Day 46: October 18, 2026. heading west

It was freezing overnight, the mercury dipping down to around 27 degrees. At that temperature, the furnace cycles on and off bringing the noisy hum of the blower fan with it every time. It’s that back-and-forth click and roar of the fan that keeps waking me, cutting short any chance of a truly deep sleep.

​Sometime before first light, I bundled up to take Tad out for a quick relief break so we could both get safely tucked back under our respective blankets. Frost glittered across the ground, and a paper-thin skin of ice had formed over the driveway puddles, so neither of us felt like lingering. Back inside the motorhome, I lit the burner under the coffee pot and slid straight back into the still-warm bedding, pulling the covers secure until only my face was exposed. As I drifted in and out of sleep, my mind wandered back to our uninvited hitchhiker rodent. I haven't heard a single scratch or rustle since that campground stay. Perhaps it rethought its travel plans or simply froze in last night’s chill.

​We were parked in the back of the restaurant where the owner had kindly let us set up for the night. It saved us a solid fifteen minutes of driving and, best of all, gave us full cell service.

​A couple of hours later, we finally got moving to prepare for departure. After weeks of steady travel, today is the real turning point. From here on out, we are charting the most direct route home, sprinkling in visits with friends along the way wherever we can fit them in. I always feel a bit guilty that we can’t stop to see everyone along our path, but once your wheels are pointed toward home, the subtle pull of the familiar starts tugging hard.

​To maximize every bit of heat inside, we pulled the living space slides in before when the light starts to fade. Our theory is that it minimizes the volume of air we have to warm inside, minimizing the surface area outside,  and creating a tighter seal against the motorhome walls. When those slides are extended in sub-freezing cold, you can easily feel drafts sneaking in through the gaps and see tiny slivers of daylight around the seals. For all its promises, the built-in "Arctic Package"—a tank-warming setup underneath—isn't quite built for true multi-day freezes. And since we’re rarely plugged into power, we have to keep the thermostat set low anyway, or the constant draw from the furnace fan will completely drain our house batteries.

​We managed to scrape through the night just as the battery voltage was teetering on the edge, so I fired up the engine early to give the house battery a much-needed boost. Breakfast was a low-key bowl of cold cereal, and before we knew it, we were rolled out and on the road. Outside, the peak autumn color has officially passed. After a heavy frost like last night's, the leaves are coming down in subtle, steady showers with every mile we head west.

The Okemo Mountain was in full sun today and we got to view it for several miles on our drive westward.

We crossed the Appalachian Trail in western Vermont. It is all downhill from here! Not really but for a while.

Our destination is a brewery which is a little off the direct path but we like to sink ourselves into the smaller communities. This brewery is a Harvest Host called Serious Brewing Company in Howes Cave, NY.

The local brewery where we stopped was officially guarded by a friendly female Lab mix named Chinook—or "Nook" for short. Her command station was a comfortable couch positioned right by the front window. She would nap or keep a lazy eye on the driveway until a car pulled up, at which point she’d spring into action, trotting behind the bar to give proprietor Bill a quiet alert that incoming visitors had arrived. It was hard to tell who ran the place, but Nook clearly took her greeting duties very seriously.

Bill has owned the brewery for 10 years and he and his dad run it. The walls are filled with interesting items: trays, beer taps, beer related sayings, and various other things. Reminded me of Old Soul Pizza back in Roseburg.

Kasey had a flight of beer to sample the various kinds. I had a hibiscus ginger cider.

We were low on fresh water so Bill kindly let us top off our water. This prompted us to return to the motorhome to take care of that and walk the dog around the neighborhood. 

With light traffic and no sidewalks, we took to wandering along the edge of the road to explore the neighborhood. We had just reached the first residence and were about to turn back when a large dog came charging out toward us in an aggressive, threatening posture, a woman giving chase behind and shouting frantically for her dog to stop. A second, smaller and much friendlier dog trailed in their wake, eventually catching up as the woman reached us.

