on the PIP in our 45-ft recreational vehicle, we broke down, spilling transmission fluid all over the precious parkway. The cop was nice though, he didn't give us or the two tow trucks it took to haul us a way, a ticket for being to big for the road.

Rules aside, I would like to travel the PIP again one day. The parkway is listed on the National Register of Historic Places. There are beautiful stone-faced overpasses. The Appalachian Trail meanders right next to it. Lake Welch is nearby. Bear Mountain the Hudson River are the backdrop to a section of the parkway. With all the frustration of being lost, the breakdown and then the police, I really missed the beauty of it.

Don't Sell The RV

State number 47, South Dakota, I can't believe it's almost over. It's going to be difficult to give North Dakota the same treatment that we gave New York, because there is a growing concern about how we will be able to adjust to life without wheels. Each day when we woke up I took a picture of the windshield view. Although a lot of those views were parking lots, they were in different places nearly everyday. My neighbor's lawn is nice, but it won't be different everyday. That would be too much to ask. This feeling of grinding to a halt was reinforced in an email we received from one of our road friends. She suggested that we keep our travel options open, because it will be more difficult to adjust to living in one place than it was to living on the road. It was my fear of going home put into words, and since someone else was thinking it, it seemed even more menacing.
Naturally we knew we couldn't continue on indefinitely, and we do miss the family and friends from home, but I worry that there is a serious change coming.
Since the first day of planning we had no intention of keeping the RV when we returned home. This topic came up in family discussion a few weeks ago and a look of disbelief covered the faces of our children. How could we think of selling their now beloved "Fun Bus", the same vehicle that they complained about at the start of the journey. They have become enamored with the Cruiser as much as we have fallen in love with traveling.
I guess really we'll drive through North Dakota with just as many questions as we had in our first state, but we'll be hauling a great deal more experience with us.

Peace, Driving and Kansas

Recently we crossed the 30,000 mile mark our trip odometer. Those miles have been over mountains, bridges, major city streets, brick, gravel and dirt roads and long stretches of freeway. Many of the miles have been easy to navigate, some of them have been rough, narrow or steep.
I like being in the mountains, the views are spectacular and the wildlife is plentiful. The air does seem crisper, and rivers more clear. I said I like being up in the mountains, but I did not say that I liked driving up into them our down from them. I get anxious when there is someone behind me pushing to get past on a narrow road, I get tired of using the turn outs to let people by, and I don't enjoy the smell of brake pads on the way down. That doesn't mean that I haven't enjoyed my time in the mountains. I will certainly drive them again.
This week, however, I have enjoyed the simple pleasure of cruising along the highways of Kansas. The wind seemed to blow almost without pause, the fields of grain rippled, and the Cruiser was a ship floating on a calm river.
Becky was engrossed in a book, the kids played games in the back and I was peacefully alone at the rudder.
Some people say there isn't anything to see in Kansas, but I disagree. There is always something to see, you just have to be open to what is there.

Man Week

As we sat in the parking lot of Sea-Tac airport, next to a sign that read "No Vehicles Over 25 Feet" (I guess I didn't learn my lesson in New Port) I looked at Carter and wondered what we would do next. Becky and Abby had just boarded a plane back to Ohio for Abby's school testing leaving us with a week to ourselves.
Since day one, when it came to planning our next step, Becky and I looked over the map and plotted the course. For the first time, it was completely up to me to choose the route. It was a strange, unfamiliar, but not altogether bad sensation. I asked Carter for input on a couple of choices, but since neither of them included McDonald's or water parks, he had little reaction.
I decided that since it was Man Week, it was important for us to see powerful waves on the coast, giant peaks, and large elk herds. It was also important that we see baseball. It seemed appropriate that I grow a beard.
Unfortunately, there isn't a Hooters at any of the National Parks that we visited, I think I'll write a congress person about that, but we managed to feel manly anyway.
We watched Ken Griffey Jr. at Safeco Field, circled the Olympic Peninsula, drove up into the snow at Mount Rainier, and studied the blast zone at Mt. St. Helens. And the whole time we ran. Carter wanted to race to everything, the RV, the next building, the sign over there, the play ground, and back to the RV. I don't know how many times we squared off, but I only won once.
Before Man Week whenever he hurt himself, he raced past me to be healed by mom. During Man Week, he had no choice, and trust me he looked. I think we learned from each other, he learned that I can help him when he gets hurt and I learned that he never gets tired of running. We ate a lot of chicken nuggets, and we played a lot of board games, and we found a new friendship.

