#rvcamping Archives - Page 2 of 3

Tag Archive for: #rvcamping

Golden Opportunities

November 20, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

Life is too short, and any chance to spend time with our kids is special. We intentionally landed in the Denver area this past week to be with our son, Ian and his partner, Adam to explore and celebrate Ian’s 30th birthday. It was oh so much fun, and went by all too quickly.

Golden and Clear Creek

Brad and I landed in Golden, staying at the Clear Creek RV park, a quaint campground along the banks of Clear Creek right in our back yard. The small park is run by the City of Golden, and sits at the dead-end of 10th Street, an easy half-mile walk to the adorable town of Golden, and the infamous Coors Brewing Company.

Unfortunately, we didn’t have the time to take the brewery tour or even take in the Holidaily Brewing Company (all gluten-free for those of us intolerant!) during our visit. Next time.

The photo below is of the walking/biking path that surrounds and winds through Golden. The path offers 24 miles of quiet beauty, from prairie grasslands to mountain views. Much of the path winds along Clear Creek. We spotted the Bighorn sheep off of Welch Ditch trail, a short hike that is primarily a climbers access point.

Ian and Adam joined us for dinner at the Sherpa House in Golden. Word of warning: medium Masala is hot!

Denver

Our adventures in Denver included two places Ian had yet to visit, and a deli that is a regular-go-to.

Margaret Brown Home

When I discovered that Margaret Brown, otherwise known as The Unsinkable Molly Brown, and her husband, J.J. bought and lived in this magnificent home in downtown Denver, I just had to go. Although Margaret is famous for having survived the Titanic sinking, her life story is filled with many chapters of adventure and experiences as a suffragist, philanthropist, and actress. It was a thrill to explore their family home, together, as a family.

The self-guided tour was interesting, but the museum’s website is a researcher’s dream. I loved this quote I found, which I think sums up Margaret’s life and my personal philosophy perfectly:

“I am a daughter of adventure. This means I never experience a dull moment and must be prepared for any eventuality. I never know when I may go up in an airplane and come down with a crash, or go motoring and climb a pole, or go off for a walk in the twilight and return all mussed up in an ambulance. That’s my arc, as the astrologers would say. It’s a good one too, for a person who had rather make a snap-out than a fade-out of life.”

-Margaret Brown, aka The Unsinkable Molly Brown, as told to the Denver Post, August 9, 1923

Ian, Brad and Adam in front of the Margaret Brown home, one of several Blackamoor sculptures in the home, with a note about the museum’s attempt to discern how to respectfully display and provide historical context to the pieces. Check out this informative article on this art here.

Levin Deli

When I had the opportunity to join Ian and Adam for lunch while in Denver back in April, they treated me to the Levin Deli, Wine Bar and Bakery. The restaurant features delicious deli sandwiches, including gluten-free options for me. It was so fun to go back again and share this yummy spot with Brad too!

History Colorado Center

We had a great time exploring the beautiful History Colorado Center, which sadly, put the Ohio History Center to shame. Beautiful and informative displays and exhibitions, including a heart-wrenching account of the Sand Creek Massacre.

In 2000, letters were discovered in Denver, written by Captain Silas Soule, which reflected his refusal to participate in the massacre. The images brought forth in his writing brought tears, right on the heels of the Hamas terrorist acts in Israel.

On a lighter note, the exhibit, Winter Warriors, shared the stories of the 10th Mountain Division of World War II. The displays include touching mementos and photographs gifted to the museum from family members of the elite skiing veterans.

I was reminded of Ski Soldier: A World War II Biography, written by our Claire’s Day friend, Louise Borden. The story shares the account of Pete Siebert, who joined the 10th Mountain Division when he was just 18. Pete came back to the States severely wounded and questioning whether he would ever ski again. With the help of his fellow ski soldiers, Pete went on to not only hit the slopes again, but founded the ski resort in Vail.

Guanella Pass and Georgetown

Go back to the quote from Margaret Brown earlier in this post, and you’ll get a sense of what I was feeling as I drove the 22-mile Guanella Pass southwest of Denver. I was a little anxious about driving the pass, especially with the light snow that fell overnight. It didn’t help that several vehicles turned around right at the beginning, daunted by the steep roadway. But, I carried on as captain of this adventure, and our Jeep Grand Cherokee handled the tight curves and high embankments like a charm. I drove up and back (and up and back again) on the switchbacks, over the 11,669 pass to amazing views of Mount Blue Sky and Mount Bierstadt. The photo below is only half way up.

I was intrigued by the Historical Marker noting the former presence of the McLellan Opera House. I love the inscription on the marker…”During the years 1869-1892, the great and the near-great of the theatrical world performed here. Georgetown was a two-night stand on both the silver and gold circuits which played the Colorado mining camps.”

Can you imagine taking in a show at the Opera House back in the day?

We wrapped our time together by enjoying an early birthday-dinner at 240 Union in Lakewood, halfway in-between Golden and Denver. At the end of the dinner, staff surprised Ian with a slice of a birthday treat. It was icing on the cake, (sorry!) to a wonderful and memorable visit.

