“A well’a bless my soul, What’s wrong with me?”
Are you, at this very moment that you’ve clicked on this article to read, wondering what on Earth a Pink Cadillac and Blue Suede Shoes have to do with Adventuring around in a LTV Unity IB? Then “Come Ahead”, “Don’t ask me Why” and read on.
Neither one of us wore “Blue Suede Shoes” when we got to ride in a Pink Cadillac. In fact, we don’t even own Blue Suede Shoes. Coincidentally, all this happened after we stood on the stage at The Ryman Auditorium doing a pretty good impersonation of Elvis. “Fool” came to mind when we got caught. How little we were to know that just a short while later, all these events would be forever linked in our memories “Talk about the Good Times.”
We’d been touring about Nashville the capital of the U.S. state of Tennessee. Beautifully located on the Cumberland River, and music was everywhere. While there, one of our stops was the Grand Ole Opry House (what used to be the Union Gospel Tabernacle and is today officially named The Ryman Auditorium) but that’s probably a better story for another Read. However, in an unknown moment of foreshadowing, we did capture this on the streets of Nashville.
Visiting The Ryman had us walking about its hallowed halls, admiring photos and corresponding biographies of world famous performers. Among them, Elvis Presley.
”Did you know he performed Blue Moon of Kentucky here,” Dave asked.
“No, I don’t even know that song!” I replied, and we shared the titles and hummed a few notes, of the songs we both remembered. And that’s how we got Elvis on our mind.
In the concert hall, there was no one around and for the heck of it, (“Fools Rush In”), right? we sneaked onstage, picked up the guitar that was laying there, and just as Dave (aka “Guitar Man”) announced “It feels so right”, a staff person emerged from some hidden, backstage door! We were about to scurry off before we would have to do “The Jailhouse Rock”, when she asked us if we wanted our photo taken. Not being too camera shy, we seized the opportunity, made her laugh as we posed appropriately, and instantly got this overwhelming urge to just “Shake Rattle, and Roll.”
Elvis was a little before my time and although I wasn’t part of the fainting throngs of (female?) fans, in an era when he was taking looks, music and moves to a whole different groove, I did grow up hearing his songs on the radio, sitting in our living room with my parents and watching his movies on what was a very small TV (by today’s standards). I have always loved the sound of his voice, and one of my favourite songs has always been “In the Ghetto.” It brings a tear to my eyes every single time I hear it.
“So do you wanna go see The King?” Asked Dave.
”Hmm…” I pondered.
We were in Nashville, and we didn’t have an agenda or schedule, simply working our way Southwards and Westwards. Having our home with us when we travel makes decisions such as this easy peasy. “Welcome to My World.” We researched the timings and noted that it would take us about 4 hours to drive there.
Travelling full-time requires us to be on a different sort-of-budget, and I’m not one for paying huge amounts of dollars to see any famous person’s house? Or clothes? Or Records. Or planes?. But, I was, admittedly, a tad curious. About Memphis. About Elvis.
“My mom shared the same birth date as Elvis,” said Dave, “She always wanted to come here.” That’s as good a reason as any to go, right?
“Let’s go!” I said, excitedly, “It’s Now or Never!”
So, just like that, on the spur of the moment, we got in our trusted Unity IB and followed the signs for Memphis. A town famous for being home to “A Mess of Blues”.
We arrived at the Graceland RV Park and Campground just shortly after noon. It felt like we were smack dab in the middle of a run-down part of town, the nondescript grounds located behind a hotel, near a large parking lot. “Anyplace is Paradise” when your home is with you, right? After checking in, we followed the highlighted directions on the campground map, the roads setting the mood, as they were appropriately named: “Jailhouse Road”, “Heartbreak Lane” and “Teddy Bear Lane.” Wasn’t long before we found our lot number, backed in, and found ourselves home. “Home is where the Heart Is”, right?
A quick bite for lunch followed by a brief rest, and then we walked the path from the Campground through to the parking lot of the Graceland Visitor Center. It being mid afternoon, the place was near empty, and we were just two couples away from the counter. The kind lady informed us of the different prices of admission, and upon hearing them, we immediately got “All Shook Up.”