Traveling While Standing Still

When we first hit Arizona it was mid February, and I knew we wouldn't be around long enough to catch any spring training games. Then like so many times before Becky found a way for us to do something I dreamed of doing. She found seasonal positions at a park in Phoenix. We would work every other day, and I would take the kids to ballgames on my days off. It worked perfectly, in fact it worked better than we had ever hoped.
I was excited to go to Spring Training, but concerned that our trip may stall or get off course. We did get off schedule a little, which I think has helped us avoid some bad weather up north, but our course has stayed the same. We experienced something new, we met great new people and we figured out that although the Cruiser was sitting still we kept moving forward.
Having never worked in retail before, I wasn't sure what I had signed up for when I road Becky's coat tails into the team shop at Camelback Ranch. She had years of retail experience and I was with her when we interviewed so I got a job too. I found that it agreed with me.
All spring I stood outside and talked to people from around the country who were happy to be at a baseball game in the sun of Phoenix. I sold baby hats to happy grandfathers, talked baseball, dealt sun screen to red faced fans, and became friends with a dozen or so people that worked next to me.
In a months time, I learn their history, found out what made them laugh and how they ended up in the same place as me.
Becky and I met Debbie, one the sweetest people I've ever met. She worked hard everyday, and smiled long after everyone else had stopped.
We met Kent, he became a quiet leader and someone that drew on his years of retail experience to make everybody's job go smoother.
I shared jokes with Angel, a smart young man who graduated early from high school, but could still enjoy my immature antics.
Midway through the month, one of our co-workers, Skip, was in a motorcycle accident. We all worried about him and his wife who worked with us as well. He survived the incident with only bruises.
And we worked for great supervisors. Steven, Katie and Meagan made our jobs enjoyable. They laughed with us, made our mistakes seem minor, and convinced me that I looked good in a pork pie hat.
With time winding down on our great adventure, I know that I will look at our month at Camelback Ranch as one of our favorite stops. Hopefully we will be able to find our way back out there next spring to reunite with some of those same friends.

Friendly Confines

Not every day of our trip ends in the quiet comfort of a state park or beauty of a national park campground. Some of our days conclude with late night stops in the busy parking lots of 24 hour Wal-Marts, and brightly lit Flying J truck stops. Some of those stops are better than others.
Occasionally, you find yourself parked next to a convention of local kids who, not unlike myself several years ago, talk loud and long and have little to say. Other times we slide into the last RV spot in the lot, only to discover that the huge RV next to us plans to run their generator all night.
On these nights, I'm glad that we are able to sink deep into the comforting solitude that our RV walls afford us. It has occurred to me more than once how unusual it seems to some people to sleep in a parking lot. And yet, once you put it in park, and pull the curtains, you are surrounded by the familiar. You see the people that you want to be around, and the things you brought with you. We engross ourselves in our usual night time activities, and when Carter is beating me in backgammon for the third straight night, I forget the outside.
In fact, I've sensed that when the outside is not as welcoming, that we collectively draw closer to feed off the comfort of the familiar. In the end we do many of the same things no matter where the Cruiser is parked for the night.
However, I can tell you with absolute certainty, that if you plan to sleep in a parking lot it is much more comfortable if you bring your RV.

Means to an End

In all of the planning that Becky and I put into the trip, I some how failed to schedule our arrival in Phoenix to coincide with the time when the Indians would begin spring training. I'm not proud of it. It was a ground out to third with the bases loaded in the ninth, trailing by two. This is something I've done, just ask my softball team. And yet, out of this cloud of disappointment comes my wife with a brilliant idea. This is something she's done before.
Rather than miss spring training, let's stay for the whole thing. Not only stay for the whole thing, but be a part of it as well. So we will. We will work at one of the spring training facilities, Camelback Ranch, and camp not far away. And then on the days when I'm not working...I'm watching baseball. It's what I would like to do anyway.
I've never been to spring training before, and I have always wanted to go, I have never worked in a baseball stadium before and now I will have that chance. Even though the Cruiser will be parked for most of March, our trip will continue. It won't be a glamorous job, but it will allow us to do another unique thing. I just hope that I don't spend all my earnings at the Indians team shop.

