We managed to get the RV dried out after the Gypsy-induced flood. Water had cascaded over the cook top for an indefinite amount of time, so winding up with only one inoperable propane burner was a blessing. Everything else was soggy but salvageable.

The ‘rainbow’ is a euphemism for of our relaxing stay on Tybee Island. The weather has been perfect. I have managed to run several miles each morning, exploring the entire region on foot. That sounds impressive, but trust me, the island is small. I don’t run marathons. This barrier isle, known as Savannah’s Beach, does not reflect the genteel nature of the charming, historic district of Georgia’s oldest city. It has some grit. It has a downtown strip with bars and bikers and beach bums. It has hotels, condos and a campground. Yet, most of the island is residential with everything from cottages to castles. There are historic sites. Palm trees, pine trees and southern magnolias, covered with Spanish moss, line the streets.

From the North Beach area you can watch large, ocean-going ships enter and exit the Savannah River. I’m not sure why I find this so fascinating, but I could watch these container ships come and go all day.

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The beaches are not dog friendly, but thankfully, there is a dog park at the campground. The locals like to congregate there and discuss Tybee politics and the ”code enforcement gestapo” that patrol the island from golf carts. We learned about the local “dirt” while Gypsy made a bunch of new friends. She was even invited to a dog-birthday-party. Although, it would appear in the photos that she is being viciously attacked, she is truly having a wonderful time romping with Luna, Cesar, Rip and the gang.

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During this morning’s run, I stumbled upon a very moving ceremony, commemorating the 20th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. A huge, American flag was slowly unfurled from the top of the historic lighthouse, while a bagpiper, atop the 144 foot tall structure, hauntingly played Amazing Grace and Danny Boy. I paused to reflect and remember the lives lost on that fateful day.

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I am truly sorry to be leaving this place but more ocean adventures await at Jekyll Island.

Stay tuned…

Just as we were leaving North Carolina, I dropped my iPhone on a rock, at just the perfect angle that it shattered the glass. I have had that iPhone 6S for a frightfully long time, and had an unhealthy attachment to the frayed, Blue Otter Box and the oversized screen. It had totally inadequate storage, and desperately needed updated, but it was like my “blankie”. When I saw the screen, with web-like cracks covering the entire screen, I nearly wept. Yes, I was going to have to find a Verizon store, and spend too much money, in an effort to replace my trusty, old friend. <sigh> Fortunately we found a Verizon Retail store in Murrell’s Inlet, SC and I was able to make a new friend: A purple iPhone 12 with a clear, sparkly Otter Box.

We already had a veterinary appointment scheduled for Gypsy at The Animal Hospital of South Carolina in Pawley’s Island, which was luckily right down the road from the Verizon Store. It was time for Gypsy’s post-spay check up and suture removal. I was totally flabbergasted when the vet removed the stitches, gave her a quick check up, and declared her healthy enough to resume normal activities. No more cone of shame, or inflatable collars designed to keep her from gnawing at her incision. YAY!! And furthermore, the vet DID NOT CHARGE US. That’s right. No charge. I’m still happily perplexed. Needless to say, The Animal Hospital of South Carolina is going to get a great YELP review from me.

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After taking care of all of the necessary nonsense, we thoroughly enjoyed a few romps in the ocean at Huntington Beach State Park. Our campsite was right behind the dunes. We could not see the ocean, but could hear the rhythm of the tide. It was a very short walk to the beach. The park is a true wildlife sanctuary. It covers several square miles that include marshland with a myriad of birds, turtles and alligators, as well as a huge stretch of pristine, unspoiled Atlantic shoreline. I could have stayed there longer, but we had reservations at Tybee Island, GA. I will definitely be back for a longer stay.

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We had planned to stop near Savannah to have a quick lunch with my brother-in-law’s niece and sister-in-law. Emily was very gracious in finding a restaurant that had a parking lot that would be large enough to accommodate our RV. We would have to leave Gypsy in the RV while we grabbed a quick bite. She had a Kong to keep her busy, and AC to keep her cool. It was only going to be a 45 minute lunch. What could possibly go wrong? She had been left on her own before, without incident. I knew almost immediately upon our return to the motorhome that something was amiss. She was sitting in the driver’s seat, after crashing through a baby gate to get access to the cab of the motorhome. I slid her over, sat down, and heard the unmistakable sound of water gushing. She had managed to jump onto the kitchen counter, turn on the water, and flood the inside of the RV. BAD DOG! My husband, with bath towels in hand, sopping up the mess, was not amused. I, on the other hand, had a hard time stifling my laughter.