“C’mon Everybody,” said the Shuttle Driver, as she opened the doors so we could all board. It was a very short drive, almost directly across the street, through the wrought iron gates, up the hill, where we stopped by the white cement lions that adorned the front doorsteps of the modest looking house nestled in a grove of Oaks with rolling pastures all around.
Rather surprised that this was the King’s house, I couldn’t quite decide if it was a “Little Cabin on the Hill” or “Mansion over the Hilltop.”
We were all handed an iPad and earphones and received brief instructions on how to use the auto-guided/interactive (multilingual) software. Then they opened the front door and allowed us in.
“Do Not Disturb” was the immediate thought that came to mind. It felt, and looked like I had simply stepped back in time. The whole place was hushed and quiet. Dustless. Shiny and clean. Dated. Classically White. Or cream. Name that shade of colour, I immediately thought to myself.
And in my ear, the husky voice of John Stamos welcomed me and began to tell me a story as I swiped the area of my surroundings.
I could almost feel a presence as I entered each area. “Do you know who I am?” The voice in my ears anecdotally told me about the rooms, the who’s who in the frames, and slowly, as I entered and exited each room, the personality of a person, a King in the making, began to come to emerge.
He was in the simplicity of the furnishings in the Foyer. He was in the photo frames that decorated the coffee tables, strangers face staring back at me until John Stamos told me a bit about them.
He was in the long white sofa elegantly placed against the wall, and he was in the Music Room visible behind the vivid blue peacocks embedded in the glass walls. He was in the baby black piano just barely visible from where I stood, and I could almost hear tunes in the creating.
Totally at my own leisure, I meandered through, listening to the voice in my ears, and sometimes swiping the pause button, so I could visually inhale my surroundings.
The kitchen where the infamous PB&B sandwiches were made.
Each room we visited held a totally different look, a jig-saw house of various jaw-dropping themes.
A sort of progression of what “Fame and Fortune” could do to an emerging artist.
We were not allowed to go upstairs. “Don’t be Cruel” I told John Stamos.
The remarkable Jungle Room, with its green shag carpets, Polynesian feel and exotically carved wood required an extra bit of time to take in all the details.
Downstairs, my eyes needed to adjust to too many shades of yellow
when I found myself in a room that housed three TV sets. And a TCB logo of a lightning bolt and cloud on the wall: “Taking Care of Business”.
Outside, the back of the house was just as admirable,
and we followed the walkway to tour the office, the stables visible in the distance. The Racquetball building with its very own court, luxurious lobby, a pinball machine and a piano.
Through it all, we were witness to countless personal artifacts on display, from the cost of the house, his birth certificate, letters, photos, clothes…
And then we were “In the Garden” where Elvis was known to go and meditate.
And with the unfortunate passing of time, where he and members of his family have been laid to rest. And the one and the only place that visitors can access, for free, for a certain time, every morning. A hushed, serene place. A for “A Little Less Conversation.”
“Funny how time slips away” for the 2 hours that we spent in The King’s home, I felt that we just barely started to grasp an intimate snapshot of the man that was Elvis. He was generous. He read a lot of spiritual type books. He was the proverbial “Rags to Riches” success story. Religion was a huge part of his life, and although he was surrounded by “Loving Arms”, substance abuse destroyed him. Fame and “Heartbreak” on so many fronts.
We sat outside the house for a moment “Indescribably Blue” and breathing in the serenity of the place, and I have to admit, just a little awestruck. Humbled. A little inspired. Not to mention tired. The shuttle arrived, and we handed in the iPads as we boarded, and got driven back to the Visitor Center. We stopped in to visit his personal plane,
a state of the art Corvair 880 jet, named after his daughter, Lisa Marie. It was more roomy and regal, than any of the presidential planes we’ve toured. Leather tables, incredibly soft suede seats, and gold-laden bathroom sinks.
It was a short walk back across the parking lot into the Graceland RV Park and Campground, towards our lot and into our RV, where we sat back, put our feet up, sighed and said: “There’s No Place Like Home”.
“What’s for Dinner?” asked Dave shortly.
“I have no idea. I sure don’t want a Hot Dog, how about Crawfish?” I replied.