Alright, Alright, Alright

November 14, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

My youngest brother, Gordie, recommended we listen to Matthew McConaughey’s memoir, Greenlights on our travels. I was a bit hesitant, as I thought the actor was rather self-absorbed. I mean, what could I learn from a man who made a name for himself running on beaches and showing off his six-pack abs?

Plenty.

The timing was perfect to listen to the story, narrated by none other than Matthew himself. (We came to know each other on a first-name basis through the journey.)

Brad and I had quite a few road hours on our travels from Nashville and onto Branson. Throw in a little unplanned side trip to Red Bay, Alabama for a quick repair, and the roughly 6 1/2 hour audiobook helped pass the miles.

Our trip to Red Bay required an overnight stay where we were not intending to be. Matthew would summarize this situation by saying, “Greenlights.” In other words, green lights mean go. But sometimes in life, the green lights might change on us, causing us to redirect. And as life plays out, we end up with a Greenlight we weren’t expecting. Such was the case with our Harvest Hosts overnight stop at a little farm and orchard along the way. I’ve never camped in such a quiet, peaceful spot. Until the neighboring rooster woke us up early the next morning.

“The problems we face today eventually turn into blessings in the rearview mirror of life,” Matthew offered.

Greenlight.

Our view at Blessed Bounty orchard, an unexpected overnight.

I was surprised to learn that Matthew spent several years traversing in a van and Airstream trailer that he customized. He named the trailer Canoe, in honor of his visit to the Squamish Nation reservation in Vancouver. The tribe gave him a handmade oar, a symbol of the tribe.

Matthew said, “The oar guides the canoe, guides you through life—so I named the Airstream the Canoe. I mean, the highways are like riverways, they’re just concrete.”

Our oar was guiding us to a place that was on both of our radars for some time; Branson, Missouri.

Branson

We stayed the week at Table Rock State Park, just fifteen minutes from the city of Branson. The lake is absolutely gorgeous, with a huge marina and a several-mile hiking trail around the perimeter. Over the weekend, a huge Bass Fishing Tournament, sponsored by Toyota happened on the lake. We’d wake up in the morning with the sounds of the National Anthem being sung to send the fishermen off for the day, and hear the announcements of the daily divisional winners in the evening. Top prize? $200,000!

The marina at Table Rock State Park, the Showboat Branson Belle and sunset at the park.

We wanted to take in a show, and at the recommendation of a friend, went to see Reza, an illusionist. Reza’s huge acts were amazing, but his smaller tricks were simply mind-boggling. I would have gotten a picture of him, but he kept disappearing.

Where did Reza go?

A huge bonus was catching up with a dear high school friend. Hannah Spotts and her husband Mike, who joined us for dinner at the campground. It was such a fun and lovely evening. Hannah recommended we visit one of her favorite places in the area…

Dogwood Canyon

Johnny Morris, owner of Bass Pro Shops and Cabela’s founded this extraordinary 10,000 acre conservation area with hiking and biking trails, trout fishing, and horseback riding. Tickets to the tram are extra, but the bonus is at the top. We enjoyed our close encounters with the herd of bison, including a rare White American Bison.

Brad and I also had a blast playing the Mountain Top 9-hole golf course, and taking in lunch at Arnie’s Barn afterwards. My drink of choice? An Arnold Palmer, of course.

Salina

Salina, Kansas was definitely a Greenlight. We stayed/played at the Salina Municipal Golf Course, which is one of the nicest muni golf courses we’ve ever played. Luna had a blast joining us during the round, and was quite chill afterwards while we had dinner on the patio at Ya Yas. We took a nice stroll through the surprising downtown. Fun!

Rafter W Ranch

Our last stop before hitting Denver was yet another Harvest Hosts site…Rafter W. Ranch. We camped out in their field, away from their grass-fed cattle, and enjoyed hiking the property. We picked up some steaks before we left the next morning, on to our next adventures.

We finished listening to the audiobook, and could relate to this quote from Greenlights.

“We cannot fully appreciate the light without the shadows. We have to be thrown off balance to find our footing. It’s better to jump than fall. And here I am.”

Thank you, Matthew for your insights, your stories, your inspiration. We aspire to Just Keep Livin‘.

And we’re doing Alright, Alright, Alright.

A blur and a blog

April 7, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

I’m back home, on solid ground, after being in constant motion for the last 5 ½ months in our
motorhome.

I’m sitting at my desk, covered with research books, book proposals, correspondence, works by
upcoming Claire’s Day authors and illustrators, sipping tea and reflecting on our adventures.

Here’s how the (approximate!) numbers stack up; 8,000 miles. Endless hikes with Luna.100
miles biking. 25 rounds of golf. 16 unique camping experiences.13 different bodies of water we
kayaked on. 7 States. 6 visits with friends. Only 4 days of rain. 3 weeks spent with family
members. 2 vet visits with Luna. 1 fun fishing expedition. 0 days laid up due to illness.