Retired and rambling is not always a vacation.

We have arrived at Tybee Island, but have laundry to do, a new screen room to erect, and a wet mess to deal with.

Stay tuned….

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The Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel is a bridge-tunnel combination that is nearly 18 miles long and takes you from Virginia’s Eastern Shore to Virginia Beach, VA. I’m not a huge fan of navigating Big Bertha through ‘challenging’ segments of highway but I was determined to conquer the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel. At first, driving through traffic with a large RV is not so bad. The bridge is low with a wide shoulder area and two-lane, one-way traffic UNTIL you are funneled down to the tunnel portion, which has a precariously pinched, single lane with oncoming traffic that seems hell-bent on sideswiping you. If you squint your eyes, grit your teeth and grab the wheel until your knuckles turn white, you can make it without incident.

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The first red flag at The Captain Cooks, Waterfront Restaurant, should have been when we asked if Gypsy could join us on the patio. The harried waitress asked how big our dog was. When we responded that she was a 45-pound Labrador Puppy, she said “I guess so” in such a hesitant voice that it was clear she did not know the actual policy. We sat down and were promptly and continually ignored by the wait staff, which appeared to consist of two, semi-frantic young women. We asked for water on three separate occasions, but it never came. I was willing to be tolerant. They did seem to be understaffed, and the waterfront ambiance was nice, so my husband fetched our drinks and a couple of menus. Still, no service. My inner-John Taffer was beginning to emerge as it became painfully aware that The Captain needed a serious BAR RESCUE. Eventually, we flagged down a server and placed an order, that 40 minutes later, still had not arrived. My husband went inside to refill our drinks, and decided to follow up on the food. It was then that we were made aware that the cook was absent (I suspect he quit) and that one of the two servers was also attempting to prepare the food. Our order ticket had never even made its way into the kitchen. Needless to say, we canceled our order, grabbed our 45-pound pup, and left.

I made ham & cheese on rye when we got back to the RV. It’s a poor substitute for seafood on the waterfront, but, since the server was also the chef, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.

Thinking that perhaps we had been unfair and overly judgmental, we thought we would give waterfront dining in Washington one more try. What a mistake. We were seated outside at the Mulberry Street Brewery, and were provided an abbreviated menu. Twenty minutes later we were given two glasses of warm, not tepid, not lukewarm, but actual WARM water. Ten minutes later, we still had not placed an order. We looked at each other, nodded in agreement, and made a hasty escape.

We were famished. On the way back to the truck we stumbled upon The Grub Brothers Eatery. It looked like a local dive bar. No water view. No ambiance. It took an HOUR to get two wraps but at least the water was cold. In truth, the sandwiches were quite tasty and I had a side of good, southern stewed tomatoes and okra instead of fries.

Moral of the story. If you want a great meal on the waterfront, avoid Washington, NC. If you need a job go to Washington, NC. They need servers, cooks, hostesses and bottle washers.

Onward to Murrell’s Inlet, where I hear there is good waterfront dining…

Stay tuned…

If you are from the Baltimore area you know that ‘Downy Oshun’ is a colloquialism for “going down to the ocean”. Why waste syllables? There are multiple beach destinations along the Mid-Atlantic Coast, but for many in the Baltimore area, the ONLY “Oshun” destination is Ocean City, Maryland.

We’ve been to Ocean City on countless occasions. It is a very commercial strip of land that boasts a boardwalk, amusement piers, arcades, water parks and lots of miniature golf. It has hotels, motels, condos, restaurants and bars. It has world famous Thrasher’s French Fries, and Fisher’s Pop-Corn. It has neon, and music, and bicycles and tram cars. It has sun and sand and a fast food joint on every block. Ocean City is a Mecca for pizza, playtime and partying.

We are outdoor lovers. We like to bike, hike and kayak and generally do so while camped at a State Park. We initially had reservations for a site on Assateague National Seashore, which is very close to Ocean City, but due to the no dog rule, we had to find an alternate site, where Gypsy would be welcome. Thus, Ocean City and The Castaways RV Resort:

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Castaways is a huge diversion for us. Not only is it a commercial campground, it is a true resort with a Caribbean vibe. There is a private beach, a dog beach, a swimming pool, a hot tub, a Tiki bar, a pool bar and a fitness center! Cabins, painted in bright, tropical colors are available for rent. Additionally, you can rent golf carts, jet-skis, kayaks, paddle-boards or inflatable party islands!

