Travelogue

What should have been an uneventful drive home quickly turned into a nightmare when we experienced our second flat tire in two days. We were somewhere along Route 113 in Delaware, when we heard a subtle rumble from the back wheels? Fortunately, we were able to pull off the highway onto a side street where Herb felt pretty comfortable about being able to change yet again another tire. However, unlike the first one, which Herb was able to change quite easily, this one had the makings of an epic. No matter how hard he pulled and tugged, the tire would not come off. It was rusted solid to the wheel and wouldn’t budge.

He must have been working on the tire for close to an hour when a car pulled up and out popped a woman dressed in her Sunday finest—polka dot dress, high heeled shoes, and a large straw floppy hat complete with flowers. “Can we be of help?” she asked.

You have to really know Herb to appreciate how amusing and surreal this situation was becoming. He is extremely capable mechanically and like many men has difficulty admitting to needing help, whether it be asking for directions or installing a new furnace. Now, here was this little woman dressed to the nines offering my greasy and frustrated husband assistance in removing a frozen tire.

“My husband and I are Good Samaritans,” she added as an elderly gentleman in his best Sunday suit emerged from the car.

“Thanks,” said Herb, “but I think I’ll just call a tire repair service.”

“You’re not going to find anything open around here on a Sunday,” the gentleman informed us. “I’m you’re best chance in Delaware.”

I must admit that this did not give me a warm and fuzzy. How the heck did these very kind and generous, not to mention well-dressed, people hope to help when my big, strong, mechanically capable husband was at a loss.

I guess there’s some truth to the adage, “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” because these two Good Samaritans were amazing.

The gentleman, who was named Walt, directed Herb to move our RV to his farm just a stone’s throw away, where he had his own 35-foot motorhome and a totally equipped machine shop. While the boys and I had tea and cookies with Walt’s very lovely wife Cecelia, Herb and Walt jacked up the RV and got down to business. After squirting Kroil penetrating oil on the wheel to loosen the rust, they pounded away at it with a hammer for close to 45 minutes before finally setting the rim free from the wheel. They then put the spare tire, which we had just bought yesterday, onto the RV. Normally I wouldn’t be worried about driving home without a spare, but we were going through tires like hotcakes.

Walt and Cecilia politely rebuffed our offers for any compensation and told us that helping others was reward enough for them.

Oddly enough, we were able to reciprocate in some fashion almost two years later. Cecilia was doing work for her church and had somehow thought she lost the database of parishioners. Walt remembered that Herb was knowledgeable in computers, found the business card that Herb and left, and called us. Herb got on the phone with Cecilia and walked her through all the places the file could be, and she found it. It all comes around in the end.

Description

Somewhere along Route 113 in Delaware

Travelogue

Unfortunately, our already short visit to Virginia Beach was cut even shorter by our unexpected flat tire the day before. Not only did we now have only one day to spend with our friends, but a good part of it was filled with purchasing a new spare tire for the motorhome.

Too bad, because First Landing is a wonderful little state park, with a campground right on the Chesapeake Bay overlooking the bridge and miles and miles of beautiful biking and hiking trails through lovely marshlands and bald cypress swamps. Fortunately, we had gotten a chance to really explore the park during our visits in prior years.

However, with our compressed schedule all we really had time to do was hang out on the beach for awhile in the afternoon and then have dinner together that night. Still, it was nice to get a chance to visit and relax for awhile before making the final 7.5 hour drive home on Sunday.

Description

First Landing State Park is located in Virginia Beach at the tip of Cape Henry, where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Chesapeake Bay. The name of the park was changed from Seashore to First Landing to memorialize the fact that this was the site where Captain John Smith first touched land before settling further up the river in Jamestown.

The park’s 2,888 acres of marshlands, lagoons, forested dunes, and bald cypress swamps contain a unique mixture of northern and southern ecosystems. This is the furthest north that Spanish moss is found growing on trees.

The park is split into two sections by US 60. The smaller northern section is located on the Chesapeake Bay. It contains a beach (swim at your own risk) and a 235-site campground. Many of the sites have views of the Bay.

The majority of the park is located south of the highway and has a totally different feel from the section along the beach. It is bounded on the south by Broad Bay and on the east by Atlantic Avenue, along the Virginia Beach strip. Hiking and biking trails lace their way through the park. There are nine walking trails totaling about 19 miles. The most popular one is the Bald Cypress Swamp Trail, which goes along a boardwalk over the tannin-stained waters of a swamp where bald cypress trees stand draped in Spanish moss. The longer, less crowded Long Creek Trail meanders 5 miles through bird-filled salt marshes. The only trail open to bikers is the 6-mile Cape Henry Trail, which cuts across the park to the Narrows.