When I add up all of the adventures, it equals one hell of an experience.

We left in October when the leaves were just changing in Ohio. We came home in early April
with the trees blooming again. We left with an itinerary, a wish, and a prayer that we’d be safe on
our travels. We came home with unforgettable memories and a sense of accomplishment.

I mean, let’s face it. 5 ½ months spent together in the equivalent of 500 square feet would be a
challenge for anyone.

But we rose to the occasion and had a blast together. Sure, there were squabbles, but, as I offered to
Brad, other than the few times we wanted to throw each other out the window, we did great. I
feel so blessed to have a partner in every sense of the word.

The whole experience reflected how we deal with life. If there’s a problem, we work together to
figure it out. If one of us is feeling a bit down, we build each other up. If one of us is literally or
figuratively on the ledge, we guide each other to a safe place. If we get pissed at each other, we
let it out and let it go.

During our wedding vows 35 years ago, our minister encouraged us to laugh together, cry together, dance
together, make love together, to celebrate life together.

Together.

Here are a few shots of the blur of the last weeks on the road. We visited Blue Ridge,
Georgia, kayaked on the Toccoa River, shopped in the vibrant downtown, and stopped at the
little Serenberry winery for a tasting.

We had to maneuver around the many fishermen on the Toccoa.

I cracked up when seeing this memory again…I thought the hens were going to peck Brad’s toes as he put the kayaks back on the Jeep.

Sun. Wine. Cheers.

We snuck in a short visit with our daughter Kyle, our son-in-law Will, and their pup, Riggins.
Sadly, we didn’t sneak in any pictures of our hike, lunch at a brewery, and cookout at their house.

We wrapped up the journey as it began, stopping at the Rubini family home in Tryon, NC and a
quick overnight with friends Chris and Diane Evans in Lexington.

With Brad’s mom, Lynn, and sister Gail outside the Purple Onion in Saluda.

Thank you for following along on our journeys. These reflections in my blog have been fun for me to create, an outlet as I contemplate my next writing project.

We hope that perhaps our adventures have inspired you to get out there and discover our beautiful country.

Until next time…

Trip to the Mother Ship

March 24, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

Red Bay.

It sounds like a spice, or for those in Florida currently, a description of the coast lines getting hit with Red tide.

But, for every Tiffin motorhome owner, Red Bay means home. As in Sweet Alabama home.

In 1941, Alex Tiffin opened Tiffin Supply Company in this little town in northern Alabama. Throw a stick and you’re in neighboring Mississippi. The store carried any and every thing one needed to build a home. The family business expanded in 1965, with the purchase of a cotton gin. Alex’s son, Bob, took to the management of the operation like a fish takes to water.

Tiffin Supply provided materials to a business that came to town that manufactured recreational vehicles. The business folded and the Tiffin family seized the opportunity to hang another shingle with their name on it. Tiffin Motorhomes was established in 1972.

A 1984 Tiffin Allegro bus. Credit: Tiffin Motorhomes Facebook

Bob Tiffin summed up the competition and determined he wanted to build a better product, one that would stand the test of time. Other RVs were being made out of fiberglass and aluminum. Bob built his Tiffins on a much more durable steel chassis.

Tiffin started with making just two coaches a day. Now the company makes thousands of their hand-crafted, quality motorhomes every year. The company builds both gas as well as diesel fueled motorhomes, with models ranging from smaller 25-foot Class C vehicles, all the way up to 45 foot Class A motorhomes. Check out their models here.

Check out this beautiful 2023 Tiffin Zephyr. Photo credit: Tiffin website

Bob’s sons are now involved in the business, which was bought out by Thor Industries in 2020.The company has stated that they intend to remain in little Red Bay, Alabama, population 3200, give or take. Moving the company out of the area would be devastating to the community.

What Bob Tiffin began has exploded into a whole cottage industry, with service providers ranging from garages that do mechanical repairs, paint shops, detailing mobile vans, and even businesses that will custom make new cabinetry and update and replace furniture.

The Tiffin company has an excellent warranty program, so many travelers to the small town stay in graveled make-do parking lots and head out first thing every morning to get in line for warranty service. For those of us with vehicles that are out of warranty, Red Bay is still the place to come for repairs. Many of the off-shoot business owners and mechanics are former Tiffin employees. They know these coaches inside and out.

We had a whole laundry list of items that were beyond our mechanical abilities, and had absolutely no clue how to figure out which businesses in Red Bay to tackle the repairs. We read about owners who were spending several weeks scheduling their various appointments. We didn’t have that kind of time frame to work with. So, April Fowler of Happy Host RV Concierge to the rescue! April contacted service providers on our behalf, and stacked our appointments within a four-day window. Davidson RV did a fantastic job with most of our repairs, and had a comfortable, dog-friendly lounge for us to work from. The crew wanted to adopt Luna as their shop dog!