Poor Gypsy is recovering from her recent spay procedure, so she was unable to play on the doggie-beach, but she did manage to have a good time at the dog-friendly pool bar, while I managed to get in a round of mini-golf.

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It’s a good thing that we had reservations for only three nights. A person could get used to that kind of debauchery.

But, time to get back on track. Goose Creek State Park, here we come.

Stay tuned…

During our March trip to Austin, Texas, we had a tree fall on our garage. It was an isolated incident, one that would surely not repeat itself. I mean, lightening never strikes the same place twice, right? WRONG! I have researched the likelihood of multiple strikes in the same location, and it seems that because weather patterns are repetitive, it is not uncommon for two lightning strikes in the same place. How about three?

We have a kind and conscientious neighbor who keeps an eye on our property while we are out, galavanting around the globe. During our recent trek to the west coast, sometime in July, Barry called to tell us that an enormous tree had fallen into his backyard, causing a chain reaction which impacted our lot. The tree crashed through power lines violently enough that it caused the wires to catapult a telephone pole into our backyard. Picture it, a giant slingshot composed of overhead wires, loaded with a telephone pole, aimed at the center of our lawn. A number of small trees also tumbled into our gardens, and the wires wound up dangling into our pond. On the positive side, there were no electrocutions. On the negative side, no one wanted to accept responsibility for the damage or the subsequent clean up. Baltimore Gas & Electric pointed fingers at Verizon, Verizon pointed fingers at Comcast, Comcast pointed fingers at Baltimore Gas & Electric. You get the general picture.

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Through some long distance persistence, the assistance of our remarkably thoughtful neighbor, and the expenditure of quite a few bucks, the mess was cleaned up.

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We had a few days in August during which we could grab the grandkids and head to the Delaware beaches. After the tree fiascos, I was a bit wary of wandering away from home, BUT the kids love “glamping” and we love having their company. We stayed at the Delaware Seashore State Park which is a slice of paradise for kids. The ocean is within walking distance. There are plenty of safe roads on which to ride bikes and there are playgrounds that are packed with kids.

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We were having SO much fun. We were diving into waves, playing games, soaking up the sun and swimming in the surf. We managed a trip to the boardwalk with a stop at Funland, where my grandson managed to coerce me into joining him on a ride that had me dangling, completely upside down for longer than was comfortable. I lived to tell about it.

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It was perfect, until the text from Barry arrived.

A telephone pole behind our pond, NOT the one that had previously been catapulted into our yard, was on fire. Our yard was filled with bucket trucks, fire trucks and an assortment of emergency response vehicles, all of which left, deep, muddy ruts in our meticulously manicured lawn. More landscape work. More $$$$$. My yard is a money pit.

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And yet, because we believe the odds are against a fourth lightning strike, we are ready to embark on a journey that will eventually take us to coastal Georgia. Dare I ask what the next backyard catastrophe will be?

Stay tuned….

It’s been a while since my last update. Our final stop on the cross country journey was at Codorus State Park, near Hanover, PA. The park is large and scenic and the sites are spacious but we did not stay long enough to take full advantage of what the park had to offer. I shall get back there some day when I do not have pressing reasons to get home.

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Being retired is not ALL about fun and games and frivolity. Growing older is too often accompanied by the loss of loved ones. I had to leave Codorus to finally, after much postponement, confront such a loss.

My beautiful mother suffered for many, many years with Alzheimer’s disease. I was with her throughout the entire ordeal. I was there to hug her when she was first slipping and was filled with fear and anxiety that often presented as anger. I was there to keep her company when she no longer knew me. I was there to feed her when utensils became foreign objects. I was there to hold her hand while playing Amazing Grace on my iPhone and reading to her when she slipped into heaven.

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Mom had passed away months before our 6-week RV journey began, but her funeral was delayed due to the Covid-19 pandemic. Coming home meant completing a different type of journey. Alzheimer’s is often labeled THE LONG GOODBYE, which is an accurate summary of this truly awful disease. I needed to say my final farewell, after years of slowly waving adieu to the woman who gave me life.

During the same week, we were abruptly confronted with the sudden and unexpected death of a dear, dear friend and the death of a dear friend’s mother. RIP Jaybird and Pat. Life is so fragile and so precious. All of you will be deeply missed.

Sadly, this is not my normal, light-hearted post but I promise better things are coming. Mom would have wanted us to continue to ramble, explore and enjoy our beautiful world. In fact, she kept a refrigerator magnet that featured a quote by Hunter S. Thompson: “Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and proclaiming “Wow, what a ride!!!”