Travelogue

After leaving Edisto we stopped for lunch at a Cracker Barrel before parting ways with the Hubers. I love Cracker Barrels. The food and service are predictably good and inexpensive, and I’m a real sucker for the country store atmosphere. The kids love the general store and usually are able to find something that they absolutely “need.” This time it was a toy parrot that mimics your every word—cute at first but potentially quite embarrassing.

We said goodbye to the Hubers and continued on our way towards Virginia Beach and the prospect of meeting up with some old friends that had moved there. Unfortunately, a flat tire messed up our plans for making it all the way to Virginia Beach that night. Instead we wound up pulling into a KOA in Enfield, NC, just after dark.

Description

A 77-site campground conveniently located just off I95 (Exit 154), south of Rocky Mount. Amenities include a swimming pool and mini golf.

Travelogue

After spending the last three years spring breaking on Hunting Island, we decided it was time to try something new. So after a bit of research, we selected Edisto, another one of South Carolina’s pristine coastal islands.

I’m afraid we weren’t always fair to Edisto and often found ourselves comparing it to Hunting Island, which had a very special place in our hearts. While Hunting Island is totally undeveloped (in fact, the entire island is a State Park), Edisto is more of a beach community with private homes, stores, restaurants, hotels, golf resorts, etc. There is a state park on Edisto, but it occupies only a portion of the island. However, the undeveloped portions of the two islands are similar in their topography—beautiful white-sand beaches, miles of salt marshes, and maritime forests with old oak trees draped in Spanish moss.

Also, the commercialization on Edisto wasn’t always a bad thing, especially to the kids. They would often hop on their bikes and ride out to the nearby Piggly Wiggly to purchase candy and other unnecessary items, such as fluorescent orange Speedos, which I’ll explain more later.

When we first drove onto the island and were about to turn into the State Park Campground, I was surprised to see a run-down, closed-up gas station right outside the entrance. Although I was a little turned off to what I took to be signs of economic troubles on the island, the boys saw it in a different light. “Look, we can use that as a skateboard park,” they said referring to the myriad of boxes and wood lying about the deserted pumps. I must say that their uncanny ability to find something positive and fun in whatever they encounter is a constant reminder to me that life is what you make of it.

Fortunately, the campground was quite lovely, situated between salt marshes to the west and a two-mile stretch of ocean beach to the east. Our campsite was set in an open area against the salt marshes, which provided for some great views, especially at sunset.

Our first morning in Edisto was Easter morning, and as Gaidus tradition goes, the boys hunt for treasures left during the night by the Easter bunny who miraculously manages to find them no matter what state they are in. In fact, that’s what we had told Andrew when he was 6 years old and refused to go to Savannah for Easter break because the Easter bunny wouldn’t find him. Although the years have passed and belief in the Easter bunny has long faded, the tradition has lived on with me as the surrogate bunny. I am convinced that we will still be doing this when they are 40 years old.

So we spent the first few hours of that beautiful, sunny Easter morning, which I would rather have spent on the beach, rummaging through every nook and cranny in the RV in search of candy and other good stuff hidden by me in the wee hours of the night. Traditionally, Andrew’s goodies are hidden in that plastic green grass that you buy to stuff Easter baskets with and Tommy’s are hidden in yellow grass. However, not wanting to be picking grass out of the RV for the next 3 years, I very pragmatically used green and yellow Post-Its. The boys questioned whether that violated the Easter rules, but knew better than to push it.

After the Easter festivities concluded, we decided to go on an exploratory bike ride. From the campground, we headed out onto the bike path along Jungle Road, aptly named for the thick jungle-like woods that bordered it. There were some lovely houses along the drive. At the end of Jungle Road we bore right and rode along the Big Bay Creek past the Edisto Beach Golf Club and Waterfront area. From there we followed Palmetto Road around the southern tip of the island and back along the ocean side of the island to our campground. The whole ride was about 7.5 miles and pretty much covered the developed part of the island.

Our friends, the Hubers, arrived later that day to spend another fun-filled spring break week with us. Andrew and Tommy were pretty excited about seeing Whitney and Kyle again. As much as they enjoy Herb and my company, it’s still not the same as having kids their own age to hang out with. They had practically grown up with Whitney and Kyle, so whenever they got together they had no difficulty finding ways to entertain themselves—and us.