On day 2 of our repairs, we snuck in a tour of the main Tiffin manufacturing plant in Red Bay. No cameras were allowed, so I just had to stamp the imprint of the sight of all the workers diligently laboring at their jobs in my memory banks. From custom-made wood pieces for the cabinetry, to all the color-coded wires that make up the three miles of wiring in each coach, to seeing a unit nearly complete at the end of all the processes, it was amazing.

Our last stop involved getting our cracked windshield replaced. The repair entailed nearly 5 hours of work in the repair shop, then letting the seal settle overnight. I wish I took a picture of the huge garage from the inside of our coach. I can now add sleeping overnight in a service garage to my list of life experiences. We slept well, and were protected from the massive rain storm that pounded on their tin roof through the early morning hours.

We woke up early in time to open up the big garage doors and let our last provider in for a special touch to our coach.

The special paint job is a reflection of our love for our country and our shared joy in seeing all of her beauty.

With clear skies and bright sun filtering in from our new windshield, we left the Mother Ship.

One more step closer to home.

But before then…more adventures await in Blue Ridge, Georgia.

From Coast to Coast

March 2, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

Don’t you love it when the perfect book enters your life at the perfect time?

My friend Beth Fry lent me Last Train to Paradise, the story of Henry Flagler’s quest to build the railroad along the eastern coastline, and ultimately, all the way to Key West.

The timing to read this fascinating account couldn’t have been better, as we had just traveled along much of the railway route.

From our last reported east coast adventures in Port St. Lucie, we traveled down to Fort Lauderdale. Our digs for the two weeks were quite unique…

Yep, that’s our rig, with literally a million (or Five!) dollar view. We stayed at the Yacht Haven Park and Marina which is located in the Marina Mile district. As the term suggests, yachts of all sizes call this area home.

We had awesome neighbors, the Covely family of New Jersey. John is an avid fisherman, and was kind enough to take us out on his boat. We had a great time listening to John’s stories and catching a variety of fish. Sadly, none of them were large enough to keep. As John offered, the hour long trip through the channel, past the Intercoastal and out to the ocean was worth the price of admission. The closer we got to the big water, the bigger the homes got!

We also had a blast cheering on the Eagles in the Super Bowl with John and Marianne’s family, including their daughter Colleen and crew. We love making new friends on the road!

Two are always better than one!

During our stay, we ventured over to Naples for an annual golf event staged by our friends Jim and Susan Stahl. The event drew over 50 golfers from Toledo, with another 50 joining us after for cocktails. Our foursome was the only team of women, and took a respectable 3rd place. Brad and I spent the night with brother and sister-in-law, Mark and Marcia before heading back to Fort Lauderdale.

Our awesome team…from r to l Susan Stahl, Linda Gilmore, Marcia and yours truly!

We also snuck in a day trip to visit our friends Rob and Marina Wade in Boca Raton. Luna made herself quite at home, enjoying the salt water pool. The four of us ventured out for a St. Valentine’s dinner at Louie Bossi’s Italian Ristorante. The salmon was delicious!

We don’t go out to eat too often on the road, so this was a special treat, with special friends.

After two weeks exploring, kayaking, golfing, biking and seeing friends on the east coast, our travels took us west.

Although Henry Flagler’s rail line ran along the other coast, The Last Train to Paradise detailed the horrific damage to the railway due to hurricanes. This was relevant as we ventured into Port Charlotte/Punta Gorda and witnessed first-hand the devastating effects of Hurricane Ian.

We had a lovely time with Tom and Beth Fry, who were kind enough to allow us to park our rig on their lot. What fun we had hanging out with them during the day, and popping back into the motorhome to sleep at night. Luna enjoyed swimming in their pool too. We cruised in their boat across the bay to Fishermen’s Village in Punta Gorda for lunch.

Tom and Beth were quite hospitable, even hosting a Rubini family gathering. We were treated to a visit with Brad’s niece, Liz and her family, including husband Jason and sons Jackson and Brendan. (Brad’s half-brother Stan stopped by too.) We had so much fun at the cookout that we forgot to take pictures! But, we snuck in some extra time with Liz and Jackson the next morning at the farmer’s market in Punta Gorda.

After our brief three-day visit, we pointed the coach north, traveling to Land O’ Lakes, outside of Tampa. We stayed for a week, hanging with long-time friends, Jan and Bryan Spaulding. Bryan was Brad’s fraternity father, that’s how far the friendship goes back to!

Jan is training for an upcoming biking adventure through Amsterdam, so Brad and I were happy to help in her efforts to prepare for the trip. Jan and I spent a morning on the Pinellas Bike Trail, then enjoyed brunch at the Wild Iris Cafe in the cute little town of Dunedin. I’d love to get back and explore the adorable village more in the future.

Bryan and Jan hosted us for several awesome dinners at their lovely home, and a fun evening out watching their friend, Cat, participate in the finals of a community karaoke contest. On our last day in the area, we traveled to the Weeki Wachee River for a kayaking adventure. We launched from Mary’s Fish Camp on the Mud River. Established in 1946, this camp is a quaint, old school spot. Brad and I wished that we could have hung out there for a few days.