And that’s when we saw the little slip of paper the campground had given us when we checked in. It was a 10% discount coupon if we had dinner at Marlowe’s, and printed on there, a phone number to call if we wanted a pickup. Sounds good to us!
We had finished dressing when we heard the honk of a horn. Must be our drive, and we headed out the door. And (gasp) what do we see? A pink Cadillac!
The story tells that Elvis had bought a pink Cadillac for his mother with his first royalty check. “If that isn’t Love” I don’t know what is?
Since Elvis was reputed to have eaten here (is there somewhere he hasn’t eaten?), Marlowe’s, a BBQ restaurant a couple of miles from the campground, followed suit and bought a Cadillac Limousine. They painted it pink, and the rest, as they say, is history. Today there’s a fleet of limousines that will pick you up and drive you home (free of charge), after feasting at their establishment (remember to bring your campground 10% coupon).
We sat down at our table, perused the menu, and wasn’t long before the food arrived.
All around us, the TV’s on the walls played Elvis movies. The frames on the walls held photos of Elvis. The glass cages held his outlandish outfits. Elvis tunes played all around us. The food was delicious. And the Pink Cadillac drove us home.
“This is the Story!”
Would you believe, I wrote all this “Without A Song” playing in my head? And I’m absolutely positive I’ve planted a few earworms in yours, right?
Wait, “What’d I say?”
“Love me tender”, please, and leave me a comment. Do you have a memory about the King of Rock and Roll? What’s your favourite Elvis song?
Today our tires are driving straight for Savannah! A place that has, for me, always evoked much intrigue and fascination.
I mean, did you know that General Sherman way back when, was so awed by the beauty and charm of this place, that instead of burning it to the ground during the American Civil War, he gave it to President Lincoln as a Christmas gift! Bless his heart!
Reading books back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I knew that over yonder lay a magical place. And I would imagine what Savannah might be like. I felt it would be humid hot so I could not only hear but could almost feel the cool waters bubbling forth from decorative fountains in large picturesque gardens. In my mind’s eye, I would imagine standing in the shade of the tall oak trees with their large gnarled twisted branches almost hidden with hanging drapes of Spanish moss. I could easily imagine historic Victorian type homes with their antebellum architecture. It would be a place filled with haunting mansions, fiery history fraught wars, cotton fields and slaves. But nothing could ever seem to rival good old-fashioned Southern hospitality. Being a foodie, don’t the word Savannah just conjure up smells of fried green tomatoes? As in the food, not the movie. And saucy shrimp and grits, and well… for those with a sweet tooth? There might even exist a sweet box of chocolates?
Because, all y’all, here in Chippewa Park is where filming took place of the iconic bench where Forrest Gump sat, right?
For those who may not know, Tom Hanks plays “Forrest Gump” in the same-titled movie released in 1994. And as he sits on a park bench, somewhat like the one in the photo above, he relates the story of how his life was “like a Box of Chocolates.” **
Have you ever opened a Box of Chocolates? You know what I mean, don’t you? A decorated box that once opened allows you to instantly inhale the sweet goodness inside. Perhaps there’s a laminated piece of paper laying on top, providing a detailed description of each and every bite-sized piece of sweet goodness. Or not, and you’re left guessing until you take that first bite. Don’t your mouth start to water in anticipation?
And being all comparative and all, isn’t driving around visiting new places and adventuring on the roads, somewhat like opening a Box of Chocolates? You might have a general idea of what there is to see and do where it is that you’re going, but you never really know what you’ll get, until you get there, and have a bite.
So here we were, our tires pointed straight towards Savannah, Georgia. With a quick glance at two of our most used RV Apps: AllStays and RV Parky, we quickly confirmed that we could park overnight at the Visitor Center for the surprisingly very affordable price of $8 per night. (Note: The Visitor Center does not allow overnight parking anymore.)
The heavy construction traffic, watching for touristy pedestrians walking helter-skelter, combined with a lack of street signage had us going around in circles until, stopped at a traffic light right by the Thunderbird Inn, we rolled down our window and asked the traffic director for some help.
Off like a herd of turtles we drove, and shortly thereafter we finally entered the parking lot by the big red-bricked building that was the Visitor Center. Suffering from a slight case of the hangries.