The next few days on Edisto Island were passed quite blissfully. Unlike our adrenaline-charged cross country trips in which each day is a new place and a new experience, our time on Edisto Island was a pleasant blending of one great day into the next.

Mornings were spent at the campsite, leisurely eating breakfast and just hanging out. Our campsite itself was so nice and sunny with lovely views over the salt marshes that we often felt no particularly urgency to rush to the beach—or at least the adults didn’t.

Usually by mid-morning, we would gather our beach chairs, books, boogie boards, skimboards, Frisbees, etc. and take the short walk across the campground to the beach, which we pretty much had to ourselves as the campground had about 2 miles of beachfront for its 75 campsites. The waves weren’t very big, but they were perfect for skimboarding along the water’s edge, which the kids did for hours on end.

Although it was only April, the sun was strong enough to produce a pretty good burn, as Andrew will attest to, so we often came off the beach for awhile during mid-day to have lunch and relax around the campsite. Sometimes the kids would ride their bikes over to their “skateboard park” or to the Piggly Wiggly to do some shopping. On one particular afternoon they returned with a bag and silly grins on their faces. While they all giggled, Andrew opened the bag and proudly presented his purchase, which he had made with $11 of his own money. I stared at a very bright orange article of clothing wrapped in a plastic bag labeled “Lil’ bit of paradise.” It took me a moment to realize that it was a tiny Speedo bathing suit, the type you only see on Olympians or European men. Andrew was neither. Several questions ran through my mind, but the one that popped out first was, “Is it returnable?”

Ignoring my question, Andrew went into the RV to try on his new purchase, while we waited outside for his debut. He was gone for quite a long time before he finally returned wearing the same shorts he had on before. “Too tight,” was all he mumbled. Obviously he had not tried it on in the store. I guess being 13 years old he was self-conscious enough to realize that he didn’t want to be displaying his “lil’ bit of paradise” around the whole campground. However, an 11 year old is a very different animal, so Tommy grabbed the suit and was soon strutting happily around the campsite in his luminescent phosphorescent orange Speedo, happily waving to amused fellow campers. Andrew tried to sell him the suit, but Tommy knew he was in a very good bargaining position. Hopefully, Andrew learned a lesson, but I doubt it. I’m sure there will be many more orange speedos, or their equivalent, in his future.

Later in the afternoons when the sun got a bit lower, we would usually return to the beach. This is my favorite time of day to be on the beach—the sun is less intense, the lighting is great for photography, and everything seems just a bit more mellow.

Eventually, in no particular hurry, we would drag ourselves off the beach to shower and make dinner. I love the activity of a campground at dinner time—kids running around having a good time, adults laughing and smiling after a day having fun with their kids, great cooking smells coming from every campsite. Everyone is always so friendly in a campground.

Our kids would usually either be playing with the hermit crabs in the marsh at the edge of our site or riding around the campground on their bikes—or more correctly bike. The four of them devised a method to all fit on one bike. Andrew and Tommy both have trick bikes, which have pegs coming out of the axles, which are meant to be stood on. Andrew would drive while Whitney stood on the back pegs holding onto his shoulders. Kyle would perch himself somewhat precariously on the front handlebars. Poor Tommy was placed between Kyle and Andrew, so squished that you could barely see him—perhaps if he wore the orange speedo he would have been more visible. They looked like a circus act and attracted plenty of attention in the campground.

When darkness fell, we would join our fellow campers in the primitive ritual of gathering socially around a fire—and stuffing our mouths with flaming sugary white globs on the end of a stick. This is my favorite time to take a walk through the campground. Everywhere you look, fires dot the landscape, and the air is filled with the laughter of happy campers. I find it very cozy.

One night we had a drive-in movie night. We set up the Huber’s TV/VCR on the picnic table and gathered our chairs around it. The kids thought a scary movie would be a good idea, so we watched “The Ring.” By the end of the movie, the chairs had definitely shifted closer to ours.

The morning we were to leave Edisto was our first spell of bad weather all week. Huge thunderclouds approached the campground as we scurried to pack up—actually, while the Hubers scurried to pack up. All we had to do was fold our tablecloth and load the bikes on the back of the RV. The Hubers, however, were camping the old-fashioned way: in tents. The dining fly and tents had to be taken down and stuffed in bags, stoves and other paraphernalia had to be packed into large Rubbermaid boxes, clothes and towels had to be taken off the line and stuffed to duffle bags, and on and on. Now, I remember why I like having an RV so much. Packing pretty much means turning the key and driving away.

