Travelogue

Ocracoke Island turned out to be a perfect choice for us. Although we were not camping under the palmettos as we did on previous Spring Breaks on Hunting Island, our campsite did butt up right against the dunes of the National Seashore, and at night while drifting all to sleep we could listen to the sounds of the surf. An uncrowded campground in a great natural setting was just what we were looking for.

The second criteria that is really important to us is having a new place to explore, and if this can be done by bike, all the better. And, if you can throw quaintness into the mix, I’m even happier, and Ocracoke Village was oozing with quaintness. The Village was located about 4 ½ miles down the road from the campground, just enough to get in a little exercise before exploring. Herb decided to do it as a run while the boys and I rode our bikes.

Our first stop was the Ocracoke Lighthouse, built in 1823 when the islanders decided that a more permanent structure was needed to mark Ocracoke Inlet. Its predecessor was a moored lightship that kept being driven ashore by bad weather—not a very good quality in a lighthouse. The lighthouse was picturesque, but unfortunately visitors were no longer permitted to climb its tower, so we had to satisfy ourselves with taking its picture.

We then rode our bikes through the lovely little village with its quaint shops and historic homes. After leaving the main street of the village, we stumbled upon a quiet sandy lane named Howard Street. Although it was just a stone’s throw away from the bustle of the main drag, it felt like we had gone back about a century in time. It was so quiet and serene with stately old oak trees draped over white picket fences, beautiful historic homes and even some old family cemeteries. I’m so glad we found this street, because it would have been very easy to spend the whole day in the village and not even know that it existed.

On our way back to the campground, we stopped in a store called the Pirate’s Chest that catered to another one of Ocracoke’s claims to fame—pirates. That’s right, Ocracoke was once a place where pirates hung out between plunderings. In fact, Ocracoke Inlet was one of Blackbeard’s favorite hide-outs. He was killed there in 1718 after a fierce fight with the British Navy. To commemorate that event, I bought the boys bought some socks with skulls and crossbones all over them.

Back at our campsite, Andrew ran laps around the campground—remember it was his track career that messed up our vacation in the first place, so he’d better run. Later that evening, we had a very nice dinner out on our picnic table along the edge of the dunes. Ocracoke had truly been a wonderful choice for us and one that I hope we will return to someday soon.

Description

Ocracoke Island is part of the Cape Hatteras National Seashore, a chain of barrier islands which stretches 75 miles along the Outer Banks from Nags Head to Ocracoke. Ocracoke Island, the southernmost end of the chain, is 16 miles long and an average of ½ mile wide. It is bordered on the east by the Atlantic Ocean and on the west by Pamlico Sound. The entire island is owned by the National Park Service, with the exception of the small village of Ocracoke (population 800) at the southern tip of the island.

Some attractions and things to do on the island include:
• Swim or fish along the 16 miles of pristine beaches
• Explore the historic village of Ocracoke with its quaint shops, restaurants, and historic homes
• Bike or stroll along Howard Street a quiet sandy lane bordered by historic homes, white picket fences, live oak trees, and small family cemeteries
• Visit Ocracoke Lighthouse, the oldest operating lighthouse in North Carolina
• Learn about the island’s colorful pirate past – Ocracoke Inlet was one of Blackbeard’s favorite hide-outs

To reach Ocracoke Island from the north, just take the 40-minute ride across Pamlico Sound on one of the free North Carolina ferries. These ferries depart from Hatteras village every 30 minutes starting at 5 am.

Travelogue

Roanoke Island was not in our plans, but neither was the loud squeal emanating from our right front wheel brake. We stopped at a Visitor Center when we hit Hatteras and were told that our best bet for a repair would be at Pugh’s Car Care Center on Roanoke Island. Yes, that’s right, Roanoke Island, the Lost Colony, where people have been known to go and never be seen again. Since we didn’t exactly have many choices, we hung a right near Nags Head onto a bridge over Pamlico Sound and onto the island that Sir Walter Raleigh had settled over 500 years ago. Things had changed a bit since then. There were now plenty of visitor services to satisfy every settler’s needs—including brake jobs.

We found Pugh’s right on the main drag in Manteo and threw ourselves at his mercy. Fortunately, they immediately assigned a mechanic to take a look at our brakes. I was really anxious to get this over with and get on our way. Our trip was already cut short by Andrew’s track meet and we didn’t have much time to spare. Also, the place was closing in an hour.