“Let’s have lunch before we head out?” I suggested, knowing we wouldn’t get very far with empty bellies. One of the pleasures with this lifestyle is that we can have a quick bite at any moment’s notice. Re-heated leftovers satisfied us just fine, and it wasn’t long that the dishes were cleared away, our comfy sneakers laced on and we were ready to go.
The man at the Visitor Center welcomed us with a friendly hello, circled a few must-sees on the map, and once we paid for our overnight stay, we were on our way out the door. Before we could grab the handle, familiar faces pushed the door in, and be bumped into each other. Why I do declare it’s friends from back home! We made plans Lord willing and the Creek don’t rise to get together later in the evening to catch up.
As we walked about getting our bearings, I inhaled the hot humid air. Somewhat like I had imagined, the live Oak trees created beautiful shadows as we walked underneath the shade of their gnarled and twisted branches.
We meandered in the gardens, and saw ourselves some fountains,
and everywhere we looked, dangling Spanish Moss swayed in the breezes.
“Did you know that Spanish moss isn’t really moss?” I said to Dave.
“Oh, no? What is it, then?” He replied.
“It’s actually an Epiphyte, which means it gets its nutrients from the air. And it’s a relative to the pineapple!”
We explored so many of the 22 squares that connected the various neighbourhoods that we lost count and were pretty soon Worn Slap Out. The city was originally developed with a specific grid-like pattern as a fire prevention method, a way of allowing every house in the neighbourhood, no matter which street you lived on, to have an equidistant chance of being saved from flames.
Then we found ourselves exploring the Colonial Park Cemetery, a place where, under the detailed guidelines of the Code Duello, “pistols for two and a coffin for one” resulted in a staggering 11,000 people being buried here. Why are there only 600 tombstones? Ahh, If only those gloves could tell their tales of what honour they were defending.
That evening we enjoyed a wonderful reunion with our friends but it was pretty soon time to stifle our yawns and catch some serious zzz’s. Comfy cozy in our beds parked in the Savannah Visitor Center parking lot, which contrary to the day’s hub-bub of activity was now very quiet, we spent some time catching up on social media.
“Look… “ I said, rather incredulously, “at this post from our (other) friends! It says here that they’ve just checked into the Thunderbird Inn!”
“Hold your Horses!” said Dave, “It can’t be that hotel we drove by earlier today, can it?” Thanks to the power of instant messages, they quickly confirmed that they were indeed just down the street from us, but had pre-bought tickets for the Trolley Tour the next day, and did we want to join them? Can’t never could, so in the spur of the moment, we said “Sure, we’ll stay an extra day, see you tomorrow Lord willing and the Creek don’t Rise.
The departure point was conveniently located at the Visitor Center, so we had nowhere to go in the morning but right to the booth to buy our tickets, and then inside the Visitor Center to pay an additional $8 for the second night.
Having explored so much by foot the day before, we thoroughly enjoyed the more restful, Hop-On/Hop-Off Trolley Tour, which was, thanks to our driver, extremely informative, and Funny as all Get Out. The Trolley stops at roughly 16 places of interest, and you can get off, explore, and get back at your leisure. Or you can enjoy the drive from start to finish before deciding anything, which would probably only take two hours of your time.
We listened to the historical anecdotes about the places we’d seen the day before, saw places that our feet never took us to, like the birthplace of Juliette Gordon Low, Girl Scouts founder. Touring the many rooms of the oldest standing building in GA–Pirate’s House. And stood quite in awe at the most incredible Cathedral of St John the Baptist, an incredible sight both inside and out.
The many unique mansions too beautiful to describe, all of them adorned with cast-iron balconies and stair railings and window guards, not to mention the grillwork adorning the fountains and entryways.
A sign of wealth, back in those days. And the ones with two sets of staircases? His and hers. Really! Men and women had to walk up different steps, something to do with men not being allowed to see women’s petticoats.
Down by the waterfront, the trolley dropped us off and the driver cautioned us to watch our steps. Sure enough, the uneven footwork of the colourful cobble and quarried stone, originally ballast on ships of old, was repurposed and resulted as this uneven road, needing our attention as we made our way towards the water and shops.