It was now thundering and lightning so we were all scurrying around like nuts trying to help them pack everything away before the storm really hit. As Herb was helping Whitney load their bikes on the roof of their car, Herb felt a slight tingling in his fingers and noticed that Whitney’s hair was standing on end. She too felt a tingling in her arms. Fortunately, this was just a warning, but the possibility of a real lightning strike was definitely there. We quickly took shelter in the RV and waited out the storm. Whitney was quite shaken up about it, and I don’t blame her. When the lightning and thunder finally dissipated, we helped them finish up the last bit of packing and headed north. The Hubers were headed straight home, but we were planning a two night stop in Virginia Beach to visit some old friends.

Description

Edisto Island is one of South Carolina’s beautiful and isolated coastal islands. Located just 45 miles south of Charleston, it is reached via SC 174, a scenic highway bordered by century-old oak trees draped with Spanish moss. Once the site of cotton plantations, today Edisto attracts visitors with its white sand beaches and layback atmosphere.

The 1,255-acre Edisto Beach State Park lies along 2 miles of the island’s pristine beaches, lined with some of the state’s tallest palmetto trees. A lovely 4-mile nature trail for hikers and bikers winds through the park’s salt marshes and forests. There are two campgrounds in the park: an oceanfront one with 75 sites and one in the live oak forest with 28 sites.

Travelogue

Short of blindfolding and gagging the kids, there’s just no way to sneak by South of the Border. The billboards start as soon as you enter North Carolina, and just keep on coming until you’re so worn down that you just have to stop to see what all the excitement is about. My personal favorite: “You Never Sausage a Place! You're Always a Wiener at Pedro's!”

So, shortly after entering South Carolina, we exited and headed towards the giant sombrero on steroids. Our first stop was Pedro’s store, which was more like the Smithsonian Institute of tacky memorabilia. Never have I seen so many snow globes, Whoopie cushions, and humor centered around bodily functions. The boys absolutely loved it. The store even had an adult-only section called the “Dirty Old Man’s Shop.” There was something for everyone. I don’t know how we managed to exit the store without a single purchase. I think even the boys were so overwhelmed with the choices that even they didn’t know where to start.

We steered the boys past the rides towards Pedro’s mini golf, where the price of admission would last us more than 2 minutes. Andrew had a classic shot where his ball jumped over the rail, headed towards I95, landed atop a decorative rocks cairn, and proceeded to bounce up and down upon it before finally rolling to a stop. He said it was his finest golfing moment. Herb won the game and declared himself “Master of the RV.” I didn’t even want to think about what that meant.

We escaped Pedro’s with a minimal amount of damage to our wallet and dignity and continued on south toward Edisto.

Description

South of the Border is a roadside attraction on I95 just “south of the border” between North and South Carolina. It is famous for its myriad of billboards, which count down the miles until your arrival from over a hundred miles away. Some classics include:

• “You Never Sausage a Place! You're Always a Wiener at Pedro's!”
• “Pedro's Weather Forecast: Chili today, hot tamale”
• “Keep yelling, kids! (They'll stop)”

You’ll know you’re near when you spot the 165 foot tall tower with a very large sombrero on top. Despite the fact that the border is to South Carolina, the theme is Mexican and its mascot is a very stereotypical Mexican “bandito” named Pedro.

At South of the Border you’ll find all the services you need (restaurants, gas stations, a motel) plus many you don’t. There is a small amusement park with rides and a mini golf course and a very entertaining store with every conceivable bit tourist nosh you could dream of and then some.

Travelogue

We didn't get nearly as far as we had hoped to. The traffic in and around Washington, D.C. was so awful that we just sat there for hours. Rather than push all the way to South Carolina, we decided to give up and hope that tomorrow's drive would be better.

We found a Flying J just off I95 in Carmel Church, Virginia, which would serve our purposes just fine. I always feel safe parking overnight at a Flying J.

The kids always have to go into the Flying J store to see what kind of candy and junk they can buy. There is always an odd assortment of stuff on sale outside the store. This time there were electric scooters on sale for $199. I had to break it to the kids that dad wouldn’t be very happy trying to fit 2 electric scooters in the RV. While I was using the phones to call home, Tom decided to try his luck on one of those machines that you use a crane to pickup some stupid toy that you don’t want anyway. I interrupted my phone conversation to tell him not to bother since you never win anything good in those machines anyway. A few minutes later, he walked by me grinning and holding a really cute 2-foot high gorilla that he named Flying Joe. So much for teaching him a lesson about gambling.