​We paused to chat with her for a bit about the local area and nearby attractions, but as we turned to take our leave, her larger dog, a Golden Retriever with a coat almost identical in color to Tad’s, began to escalate, bearing its teeth, snarling, snapping, and posturing aggressively toward Tad. The woman tried to regain control by grabbing and pulling on her dog’s tail, but with the threat mounting quickly, Kasey and I took immediate action to protect our leashed boy. Kasey stepped in while I delivered a solid kick to the dog’s chest to create separation, and boomed out a stern, authoritative "NO!"

​The sharp reset was enough to break the Golden's focus. We put distance between us as fast as we could and headed straight back to the safety of our spot at the brewery where Nook was undoubtedly keeping a much more disciplined eye on things.

After placing Tad safely inside the motorhome where he could rest away from any more outside excitement, Kasey and I headed back into the brewery to continue our conversation with Bill.

​He takes extraordinary care with naming his beers—you could say he is deadly serious about it. Over the next hour, he shared the stories behind each logo, mapping out how the area's rich history was carefully woven into every design. Local train lines, historic oat crops, and devastating regional fires were all thoughtfully incorporated into the names, artwork, and logos. No detail, no matter how small, is overlooked.

​His absolute pride and joy is his Serious Blonde—a signature brew that seamlessly fuses several of these historical concepts and local elements into a single glass. Listening to him speak, it was clear that every pour was as much about honoring the community's past as it was about great craft beer.

Another tap story Bill shared with us was for Schoharie Burning, a award-winning Belgian Wheat beer named after the tragic burning of the wheat fields throughout the Schoharie Valley during the Revolutionary War. Flavored with sweet orange peel, grains of paradise, and coriander, it’s a beautifully complex brew that honors a pivotal moment in New York history.

​Then there was The Running Red Coats. Originally intended to be a traditional red ale, Bill accidentally doubled up on some of the specialty grains during a batch run. The resulting brew turned out far darker than expected—much more brown than red. Rather than scrapping it, Bill embraced the mishap with his trademark humor, joking that the rich brown color perfectly matched the backside of the British britches as they high-tailed it out of Saratoga!

​The bar closed up at 6:00 PM, and after gathering our accumulated purchases to take along on the rest of our journey, we settled in for the night. As the last of the patrons cleared out, the back parking area quieted down completely, leaving us with a peaceful, silent spot to spend the evening tucked away in the motorhome.

Kasey and i discussed our options for routes to get us home. We could take the long way and avoid tolls or we could pay the tolls and get there faster. I pondered this as I was falling asleep. It's the classic traveler's dilemma.apparently. The tradeoff between time, fuel, and toll fees is something to consider. An RV or motorhome can alter the decision. Many toll authorities calculate fees by axle count and vehicle height/weight, so pulling a trailer, driving a larger rig, or carrying bikes on a rear rack can turn a $5 passenger car toll into a $15 or $20 toll quite quickly. "Avoiding tolls" often adds extra miles and secondary roads with frequent traffic lights, lower speed limits, and stop-and-go driving, which burns significantly more fuel. Sometimes paying a $10 or $12 toll actually saves money overall once you factor in fuel efficiency.The toll-free "long way" often trades smooth, wide-lane turnpikes for winding state routes, small-town main streets, and tighter turns. While it's usually much more scenic and relaxing, it can add real driving weariness if you're trying to hit a target campsite or destination before dark.

Striking that balance usually comes down to whether the hour saved on an easy expressway is worth the fee, or if the scenic backroads are worth the extra drive time!

If you’ve ever driven across the country, you’ve likely noticed a stark difference in how highways are funded and run. In much of the American West, you can drive for hundreds of miles on sprawling, limited-access highways without paying more. In the East and Midwest, however, it can feel like you're pulling through a toll gantry or crossing a fee-based bridge every few miles.

Why the dramatic divide? It comes down to a mix of early history, the timing of the Interstate system, population density, and geography.

1. Timing: The East Built First

The biggest historical reason for the divide comes down to when these expressways were built.

By the late 1930s through the early 1950s, traffic demand along the Eastern Seaboard and around the Great Lakes was exploding. States needed high-speed, limited-access highways immediately, but federal funding for major interstate highways didn't exist yet. To pay for construction, eastern states issued revenue bonds, borrowing money from investors and pledging to pay them back using toll revenue collected directly from drivers.