Stay tuned.

The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.

Bertrand Russell

I suspect that some would question why two, supposedly sane, sixtyish-year-olds would leave a perfectly lovely home, to live in a truck, with an overly-peppy puppy, for six weeks straight. Lunacy? There may be a touch of foolhardiness involved, but it is truly a wanderlust that drives us. Yet, a tug at the heartstrings is pulling us back home. It’s hard to conceive of the fact that very soon we will be seeing this adventure from the rear view mirror. Six weeks can feel like six minutes. It’s the curse of growing older.

This may come as a shock, but after 6,200 miles behind the wheel, I relented. I allowed myself to be a passenger. A major storm was fast approaching as we passed through Erie, PA and were heading on to Western New York. I could not fathom driving one mile further, especially through black skies, blustery winds and a blinding rain. I had already gone too many miles. It was the straw that finally broke the camel’s (my) back. I pulled over, pried my fingers off of the steering wheel and got situated in the back of the RV. Only intravenous valium could have persuaded me to ride shotgun. There would be no co-pilot for this leg of the trip. Once safely seat-belted in the back, I grabbed my comfort animal (Gypsy) and gave the keys to my husband. He picked his jaw up off the ground, introduced himself to the driver’s seat, and got us safely to Evangola State Park in Irving New York.

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Evangola State Park is located on Lake Erie and draws huge numbers of gulls and geese. There is a mighty wind that blows off of the lake, which creates ocean-like waves that break against the beach. It is a beautiful spot for birding, boating, swimming or sunbathing.

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We were able to jog a few miles on the paved paths within the park.

New York currently is one of the top 5 wine-producing states. The area around Evangola is speckled with vineyards. We made a quick stop at the dog-friendly, Merritt Vineyard and enjoyed a glass of Pinot Grigio, some cheese and crackers, and a chat with the vintner.

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Next Stop: Black Moshannon State Park, which is located in Phillipsburg, PA, near my husband’s old Penn State stomping grounds. It is a well-used park with fishing, boating and numerous hiking opportunities.

We had an exceptionally muddy, ten-mile, tramp through the trails.

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Only one more stop along the way…

Mixed Emotions.

Stay tuned….

“This is turning into an alcohol-will-cure-everything kind of day.”

― Kelly Moran, Bewitched

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We were all set to head to Iowa when we discovered that our ‘slide’ would not retract. You cannot drive down the road with an extended slide. It would certainly be bad for the motorhome and you would need one of those escort vehicles with flashing lights and a sign reading WIDE LOAD. We were dismayed but after our emergency vet visit, this seemed more than like a hiccup than a crisis. We pondered our options and settled on trying to find a mobile RV repair technician. Fortunately, a nice lady in the campground had a recommendation for D & J Diversified Repair Service.

In what feels like a former lifetime, we lived in Iowa for a 2-year stint. We were scheduled to reconnect with my former co-worker and friend, Julie during our stay. I was so eager to see her, but I was merely curious to see the old haunts. I had culture shock when we moved from the mid-Atlantic to the Hawkeye State many years ago. At the time, it seemed a bit “backward”. I was shocked. We found Cedar Rapids to be growing and bustling and a far livelier community than the one we left 15 years ago!

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Our campsite was on Coralville Lake. It was large and level and would have been the perfect spot for a longer stay.

We just happened to be in Iowa for my birthday. I try to ignore birthdays, as they seem to get here more quickly each year. However, Julie was not going to let this day slip by unobserved. She was so thoughtful, putting together a meal, and gifts and some specialty cupcakes. I am so very grateful that she went to so much trouble to create a truly memorable day.

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We departed Iowa with a nostalgic tug at the heart and were soon Indiana Bound.

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A visit to Mount Rushmore was supposed to have been one of the highlights of our travel schedule. Don’t misunderstand me. It is a “must see”, and I am thrilled to have had the chance to see this remarkable monument, this unimaginable artistic feat; this tribute to our forefathers. Yet, due to a few monkey wrenches that were tossed in, the experience could have been better.

First of all, in order to get to the Black Hills, we had to drive through most of Wyoming, on narrow, state roads. I felt like I was driving down a landing strip on the moon. The speed limit is 80 on those two-lane roads. Why? Because you are highly unlikely to encounter another vehicle for miles and miles and miles. Wyoming is mostly flat, and it’s brown, and nobody lives there. Well, someone has to live there to take care of the livestock. There is plenty of livestock.