I've Got 20 Feet of Hose

At our most recent stop, Big Bend National Park, I was forced to pull myself away from some of the views. The mountains, desert and canyons were beautiful. Beautiful enough to help me get past the unpleasantness of the campers around us.
From the moment we drove into the camping area, I could feel a sense of uneasiness. As usual, each resident stopped what they were doing to see who was pulling in or driving past. It's just human nature I suppose, but in this particular camp ground, Rio Grande Village, there was a real feel of unwelcome. The kind of feeling you get when you show up 30 minutes late for mass, or ask the teacher if she forgot to tell the class about the homework assignment.
One particular gentleman stared at us with squinted eyes, and a wrinkled face that said, "Get on outta here! Get!"
We took our usual cruise around the grounds to find the best of the remaining sites, and after we had our site picked out, I made another lap so that I could wave to him again. He had decided on his face, and he stuck to it.
It was the next day when I met my favorite of the these crusty campers. Since he was too busy talking about all the things he knew to introduce himself, I will call him, Buck. I encountered Buck at the dump station. I was already in the process of emptying the tank when he and his wife pulled in.
Trying to be helpful I motioned for him to pull forward so that he could line up his valve with the station. I find a straight shot on these kinds of things to be important. He stopped short, maybe to prove a point, maybe because he was tired of me motioning.
His first words to me, as he hiked up his pants were "I've got 20 feet of hose." My instinct was to say something like "Everybody likes to brag about the length of their hose.", but I refrained. It was clear to me that this was going to be a less enjoyable dump visit than most, and they are never fun.
Buck continued in a condescending voice, "I think I saw you drive in yesterday pulling a trailer!" I replied that he was right, but he already knew that. He began to tell me how many miles he had covered pulling a similar trailer. He commented on the weight of the trailer and made it very clear that I was crazy for having it. I just smiled and laughed, he didn't seem to care if I was interested or not.
Before, I was able to get away he told me how long the trailer was, he told me the length of my trailer.
"That thing's 24 feet.", he told me.
"17" I said.
"No! That's 24 feet. I don't know what ruler your using, the one for selling or the one for buying."
Right about now, I had a list of things I wanted to say in response..."I guess you would know better than me.", "Maybe you could bring your 20 foot sewer hose over and we can measure it!" and "How about I see how much of that hose you can swallow?" Wisely, I maintained the smile and walked away.
As we took a walk around the camp later, I watched as Buck drove slowly by our campsite. I don't know if he was checking his measurement, or just wanted to stop by and give me more knowledge.
I'm just thankful that Big Bend is 800,000 acres, it cut down the chances of talking to him again.

Dan

Earning Our Stickers

It took us a while, but we finally got the map of the US with all the little stickers of each state to put on as you visit them. We didn't get it until we were in South Carolina, and didn't put it on until Florida, but it is up. Proudly displaying all of the states that we have visited.
I don't know how other RVers do it, but we do not take this sticker placement lightly. We do not put a stick up until we feel we have "experienced" a state. We don't just slap them up any time we cross a state line.
Sometimes this has brought us a little challenge. We will occasionally review the activities we did while in a particular state to make sure that we got the true feel for the state. In Florida it was easy, Everglades, Keyes and gators. The same could be said for our current state Louisiana. I've eaten gumbo, jambalaya, and drank beer in the French Quarter. So it will be easy to hang those stickers with pride.
However, there are some states that we feel like maybe, by our standards we have not quite "experienced". Delaware was a challenge, we tried for a couple days to find an event to go to, or a certain place to visit. If it had not been for the Horseshoe crabs on Slaughter Beach, we may not have been able to post that sticker. The weather and schedule did not allow us to ride a river boat in Mississippi, but we did walk along the river, drive the Natchez Trace and take in a Martin Luther King Jr. Day parade in Natchez.
I guess the important thing behind each of those stickers is the memories that we have from those states, and the RV that took us there.

My New View of U-Haul

In a town near where we live there is a U-Haul dealership. All of the trucks are plastered with huge decals that look like postcards. Each postcard is from a different state and has an illustration of something that represents that state. It used to be a habit of mine to look at the pictures and see if they were states that I had been too. Most of them I had not visited.
Yesterday, I was passed by one of those trucks. This particular truck had gigantic horse-shoe crab painted to look like it was flying right at you. It struck me that I knew exactly which state that "postcard" was from, Delaware. Abby had held a crab just like that one and we had walked along Slaughter Beach and seen hundreds of dried up shells of those same crabs littering the sand.
The thought that I will be able to spot U-Hauls all over and have those states checked off made me smile. The fact that my kids will have experienced 48 states before they are able to drive is awesome to me.
In Ozark, MO we ate dinner at Lamberts Cafe, Home of the Throwed Rolls. It may become Abby and Carter's favorite stop on the trip, and all because they throw dinner rolls at you if you raise your hand. As we sat at the table, we talked about their memories of the trip so far. They have astounding memories, both in number and detail. I told them that I hope that if they have children, that they will bring them to some of the same places we visited. Maybe this experience will affect not just Becky and Me, but Abby and Carter and their children as well. Maybe someday I will throw a dinner roll at my grandkids, and my daughter will know why.