Description

Flying J's are Travel Plazas that cater to truckers and RV's. Their numerous services include gas, dump station, propane, fast food restaurant, limited groceries, and even showers and a barber shop. However, the best feature of all is the section for overnight RV parking.

They are conveniently located on most of the interstates (except for the northeast).

Travelogue

I know I say this after every trip, but this one had been truly special. I don’t think I could ever think of a better time than the week we spent together in Yosemite—my favorite place with my favorite people on Earth.

In less than 3 weeks, Andrew will be leaving for college and Tommy won’t be too far behind. It is the end of an era for us—one for which I truly feel blessed for having been able to experience.

Description

Our home in Upper Saddle River, a suburb of New York City.

Travelogue

Gang playing croquet in the backyardWe made it back to my brother’s on the planned day and found a happy and well-cared for “Aggy” (my mother). In fact, I would go so far as to say that they spoiled her. My sister-in-law, who is probably one of the kindest and most patient people I know, took her shopping almost every day. This was bad news as I was not about to do this upon our return home. My brother, who is a lot less patient than his wife, also tried to entertain Aggy by taking her shopping. However, after spending two hours in a CVS as my mom wandered and browsed in every aisle, he almost lost his mind. Welcome to my world!

Seriously though, it was great being all together again, and we spent the next two days just visiting and enjoying each others company.

Description

My brother's home in a suburb of Columbus, Ohio

Travelogue

Lazy Daze in Vedauwoo Glens CampgroundThis was it. We had officially left our last planned fun stop and were now in pure driving mode. Anything good from this point on would just be gravy on top of a truly wonderful trip.

As we plugged along Route 80, I turned to my trusty to try to find someplace interesting to stay for the night. I came across a description for Vedauwoo Glen in Wyoming that seemed to fit what we were looking for: “a wonderland of huge chucks of pink granite” and only 1 mile off Route 80.

The campground was really quite lovely, set against the pink granite rock formations that the guide book had foretold. Unfortunately, as we pulled in, the clouds were building and the wind was picking up big time. A storm was definitely brewing. Also, we were at an atltitude of 8,000 feet so it was quite cool.

When I look back at this stop, I realize how well we had gotten into the groove of traveling together and how well we had achieved family harmony. Rather than mind the bad weather, I think we all found it rather cozy, and each of us settled in to do our own thing. Herb and the boys were busy loading photographs from their digital cameras onto their laptops and editing them and I was nestled with a good book.

Vedauwoo Glens sunsetAfter an hour or two, the rain slowed down a bit so Andrew decided to go out for a run. Every once in awhile we would look out the window and see him run by off in the distance. At one point the rain stopped completely, so Tommy and I went out and clambered around on the rock formations just behind our site.

As evening approached I realized that Andrew had been gone for quite awhile and that the rain had started again. I kept looking out the window to see if I could see him, but all I saw was a white pickup truck going back and forth off in the distance where I normally would catch a glimpse of Andrew. Now I’m not usually a paranoid person, but I started worrying that someone—perhaps that white pickup truck—had taken Andrew. Herb and Tommy thought I was being ridiculous.

Obviously, they were going to be of no help, so I put on my jacket and started walking out towards the road in search of Andrew. I came across two women and asked them if they had seen a boy running in the rain. Not wanting to seem like a paranoid lunatic, I told them that I was looking for him to come home for dinner. They told me that they had seen him run by just recently.

Much relieved, I returned to the RV and informed Herb and Tom that Andrew was okay. They barely looked up from their laptops. Apparently, they don’t understand a mother’s hormonal need to protect her young.

A few minutes later, a very wet Andrew returned and said that some ladies told him that his dinner was ready. A bit embarrassingly, I told him how they might possibly know that. To make it worse, I also had to tell him that, in fact, his dinner actually wasn’t ready. I had just made that up. I think he appreciated how much I care about him, even if I did act a little crazy..

Description

Vedauwoo Glen is a popular rock climbing and camping area in the Medicine Bow National Forest of southwestern Wyoming, located just north of I80, about 17 miles east of Laramie and 30 miles west of Cheyenne. It is a secluded oasis of pink granite rock formations with dense pine forests and aspen groves surrounded by miles and miles of treeless plains. At an altitude of 8,000 feet, this is “high country” and very windy. Things to do include rock climbing, bouldering, trail running, and biking. There is a small campground with 50 semi-primitive sites just a stone’s throw away from I80.