When President Eisenhower signed the landmark Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, everything changed. The federal government agreed to cover 90% of the cost for building a nationwide Interstate Highway System using federal gas taxes, but not for toll roads. Existing toll turnpikes were grandfathered into the Interstate network, but new routes were built as "freeways." Because most major highways in the West were constructed after 1956, Western states relied on that 90% federal match rather than state-issued toll bonds.

2. Traffic Volume and Population Density

Reflecting on the Road Ahead: A Living Map of American Transportation

​As we map out our westward push, we've been weighing whether to stick to the toll-free state routes or jump onto the major turnpikes. It got me thinking about why American highway systems feel so fundamentally different depending on which half of the country you're driving through:

1. ​Timing & Pre-Interstate Bonding: The biggest historical reason for the divide comes down to when these expressways were built. By the late 1930s through the early 1950s, traffic demand along the Eastern Seaboard and around the Great Lakes was exploding. States needed high-speed, limited-access highways immediately, but federal funding for major interstate highways didn't exist yet. To pay for construction, eastern states issued revenue bonds, borrowing money from investors and pledging to pay them back using toll revenue collected directly from drivers. When President Eisenhower signed the landmark Federal-Aid Highway Act of 1956, everything changed. The federal government agreed to cover 90% of the cost for building a nationwide Interstate Highway System using federal gas taxes, but not for toll roads. Existing toll turnpikes were grandfathered into the Interstate network, but new routes were built as "freeways." Because most major highways in the West were constructed after 1956, Western states relied on that 90% federal match rather than state-issued toll bonds.
2. ​Traffic Volume & Population Density: Toll roads require heavy, reliable traffic to generate enough revenue to pay off initial construction bonds and cover ongoing maintenance. The tight network of major cities across the East and Midwest creates dense, steady streams of intercity travel unlike the West. Outside of major coastal metro areas like Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Seattle, Western states feature vast distances between urban centers. Low traffic volume across hundreds of miles of open land meant toll revenue could never justify the upfront cost of building a turnpike.
3. ​Engineering Costs (Rivers, Bays, and Tunnels): Building highways in the East frequently meant tackling complex water crossings and dense urban rights-of-way. Major river estuaries, bays, and harbors required high-capital infrastructure—such as tunnels under harbor shipping channels and massive suspension or causeway bridges crossing rivers like the Hudson, Delaware, and Susquehanna, or bays like the Chesapeake. To fund these enormous engineering feats, states created dedicated bridge and tunnel authorities supported entirely by tolls.
4. ​Differing Highway Philosophies: Historically, Western states adopted a different funding philosophy, relying on state gas taxes and general funds to keep highways open and free. In vast regions where travel between towns is a daily necessity rather than a luxury, open access was seen as critical for local economies. While Western states have added tolling in recent decades, it usually looks different: instead of traditional turnpikes where everyone pays, the West has largely adopted Express/HOT (High-Occupancy Toll) lanes, giving drivers the choice to pay for a faster trip alongside existing free lanes.

​The next time you cruise across a turnpike in the East or enjoy a long, uninterrupted stretch of freeway in the West, you're experiencing a living map of American transportation history! Whether navigating eastern turnpikes or winding backroads, every mile west brings us closer to home.

Day 45 Cavendish Vermont - A Grand Reunion

Day 44: October 16 2026: 4 states, one day, don't whine

The morning light was just beginning to touch the sky when I woke to a soft, familiar scratching in the ceiling. Rodents. It had been a while since any had managed to find a way inside, but there it was, a tiny, persistent traveler trying to make itself at home above us.

As I lay there knowing we were leaving Rhode Island this morning, bound for Vermont, my biologist’s mind started tracking the little hitchhiker's journey. RVers spend so much time thinking about how we move across the landscape, but what about the hitchhikers we take with us? If this tiny adventurer rode along in our rolling cabin and slipped out at a campground hundreds of miles away, what happens next? Does it introduce fresh genes to an isolated local population, subtly shifting the evolutionary trajectory of the local woods?