I was feeling pretty confident about making good time and getting a little cocky about my mad driving skills. I was flying down those long, straight, empty roads.

Enter, South Dakota. The hills turn into mountains, and you start seeing signs that say, STEEP, CURVY ROADS WITH NO SHOULDER FOR THE NEXT SIX MILES. Those high-elevation, serpentine roads are agonizing. I wanted to pull over and cry, but there was no shoulder to pull on to, so I had to wind my way around, VERY slowly, while simultaneously cursing under my breath and begging Jesus to take the wheel.

The Vet was suggesting that she ate something she should not have eaten (duh…), but also was concerned about giardia, diet changes and nervous anxiety combining to cause pancreatitis. Wow. I mean, yes, she had the trots, and yes, she was drooling to beat the band, but she was certainly not lethargic. She was full of energy and wagging her tail. The bloodwork came out fine, and yet, we were sent home with antibiotics, probiotics, special food, tranquilizers, and anti-nausea meds. Ching! Ching! $$$$

Naturally, by the morning she was 100% fine… no runs, no slobber. After all of the expense and anxiety, I now suspect that she chewed on a Kong that probably had the remnants of a 3-day old peanut butter treat, no pancreatitis or nervous condition; just a dog that had a tummy ache.

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My husband was quite ambitious regarding miles we could travel in between stops during our return voyage. Granted, at the time he made the plans, we had a deadline to meet if we hoped to meet our friends for a stop at Bob’s Lake, Canada, in late July. It turns out that, due to Covid-19, and the border closure, we would not be winding up in Ontario and the rush home was for naught. The groundwork, however, had been laid, and reservations made, so we began our overly-ambitious marathon back to Maryland.

Our 1st, and only stop in the stunning state of Oregon was at the Wildhorse Resort and Casino. Because I am a nature lover, my preference is always to stay at state or national parks, but this place gets a thumbs-up. The sites are large and level, and there are ample grounds for dog-walking or just taking a stroll. It is an easy amble to the casino from the RV park, and for the slothful amongst us, there is a courtesy van that will deliver campers to the door of this gambler’s utopia. There are plenty of slots and table games, and the air is not heavy-laden with cigarette smoke. Definitely a more than acceptable alternative for a quick stop (or a longer stop if luck is a lady…)

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I hate traffic and generally deplore the part of the journey that is spent on the highway. However, it is not congested in this part of the world, and believe it or not, I actually enjoyed the drive! Route 84 is indescribable in its splendor as it winds its way through the Columbia River Gorge, The Hood River Valley, The Dalles, The Umatilla National Forest, etc. There were a few curvy, steep, twists and turns that caused me to grip the steering wheel for dear life and I may have said a bad word or two, but we managed to get to Idaho without diving off of a cliff.

When I think of Idaho, I think of Potatoes and cults. I do not think of The Oregon Trail, or The Snake River Valley, or arid desert land. After staying at Massacre Rocks State Park, I will never again think of Idaho as simply the spud-capital of the world.

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Although this park is situated just parallel to I-86, you feel as if you have entered a different world than the one that you left on the highway. The hiking trails are entwined throughout the grounds, and lead to the Old Oregon Trail. The Snake River runs through the park, and numerous white pelicans soar along the estuary. The ground is dry and covered with fine basalt dust.

Oh! give me a home where the Buffalo roam,

Where the Deer and the Antelope play;

Dr. Brewster M. Higley

After leaving Idaho, we headed to Lander, Wyoming. I was almost hit by an antelope. There’s a statement that I never thought I would utter.

If you’ve never been to southwest Wyoming, you have no legitimate claim to having been “in the middle of nowhere.” There is limitless, free-range land as far as the eye can see. signs say things like: Caution. Cows on the Road, and Grouse Crossing, and Antelope Enter Road at 55 mph. The antelope that nearly crossed in front of me had slowed down to a respectable 35 mph, and thankfully, ran a quick, slant route, and avoided colliding with Big Bertha.

Sadly, amidst all of the magnificence of The Shoshone National Forest, we found ourselves in yet, another roadside RV rest stop, for a one-night stay. Maybe I’m just getting used to these stop-overs, but Sleeping Bear RV Park is really, kind of cute, and has a pathway that enables you to walk into downtown (?) Lander. The management is friendly and the park is clean. There is a small stream on the property and there are overlooks that enable you to see mountains on the horizon.

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Tomorrow: Custer, SD… SO MANY MORE MILES. <sigh>

Next adventure will have fewer miles and longer stays. I am weary.

Stay tuned…