We didn’t see any of the famous live mermaids, but we did see two manatees literally swimming under our kayaks.

This is the only picture we took over the week of Bryan and Jan…both trying to see the elusive manatee.

During our time in the area, Brad, Luna and I snuck in a visit with a friend who can claim responsibility for us. We traveled to Holiday to enjoy the hospitality of none other than Tim Gage and his lovely wife, Carrie and their daughter, Griffin. Their dachshund, Minnie, was quite tolerant of Luna as she made herself at home immediately, jumping into the pool and making a mess of their landscaping. (I’m sensing a pattern here!)

Tim and Carrie introduced us to their favorite haunt, Miss Vicki’s on the River. It was a beautiful, fun evening, spent reminiscing about high school antics (the guys) and sharing favorite music and concert experiences (the ladies).

Just as Henry Flagler’s quest came to an end, so too did our coast to coast adventures.

Next stop: The “Forgotten Coast.”

Death by Alligator

February 1, 2023/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

I sensed movement off to my left, just behind reeds that lined the Juniper Spring Run. I drew my paddle back into the water, quietly, cautiously. As I came around a bend, I felt my pulse quicken. There, just a paddle length away was the biggest alligator I had ever seen. He stopped moving, just on the brink of the clear water. His massive body seemingly ready to use his legs and tail to jettison off the well-worn dirt shore and into the spring run. The urge to spin around in the current and try and capture his image passed as I saw Brad come up from behind me on his kayak. Not wanting to startle the beast, I simply nodded my head to the shore, and said, “Gator.”

Brad and I were camping for a few days in the Juniper Springs Recreation area. Our site was beautiful and private with a fire ring we stoked up to smoke some ribs over, followed by the requisite S’mores for dessert. The site also featured a storage locker for your food, so as to not let the other creatures that roam the park enjoy your provisions while away. The first night we were there I heard the dense foliage crack and shift. Was it bear or the wild turkey that were prominent in the park? I’ll never know.

When we learned of the 7 mile Spring Run, considered one of the top 25 kayak/canoe runs in the country, we knew we had to figure out how to work through the logistics of the trip. There is no official ferry service any longer from the end of the one-way run back to the launch site. Brad initially suggested that we dump the kayaks at the start, drive our Jeep with our kayak carrier to the end of the run, then bike the 9 miles back to the start. All well and good in my book, with the exception that the 9 mile bike ride back was along major highways with a narrow shoulder. I think if we’d gone that route this post might be titled “Death by Distracted Driver.”

I got my research brain working and found a woman who transports paddlers from the end spot to the start for $40. We were lucky, for someone else had already booked her and she charged us just $20. I would have been happy to pay the original amount, especially when Brad told me that she informed Brad that the intersection of Route 19 and Highway 40 is one of the deadliest in Florida. Yikes.

While Brad drove the Jeep to the end, I waited with the kayaks. I struck up a conversation with a younger couple getting ready to launch. I wished I hadn’t. The young man’s words were so cautionary that I began to question my paddling abilities and whether it was safe to even attempt the run.

“You know it’s quite a challenging, narrow, waterway with a fast current,” he said.

Yes, I was aware.

“It’s tough to navigate, not ideal for everyone.”

My husband and I are proficient paddlers, I responded.

“There’s quite a few gators, snakes and spiders on the run,” he said.

I understand.

As his words brought about a bit of anxiety, I thought about how we can all be guilty of being naysayers. As a mom with two adventuresome adult children, I’ve tried to bite my tongue when they share their upcoming endeavors. Better yet, I have asked to have them tell me after the fact.

It’s probably just as well that they heard about this adventure afterwards.

Especially after seeing that gator.

One of the dozens of turtles we saw on the Jupiter Run.

We came upon the young couple on the run while they were stopped along the bank. I think the young guy was rather impressed that I’d not only managed to navigate that far without being eaten, but was also bypassing him. I intentionally paddled hard and strong down the run as we went past, missing the first gator sighting. I wanted to prove to this obnoxious young man that I was quite capable. As I paddled away, I said, “Haven’t seen any rapids yet.”

This was the first gator on the run…I missed it because I was too busy trying to prove myself.

“Oh, they’re coming, trust me. And, by the way, your paddle is upside down.”

Note the upside down paddle. I didn’t start that way…the many twists and turns often required a twirling of ones body and paddle to avoid running into trees or the bank. Just sayin’.

It was about fifteen minutes later that I saw the huge reptile. He watched me with his dark, black eyes, perhaps weighing whether I was worth the effort to slide off the bank. I knew that in colder temperatures alligators metabolism slows. I was hoping he’d had a good meal recently. I was amazed at how calm I felt, given that it would probably take just a nudge of his snout and a slap of his huge tail to capsize me.

This isn’t the actual gator we saw on the bank, but his size was similar. Seriously.

Photo credit:dreamstime.com

I paddled away, and he stayed.

And those rapids I was supposed to be so afraid of? They were maybe a level 1, the easiest of rapids. I think I’ve seen bigger waves in the swimming pool during annual family cannonball contests.