It’s a fascinating thought to think our drive serves as an unintentional vector for island-hopping genetics across the Northeast. Is this how invasive species get started?

I knew Tad would be in soon for the morning alarm so I got the jump on him. Setting the coffee burner at low again, we strolled out to catch the morning sunrise.

The campground has an assortment of mostly house sized RV's making ours look small. Typically, I don't like to camp so close to people I don't know.

But it was quiet and the view of the marsh was amazing.

Back at our cozy cabin Tad kept a watchful eye on the bunnies while we waited for Kasey to join us for coffee.

The rain started and we hustled to get the bikes loaded and other items stashed and loaded out of the rain. Before we knew it, it was 11 am, checkout time! The hustling really kicked in then and by 1115am we were on our way out of the campground. The rain was steadily  coming down m and the drive took us through 4 states to our destination in Vermont.

Our Harvest Host for the night was Vermont Vines in Rockingham, Vermont, about a four-hour drive from Rhode Island. We pulled in around 3:30 PM, the rain easing just in time.

Our host offered a myriad of spot options, but we settled on the open field framed by the edge of the vineyard where Tad would have room to stretch his legs. Still mindful of his recent quill-filled misadventure with that porcupine up in Maine, we kept him restricted to the open green. The late-afternoon lighting was striking, casting a vibrant pop on the wet grass, and run he did while soaking up every bit of freedom after hours in the rig.

We noticed right away that another Harvest Host guest was there. They were from PA (Port Angeles) Washington. As usual, Tad was the ice breaker. We hit it off right away. Bob and Liz have just begun travelling and staying at Harvest Hosts so they gobbled up the suggestions we had for seeing places on their way home.They wanted to go see some covered bridges before it got dark and hoped to see us later at the winery.

We enjoyed some pizza and wine while Tad looked on.

After eating, we returned to the motorhome to sit outside and soak up the sun and sites. Tad wanted to play so I chased him a bit. I found some milkweed seeds and decided to liberate them.

Dusk set in just as a light rain began to patter against the rig. We hustled our gear back inside, grabbed a headlamp, and set off on a tenth-of-a-mile walk through the dark, wet vineyard toward the restaurant, hoping for another glimpse of Bob and Liz.

When we stepped inside, there was no sign of them, so we settled into a pair of barstools and ordered a charcuterie board. Chatting with our bartender, a 23-year-old named Cameron, we learned he was the owner's son and had actually helped build the restaurant with his own two hands.

His parents planted the vineyard 16 years ago, committing entirely to estate wines produced strictly from their own grapes.

While taking in the cozy interior, Kasey spotted a framed black-and-white photograph on the bar nearby featuring baseball legends Ted Williams and Babe Ruth. When Kasey asked Cameron about the history behind the shot, he revealed a fascinating local secret: the property had actually been owned by Ted Williams himself, and Cameron's parents had purchased it directly from the Splendid Splinter's daughter.

Stacy, Cameron's mom, shared with us just how wonderful hosting through Harvest Hosts has been for them, meeting great people and noting how much open space they have on the property to comfortably accommodate several rig setups at once.

When it was time to head back to the motorhome, we departed without seeing Bob and Liz after all. We made our way down the puddle-laden dirt road and back through the quiet vineyard, using our trusty headlamp to light the path ahead. Stepping carefully around the standing water, Kasey made a point of mentioning just how glad he was to have his waterproof boots on.

A call from Ken suddenly brought our plans into focus. He and Jenny had a few local sights lined up that they wanted to explore with us, framing the next leg of our trip. With our itinerary set for later in the day, it left us with a wide-open morning—plenty of time to take in this beautiful property at our own pace before meeting up with them.

Day 43 Narraganset Rhode Island

Day 43 — A Taxing Day

The day began at 3:30 a.m. when I woke up with my mind in a frenzy over several unresolved issues that had been tormenting us the day before.

We were in Baja when we were supposed to file our taxes last spring, so we filed an extension, postponing both the paperwork and the annual stress that accompanies it. Unfortunately, postponing something doesn't make it disappear. It just gives it more time to grow teeth.

The extension deadline was October 15.