As the mechanic lay under our rig examining the problem, I could see that Herb was having a problem relinquishing control of the situation to a stranger. You see, Herb is very much a do-it-yourself kind of guy, who is really capable of doing even the toughest of mechanical jobs, but here he was without the tools or the parts to get the job done. So instead of doing it himself, he had to satisfy himself with pacing while someone else examined his rig.

The news was not good. Although the problem was quite fixable, it was not going to be completed that afternoon, but would have to continue on into tomorrow, cutting a precious day off our already shortened vacation. We tried to make the best of it. We found a nice little campground named Cypress Cove right down the road and spent a very pleasant evening fishing in their stocked pond. The kids even caught a few.

The next morning, bright and early, it was back to Pugh’s and hopefully a quick repair. I suggested sight-seeing while the repair was being done, but there was no way Herb was leaving. So, the boys and I took the bikes off the back of the RV and said good-bye to Herb’s feet, which were now sticking out from under the RV right next to those of the mechanic.

The boys and I rode our bikes a short distance down to the Manteo waterfront and then across a bridge to a small island, which was the site of the first English settlement in America. Today it is home to the Roanoke Island Festival Park, which does a great job of bringing that part of our country’s very early history back to life. There is a the Elizabeth II, a 16th century sailing ship, complete with sailors in period costumes speaking in Elizabethan accents, and an interactive museum where you can hands-on learn about what life was like in that first settlement 500 years ago. The island also has a nature walk along a boardwalk through the marshes and lovely views of the Manteo waterfront just a short distance away.

I did feel a bit guilty though about having a good time while Herb was back under the RV. We rode back to check on him, but they still had quite a bit of work to do, so we rode back down to the waterfront to walk around and do some shopping. The boys bought me two really pretty hand-painted wine glasses as an early Mother’s Day present. I call them my “Happy Glasses,” because for some reason looking at them makes me happy. Also, I hate to admit it, but I have fond memories of the boys and my time on Roanoke Island. Unfortunately, I’m sure Herb’s memories were a bit different.

About 4 o’clock they finally completed the brake job, and we very happy to be on the road again. The drive back across the bridge to Hatteras Island and down to Hatteras Village was very pretty. It’s amazing how thin the barrier islands are and what a rather fragile separation they are between Pamlico Sound and the Atlantic Ocean. At Hatteras Village we were lucky to hop right on one of the free North Carolina ferries to Ocracoke Island, allowing us to get to our beachfront campsite in plenty of time to toast the sunset.

Description

Roanoke Island, located between the Outer Banks and the mainland, is famous for being the site of Sir Walter Raleigh’s Lost Colony.

Back in 1585, 100 men, women, and children settled here in what was to be England’s first permanent settlement in the New World. Shortly afterwards, Virginia Dare, the granddaughter of the colony’s governor, was born on the island, making her the first English child to be born in America. The following year, Governor White sailed back to England, intending to return later that year. However, he was delayed in England until 1590. When he did finally return to Roanoke, he found the settlers gone, the houses dismantled, and a fortlike palisade enclosing where the settlers had once lived. To add to the mystery, a large post with the bark peeled off contained letters spelling out the word “CROATAN.” Since there were no signs of violence or distress, White assumed the settlers had left to join the friendly Croatan Indian tribe. To this day, the mystery of where those first settlers had disappeared has never been solved.

Today that mystery is reenacted in the play, “The Lost Colony,” performed at the Waterside Theater from mid-June to late August. With its first performance in 1937, it is the United States’ oldest outdoor drama.

Other things to see and do on Roanoke Island:

• Fort Raleigh National Historic Site – a reconstruction of the old fort as it stood in 1585
• Manteo Waterfront – restaurants, galleries, and shops
• Roanoke Island Festival Park – a 25-acre island across from the Manteo Waterfront with a 16th century sailing ships, an art gallery, and an interactive living history museum
• Performance of “The Lost Colony” at the outdoor Waterside Theater
• The Elizabethan Gardens near the Waterside Theater

Travelogue

I must say that Whitney's near lightning strike and the two flat tires on the way home had pretty much wiped any sense of relaxation we had achieved on Edisto. Nonetheless, it had been a wonderful trip and would probably get better and better with age.

Description

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

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).