My story doesn’t finish with me meeting my end by Death by Alligator.

But I never did see that young man finish the run…

Moon River and Me…a Christmas Memory and Wish

December 23, 2022/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

The Jazz Corner in Hilton Head has served as a haven for jazz enthusiasts for nearly a quarter of a century. Brad and I were fortunate to take in Lavon Stevens on the piano and singer Louise Spencer this past week. Dinner was fantastic and the crowd responsive as they played a variety of holiday songs and traditional jazz tunes.

As soon as I heard the familiar strains of the classic song “Moon River,” tears began to swell.

Moon River, wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style some day…

Memories flooded back to my childhood, to a simpler time during the holiday season. Snuggled in my pajamas with footies, the multi-colored lights from the fresh Christmas tree reflecting on the ceiling, the pine scent flooding our family room. I could hardly wait for one of my favorite holiday traditions; The Andy Williams Christmas Show. Mom turned on the TV, and adjusted the rabbit ears. The NBC Peacock appeared and then magic. Andy Williams and ensemble started crooning “We Need A Little Christmas Now.”

My five-year-old self squiggled and wiggled on the shag carpet covered floor, trying to make space among my four siblings (the youngest, Gordie, wouldn’t make an appearance for two more years). I watched my first crush sing “The Christmas Song” to his mama. My heart swelled as I felt Andy was singing to me. My dreams were dashed when his beautiful wife, Claudine Longet showed up on set.

Oh dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way…

I waited patiently, hoping to hear Moon River during the broadcast. It wasn’t to be.

But, it didn’t take much pleading for my mom to dig into the wooden cabinet filled with vinyl and pull out the album with Andy’s renditions of movie themes, including the Grammy Award winning Moon River.

The day after our Jazz Corner experience, Brad and I drove to Savannah and decided to take in the city via the Old Town Trolley Tours. We could explore the city while hopping off and on the trolley. We hit the City Market, walked through Forsythe Park, and marveled at the massive Greek Revival and Italianate style homes.

A highlight was stepping into the Cathedral Basilica of St. John the Baptist.

Volunteers were finishing up the last touches to the glorious Nativity.

Two drifters, off to see the world, there’s such a lot of world to see…

And then, after hopping back on the trolley, the little Christmas miracle happened.

“On the right you’ll see the Mercer-Williams home, built for Johnny Mercer’s great-grandfather,” our personable driver Miss Denise offered.

Denise stopped briefly in front of the beautiful home and said, “So who was Johnny Mercer? Let me play a little something for you…”

And with that, she clicked on her phone, and just as the night before, those familiar strains of nostalgia once again came back to me.

Moon River, wider than a mile…

Stop the bus! Johnny Mercer wrote the lyrics to not only Moon River, but to hundreds of songs over his career, from the 1930’s to the late 1960’s.

I turned to Brad, squeezed his hand, and cracked up.

Coincidence? One of life’s little gifts?

We’re after the same rainbow’s end, Waitin’ ’round the bendMy huckleberry friendMoon river and me

As the song wrapped, I knew I found my message for this Christmas wish for you.

I hope your holiday season is filled with fond memories, nostalgia, and loved ones to drift through this world in.

Family, Friends and Flames

December 8, 2022/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

One of the greatest benefits to this on-the-road experience is being able to spend time with family members and friends. Over the last couple of weeks we’ve visited with my mother-in-law, Lynn, daughter Kyle and her husband, Will, son, Ian, and friends Steve and Debbie Gibbs.

I’ll get to the flames in a bit, but for now, here’s the highlight reel of our family and friend experiences.

Aiken

Brad, Luna and I arrived in this quaint town in South Carolina in time to spend Thanksgiving with Lynn. We enjoyed a non-traditional Thanksgiving dinner of fantastic rib roast, sweet potatoes, maple bourbon carrots and homemade cranberry sauce. Lit candles and the sounds of Harry Belafonte (Lynn’s favorite) crooned in the background while we enjoyed our feast. We managed to help Lynn with some “honey-do’s” around the house during our stay. Lynn and I also enjoyed shopping in uptown Aiken.

Photo credit: South Carolina, Travel

Aiken County was historically the winter colony for wealthy families from the Northeast. The comfortable climate and the sandy soil make Aiken a favorite for horse owners. Today such traditions as fox hunting and polo continue. For those of us who prefer to walk on our own two feet, there are lovely sites, including the gorgeous “Avenue of the Oaks.” South Boundary Avenue is nationally recognized as one of the South’s most beautiful streets.

Photo credit: Peter Frank Edwards/REDUX

I didn’t manage to get any photos of the three of us during our stay, I promise to do so when we go back to visit Lynn over the Christmas holiday.

Atlanta

Time with Kyle and Will awaited in their adopted hometown. We’ve found that major metropolitan areas do not have a plethora of campground options for big rigs, but we enjoyed both of our experiences at Stone Mountain and McKinney on Allatoona Lake.