For a variety of good and not-so-good reasons, we hadn't filed our taxes on any of the multiple occasions we'd planned to tackle them. Now we found ourselves standing at the edge of a cliff, scratching our heads, beating our chests, staring into the abyss, and wondering how on earth we were going to get to the other side.

Yesterday, we'd had an opportunity to take advantage of excellent Wi-Fi at our Harvest Hosts location at Webster Lake. Instead, we decided to set sail for Rhode Island, where we were assured there would be good internet access at Fishermen's Memorial Campground.

Alas, that was not to be.

There was much consternation, gnashing of teeth, and muttering of unprintable words.

Last evening, in desperation, we drove the motorhome to the local library, hoping to access its free Wi-Fi from the parking lot. After 90 minutes of frustration and a signal that seemed to be transmitted by a carrier pigeon with a broken wing, we surrendered.

We decided to return the next day, go inside the library, and use its quiet room and presumably stronger signal to complete the monumental task of bridging the great tax chasm.

But at 3:30 this morning, the worry fairies were back, armed with calculators and sharpened pencils.

Rather than surrender to their torment, I decided to develop a plan.

First, I discovered that TurboTax had an app promising a 30% faster filing process. Even better, we had excellent cellular service at the campground!

Then came an even more comforting revelation. Since we didn't owe any taxes, there would be no federal late-filing penalty if we missed the deadline.

No black helicopters would descend upon the campground. No men dressed in black suits and ski masks would rappel down ladders, armed with sharpened pencils and machine guns, ready to seize our motorhome and whisk us away to a secret prison hidden inside an off-the-grid Walmart.

Phew!

With the tax crisis downgraded from DEFCON 1 to a manageable inconvenience, I turned my attention to the next great challenge.

How in the world were we going to get home?

While staring into the tax abyss yesterday, we'd also begun pondering another rather significant chasm: the approximately 3,000 miles separating Vermont from Roseburg, Oregon.

We wanted to get home in time to vote.

We've thoroughly enjoyed our long, somewhat leisurely cruise to the East Coast, stopping to explore, visit friends and family, chase fall colors, and savor the journey. But now it was time to turn westward, raise the sails, and chart a course for home.

We had 12 days to reach our destination without hitting any icebergs or provoking a mutiny aboard the Goodship Lexington.

Yes, I realize I've abruptly changed metaphors. Our beloved Chariot of the Dogs has temporarily become the Goodship Lexington. Sue me.

On second thought, please don't sue me. Just sigh mournfully and carry on.

I consulted Google Maps, which suggested that the quickest and probably most weather-friendly route would take us southwest through Salt Lake City and then home to Oregon.

Google estimated approximately 40 hours of nonstop driving.

Of course, that assumes the three of us (Taddy included) would wear enormous adult diapers, eat while driving, and tape our mouths shut to minimize wind turbulence between meals.

Seemed doable.

Fortunately, I came up with a somewhat more civilized alternative: average about four hours of driving each day, with two full days off along the way.

That should put us on our doorstep in time for Halloween!

Feeling considerably better about having developed reasonable solutions to two seemingly insurmountable problems, I rolled over around 5:30 a.m. and fell back asleep.

I didn't wake up again until nearly 8:00!

Unbeknownst to me, Janice had already taken Tad out at 6:00 and quietly returned to bed.

I slipped out of bed, dressed in the living room, and took our First Mate for a stroll on a beautiful Rhode Island morning.

We walked about a third of a mile to the park headquarters.

The previous evening, we'd decided to extend our stay another night rather than sail off to Connecticut as originally planned. We figured that forcing the crew to pack up and hit the road immediately after navigating the tax crisis might provoke a full-blown mutiny.

Janice suggested moving to campsite #73 because our current site, #80, wasn't available for another night.

I'd already reserved #73, and when Tad and I checked in at headquarters, the ranger told us we could move as soon as the current occupants departed rather than waiting until the official 2:00 p.m. check-in.

Things were looking up!

On our way back, Tad and I met another camper named Bob and his dog, Stanley.