Our first exciting experience with Kyle and Will was to attend the Georgia State semi-final football contest between Walton High School and Carrollton High. Will and his father, Bill, have both coached the Walton team. Although Walton lost, it was so fun to be in the stands, hanging with Kyle and her new mother-in-law, Lori, cheering the Raiders on.

Kyle and Will drove over to Stone Mountain and joined us for Brad’s special smoked ribs. We love camp fires!

We didn’t hike to the top (I’ve done twice, once as a child, and once with the kids when they were young) because we had Luna and Riggins with us, and they weren’t allowed, no matter how cute they are.

Brad and I took an early morning bike ride around the perimeter of the park…my legs had forgotten what hills were like! This is an image from a piece written in Conde Nast Traveler about the magnificent, largest piece of exposed granite in the world. Click on the image to read the full article. One could easily spend a week here, hiking, biking, kayaking, and taking in the view from the top.

Allatoona Lake

We then untied from our hitching post (i.e. disconnected our utility hookups) and headed north of Atlanta to McKinney Campground, an Army Corps of Engineers site. It was just what my soul needed, both in the amount of hop-skipping we had done in our travels, and what was in store….

Our site was perched on top of a hill, overlooking Allatoona Lake. We’ve heard geese, sandhill cranes and a free-ranging rooster. Every once in a while the sounds of a train or a bass fishing boat disturb the quiet, both otherwise incredibly calm and peaceful. Brad and I kayaked one morning on the lake, and hiked six miles at the nearby Red Mountain Top State Park.

Vegas, baby!

Okay…so I’ve been hinting that flames are involved in this post…

Ian and I were supposed to see Adele in Vegas back in February. But then Adele postponed the residency, offering that the production just wasn’t ready. Oh my, was she worth the wait.

Here we are, nearly pinching ourselves before the show.

Adele had me at Hello, her first number. Simply elegant in her black ball gown, with nothing but a white grand piano behind her on stage, Adele promised that the production would get bigger.

Much bigger.

So much bigger…with full orchestra behind, including the strings in individual huge squares elevated in the back.

And then this…when Adele set fire to the rain.

I’m getting goosebumps all over again just writing about the experience. Unforgettable.

Ian and I find the whole Vegas scene a bit overwhelming, so we set out to discover Sin City on our own terms. We took in Fremont Street, visited the Mob Museum, and perused vintage shops and an artist colony in the Arts District.

But most of all, we enjoyed hanging together for this rare occasion of just the two of us traveling together.

Priceless.

Photo bomber at our base hotel, the Sahara.

We left the Big City on (ugh!) 6:00 a.m. Pacific Time flights, Ian back to his home in Denver, me back to Atlanta.

Our last days were filled with dinner at Pure Taqueria in Woodstock with Steve and Debbie Gibbs, hiking, and taking in the beautiful automobile collection at the Savoy Museum in nearby Cartersville.

I’d take either one of these beauties, but especially the cute guy in the background.

And, of course, if you’ve followed my journey, you know that purple turns up when least expected.

Brad and I snuck in one last dinner with Kyle and Will before heading off to our new adventures.

So, there you have it…family, friends and flames! Wowza!

Paddling

November 14, 2022/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

It has been said that a duck looks calm above the water, but is paddling like heck underwater to stay afloat.

I’ve learned that this is simply not true.

Ducks only paddle to change direction, or to move forward.

Ducks have a gland at the base of their tails that secretes an oil that they spread on their feathers to keep from sinking. The waterfowl will frequently tuck their head and bill to help sleek the oil over their plumage to remain above the surface.

But sometimes, the oil gland gets plugged. Stress or trauma can be one reason. It is suggested that to help ease the stress, that the duck might need a reprieve, some down time from others to recover.

Northwest River, Chesapeake, VA

I thought a lot about ducks while kayaking on the Northwest River in Chesapeake, Virginia. As I came around a bend, wood ducks would flap up out of the water, startled by my approach. The river was covered in duckweed, a protein that wood ducks will eat, and serves an important role in the healthy ecosystem of the river.

I thought about how, like ducks, we need to take care of ourselves every day to stay afloat. And, that if we’ve experienced pain, grief or anxiety, sometimes we need quiet time to recover.

(And sometimes, like when we see a snake along the shore, we take a moment to take it in, snap a shot, then paddle the hell out of there.)

My husband Brad and I had planned our next adventure, six months in our motorhome, ever since we bought it last February. Brad has less tolerance for winter, and I’m always game to travel, so we began plotting our trip.

Sadly, I lost my oldest brother, Kevin, just a month before we were to leave. I know he would not have wanted us to alter our intentions, in fact, just the opposite.

After gathering with my awesome brothers and their wives, Jeff and Cindy, Greg and Lisa, Gordie and Debbie, along with Kevin’s wife, Bobbie, to celebrate Kevin’s life, Brad and I took off.

But, like those ducks, I realized I needed to take care of myself to keep my head above the surface. I needed peace and quiet to restore my soul. Our first stop, the Rubini family homestead in Tryon, North Carolina, offered just that. Plus bonus time with our daughter Kyle and our grandpup, Riggins, and our dear friends, Susan and Pam.