Bob was from Florida and had recently retired. His wife had retired four years earlier and had finally convinced him to join her. They were headed to Bar Harbor and looking forward to many adventures together.

As a seasoned sailor, and with Dr. Rick nowhere in sight to counsel me against becoming my parents, I puffed thoughtfully on my imaginary pipe and offered Bob some imaginary nautical wisdom.

"Do your taxes before setting sail, batten down the hatches when storms are brewing, and above all, keep your crew happy. There are cannibals on some of those islands, and a mutinous crew might just decide to drop you off on one!"

Having generously shared my considerable seafaring expertise, Tad and I returned to the motorhome.

I made coffee and breakfast and shared my brilliant plan for bridging the tax chasm with Janice.

And then...

Fast forward!

We moved to campsite #73, a beautiful spot overlooking the harbor.

And, wonder of wonders, I successfully filed our taxes!

Not only that, but we were getting a refund!

There is a long and somewhat comical story behind the final stages of this triumph, involving considerable frustration and the removal of approximately 12 of the remaining 100 hairs on my head.

I'm now down to 88 hairs, a much more manageable number.

But the important thing is that we'd crossed the abyss. The tax monster had been vanquished. The crew was safe. The Goodship Lexington was still afloat.

And we had a spectacular new campsite with a view of the harbor from both our kitchen table and our firepit.

Life was good!

In the afternoon, we took Tad for a long walk around the campground. The weather had changed considerably from the previous day, when temperatures reached 75 degrees with a somewhat muggy atmosphere. Today was cooler and more refreshing.

After our walk, Janice and I hopped on our bikes and set off on an 11-mile ride to explore the Rhode Island coast.

For some reason, I'd imagined Narragansett as something resembling Coney Island, complete with a seaside boardwalk, old-fashioned Ferris wheel, and crowds of happy vacationers enjoying the last warm days of autumn.

Well, it wasn't quite that.

In fact, it seemed almost abandoned.

We encountered only a handful of people. The shoreline was peaceful and quiet, but there was something strangely unsettling about the absence of activity.

It was a stark contrast to Bar Harbor, where we'd recently enjoyed bustling streets, shops, restaurants, and people everywhere.

We decided to make a loop through some nearby neighborhoods on our way back to the campground.

The houses were impressive, many quite substantial and beautifully maintained.

But where were all the people?

The streets were eerily deserted.

It reminded me of an old Twilight Zone episode in which the main characters wander into a town that looks perfectly normal, only to discover that something is terribly wrong.

We passed a hired lawnkeeper mowing a lawn that didn't appear to need mowing.

Suspicious.

Then an electric Amazon delivery truck glided silently past us and stopped to deliver what I assumed were empty boxes to an abandoned house with cars parked in the driveway.

Highly suspicious.

There could be only one reasonable explanation.

Aliens had invaded Narragansett!

Clearly, they'd abducted most of the population and left behind a handful of caretakers to maintain the illusion that everything was perfectly normal.

The lawnkeeper was probably an alien. The Amazon driver was undoubtedly an alien. Even the empty boxes were likely part of some elaborate extraterrestrial deception.

Janice and I pedaled onward, anxious to return to the safety of our island campground and the reassuring company of normal Earthlings.

Fortunately, the people at the campground were wonderfully friendly. Most had dogs, and everyone seemed happy to smile and wave as we passed, just as they had when we walked with Tad.

Unless, of course, they were exceptionally convincing aliens.

Back at our campsite, I built a fire while Janice prepared dinner.

The sunset was magnificent.

We sat beside the crackling fire, enjoying our dinner and looking out over the bay as the last golden light faded from the sky.

Tad was thoroughly entertained by a bunny sitting just a few yards beyond the reach of his leash. The bunny seemed completely unconcerned about the large Irish Setter watching its every move.

Perhaps the bunny was an alien, too.

As darkness settled over the campground, a slender crescent moon appeared overhead. A cool breeze drifted in from the harbor, gently suggesting that it was time to retreat to the warmth of our floating home.

Janice promptly defeated me in a game of Spite and Malice, proving once again that the crew was fully capable of staging a successful mutiny whenever it suited them.