Sunset in North Carolina

Our daughter Kyle snuggling with Riggins and Luna

Pam (l.) and Susan at the creek below Chimney Rock.

Every day I preened my feathers, doing what I could to take care of myself. Hikes, picnics at waterfalls, glasses of wine at sunset, fun rounds of golf, writing, reflecting. Slowly I felt myself rising to the surface once again.

And then, like those ducks, I dug my paddles into the water and moved forward.

From North Carolina we ventured to the Cheseapeake area. Along with kayaking, we explored Williamsburg and spent amazing time with my niece Wendy, her husband Tony, and their 7-year-old daughter, Isabelle.

Entering Williamsburg with one of the historians. Brad is on the right…

Inventory of original items in the Peyton Randolph home.

On Veterans Day, we visited the Military Aviation Museum with Wendy, Tony and Isabelle. When we entered a restored, musty control tower brought over from England, Isabelle said, “This building smells like history.”

On our last day in the area, we spent the afternoon kayaking on Lake Christopher with Wendy and family, then ventured to the Norfolk Botanical Garden for an incredible holiday night display.

One of the last light structures we saw was tree shaped, with a star on top. It hovered over the walking path. Isabelle and I stood for a moment under the strings of blue lights. “Look up,” I said.

“Whoa,” Isabelle shouted. Whoa was right.

In that brief encounter, all that I’ve experienced these last few months melted away. I felt like all of my angels gone from my life too soon were letting me know that all is well. They are with me, helping me on this life journey.

They are lighting my way, and I’m paddling, moving forward.

Selma

April 13, 2022/in Journal/by Julie Rubini

By the time you read this, I’ll be back from round two of our adventures in our new-to-us motorhome.

I’ve cranked out five blog posts in the course of a day, all the while wrapping up details for a presentation and making sure I have materials for a book festival at the end of the adventures. I like to leave our townhome clean for when I return, a place of peace after our travels. So, laundry was done, sheets were washed, vacuumed and dusted, cleaned out the refrigerator, and tried to wait as late in the day as possible to pack, so as not to freak out our Labrador, Luna.

All the while, I’ve been wanting to get to this last post in reflecting our initial set of travels.

Selma. Selma. Selma.

All-day long thoughts of this experience have been haunting me, making sure I got to this point in my reflections.

Hell, Selma has been haunting me ever since we visited in mid-February.

We pulled into town around 3:30 pm, crossing over the infamous Edmund Pettus Bridge, and making our way to the Selma Interpretive Center. We were greeted by site manager Kenneth L. Williams, who when learning we were from Toledo, announced proudly that he was originally from Cleveland. I was curious as to what brought him down to Alabama, and he graciously shared that his momma had a house and some property in the area, and when she passed, he moved down to the area and loves it.

This short interaction was huge, given what we were about to witness. How times have changed, I thought, that a Black man from Cleveland would love living in Alabama.

Kenneth explained that although the bookstore was open, the exhibit area was not, due to Covid. However, the Lowndes Interpretative Center, 25 minutes away was open, but we had better hurry, he said, because it closed at 4:30.

After a quick stop at the historic St. James Hotel, a brief exchange with a local heading into the property, (“Come back to Selma! You could spend three days here!”) we ventured to Lowndes.

Even though I researched the facility, I’ve learned of poll taxes, literacy tests, the historic march, Bloody Sunday, and Turnaround Tuesday, I was not prepared for the emotional impact of reading the firsthand accounts of the march, of the beatings, of the hate.

I read about Tent City, a settlement on Black-owned property as a result of sharecroppers being kicked off their land because of their roles in voter registration demonstrations and activity. My heart hurt as I read the accounts of senseless violence that occurred there.

The thirty minutes we had was a drop in the bucket to what I would have liked to have spent there. As my husband offered to the volunteer at the front desk, “She likes to read everything.” I guess it’s the nonfiction writer in me. I’ll never know when I’ll have the chance to go back again.

We closed down the place. I felt like I needed more.

So, Brad discovered Prairie Creek Campground, one of many that fall under the Army Corps of Engineers. The campground was just 15 minutes away, between Lowndes and Selma. We decided we both wanted to go back to Selma the next morning.

The campground was the best experience we’d had so far on the trip. Large sites, peaceful surroundings, with woods and water, campfires, families making S’mores, reminiscent of yesteryear with the kids.

Although we didn’t have three days to spend in Selma, we had the morning. We crossed back over the Edmund Pettus Bridge and visited official and makeshift tributes to those instrumental in the Civil Rights movement and March. We poked our heads into the St. James Hotel. We ventured past the sad public housing projects and took pictures of grand historic homes. Our last stop was the Live Oak cemetery, with its beautiful, yet eerie live oaks throughout.

We left Selma feeling sad, yet hopeful.

Everyone should go to Selma. I’m not sure I could spend three days there.

One was enough to remind me of how far we’ve come, but how far we have to go.