We then attended two Zoom meetings back in Oregon, one for KQUA Community Radio and another for our environmental education work.

It felt good to see our friends, share updates, and check a few accomplishments off our collective to-do lists.

Even though we were 3,000 miles apart, we were still working together toward the same goals.

One of the remarkable things about this adventure has been discovering how connected we can remain to our community while traveling across the continent. The miles may separate us physically, but our shared purpose travels with us.

Later, we called our dear friend Ken Carloni and made plans to meet him and Jenny on Saturday in Cavendish, Vermont, for a hike at Cavendish Gorge.

Ken and Jenny are visiting family in Connecticut, and we'd begun discussing this rendezvous months ago.

Now, somehow, here we were, just days away from making it happen.

It amazes me how much has come to pass since we first began dreaming about this Grand Adventure. So many places, so many experiences, so many wonderful people, and so many unexpected twists and turns.

And still, the adventure continues.

Finally, we climbed into bed and listened to a couple of chapters of our audiobook, The Visitor, about an alien stranded on Earth.

After our bicycle ride through the mysteriously deserted streets of Narragansett, I couldn't help but appreciate the irony.

Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence after all.

Outside, the harbor was quiet. The Goodship Lexington rested peacefully at anchor, metaphorically speaking. The taxes were filed, our westward course was charted, and the crew was content.

We'd begun the day staring into an abyss, overwhelmed by worries about deadlines, distances, and obligations.

We ended it watching a beautiful sunset, enjoying the company of friends from afar, and drifting off to sleep together on calm waters.

Sometimes the greatest adventure isn't conquering a mountain, crossing an ocean, or discovering a new place.

Sometimes it's simply finding your way through the worries of everyday life and emerging on the other side with a little more gratitude, a little less hair, and a renewed appreciation for the extraordinary gift of being together.

Fair winds and following seas, my friends. Tomorrow we sail again!

Day 42, October 14 2026: Franklin, NH to Narragansett, RI- Road miles

After the big rain overnight, the clouds parted and things started to dry out. Our walk along these little streets without sidewalks indicated we were in rural New Hampshire. Since we arrived late last night, it was hard to tell. 

A Boondocks Welcome sign greeted us as we raised the shade.

Franklin NH is named for Ben Franklin. It is home to Daniel Webster (1782–1852) a leading 19th-century American statesman, constitutional lawyer, and orator who served as a U.S. Senator and Secretary of State. A prominent leader of the Whig Party and member of the "Great Triumvirate" alongside Henry Clay and John C. Calhoun, he successfully argued landmark Supreme Court cases that strengthened federal authority, including McCulloch v. Maryland and Gibbons v. Ogden. Renowned for his fierce anti-nullification rhetoric and iconic phrase "Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable," Webster spent his career defending the American Union, though his support for the Compromise of 1850 and its Fugitive Slave Act ultimately alienated his Northern base in his final years. 

Tad and I discovered the colorful floral and fungus in the neighborhood.

The residents are embracing fall.

We were headed south today. I think. It seems hard to remember that the coast is to the east. There wasn't anything in particular that was news worthy. We selected the route to avoid tolls and found some marvelous backcountry roads.

Tad enjoyed the slower pace so he could look out the window. 

Destination was Fishermen's Memorial State Park, a 91-acre seaside public recreation area and campground located on Point Judith in Narragansett, Rhode Island. Occupying part of the former military installation Fort Nathaniel Greene. 

Unlike parts of the West, we can easily drive through multiple states in a matter of hours. We started in New Hampshire, drove through the narrow section of Massachusetts, and are in southern Rhode Island.

The only thing lacking at our campground is good wifi so we headed for the library 4 miles away to take care of some business.

It is an impressive library. It has been in the present location for 3 years. They have all kinds of things that you can check out including musical instruments. 

Tad and I walked the neighborhood that felt quite affluent with the big houses and manicured lawns.

We stayed until after dark then headed back to the campground to make spaghetti for dinner. 

Well, that is all to report except that yesterday was cold and today is warm and humid. And to tell the truth, I would like to take a break from all this journalling. Even Heather Cox Richardson, decides to take a break from writing and kick back and relax.