Perhaps history would tell of a meeting between General Oglethorpe and his crew of 114 men, women and children, aboard the galley ship Anne. They landed somewhere along the River and Oglethorpe named the area Georgia, and Savannah became her first city. On his arrival, he was greeted by Chief Tomo-Chi-Chi and his wife, Senauki. A friendship between the two developed and the rest, I reckon, is now part of the sweet southern Savannah history.
All that exploring sure made us hungry, so we headed for a restaurant with a view, our table on the rooftop patio overlooking the Savannah River. On the menu? We chose dishes we hadn’t ever tried before, ones that evoked full Southern tastebuds, because, well… that’s what we’re here for.
Fried green tomatoes: Unripened green tomatoes are seasoned, coated with cornmeal and flour or a derivative thereof, and fried! Oh my, why have we not tried these before?
You just can’t go wrong with fried shrimp, can you?
We were in what’s often referred to as the “Grits Belt” and so we just had to have shrimp and grits.
Heavens to Betsy, it was Oh My Delicious, and we left there Full as a Tick. And if a ship goes by while you’re feasting? They’ll pour you a shot!
We meandered along the waterfront, and found ourselves at the gate to board the (free) Savannah Belles Ferry,
a ride that takes you across the river to Hutchinson Island, where you can disembark if you wish, walk around, and at your leisure, grab the next ferry back.
This time the ferry deposited us a little further upstream than where we had initially boarded, and that is how we came face to face with Florence,
the Statue of the Waving Girl. A long time ago, Florence, pretty as a peach, met and fell in love with a sailor. His ship was soon set to leave and Florence bid him adieu, waving goodbye on the shore as he sailed away. Day after day she would come back to the waterfront, waving at the ships, hoping he would be on the next one. Some days she would wave a white handkerchief, and sometimes, in the dusky darkness, she would carry a lantern. She sure had Gumption! As with some dramatic love stories, this one doesn’t end well. History notes he never did come back, and rumour has it that she died of a broken heart.
Well, I do declare! After a crushing love story like that, I think I need something sweet. As we walked the waterfront, we were multiple times offered free samples of pralines. Made with pecans, cream, sugar and butter … they are an incredible melt in your mouth morsel of goodness. And a sure-fire cure for what ails those achy feet, we were worn Slap-out.
And that’s how our time in Savannah was just like a box of chocolates, plenty full of unknown yet deliciously sweet surprises. We highly recommend it, all y’all.
** The bench that Tom Hanks/Forrest Gump sat on, in Chippewa Square, was a movie prop and is now on location in the Savannah Historical Museum.
One of the puzzling moments that we sometimes experience as we’re out Adventuring, is waking up in the morning quite in a fuzzy state of *I haven’t had my coffee yet* mind, and not being sure, exactly, where we are waking up at. Have you ever woken up with that moment of perplexed uncertainty?
Why, you might be hearing the distant noise of traffic, as you’ve overnighted in a Wal-Mart, Flying-J or a nearby Casino?
Or perhaps you’re a member of Harvest Hosts or Boondockers Welcome and your surroundings are a little more peaceful.
Perhaps you’re at some spot you’ve found near the local lake, that’s just plum peaceful.
Or you’re in a campground, with all its amenities: Laundry? Showers? Water, dump and power? A firepit! WITH firewood! And SCORE! Campfires are allowed that day.
Or you’re on some Bureau of Land Management (BLM) lands, with access to none of the above. **
That particular morning in question, as the outside world connected with the inside mind, we knew we were waking up in our comfy cosy beds in our UnityIB, on BLM land. Quite literally on the edge of the North Rim of the Grand Canyon. WOW!
And sometimes on those unclear mornings, as the mind collects its random musings into focus, you realize EXACTLY where you are, and that there may just be an Adventure ahead. The excitement is the fuel that will literally jump you out of bed. Possibly even more potent than coffee?
Adventures are a funny thing, aren’t they? “Unusual or daring experiences” as defined by the dictionary, or perhaps, “a bold, usually exciting undertaking with uncertain outcomes”. I remember once reading: “Go on Adventures to find out who you are”. Isn’t that Spot On? Doing something new (not necessarily unusual or daring) certainly provide for the building blocks of confidence and empowerment in the becoming of you.
We didn’t set out to be Adventurers. With research came knowledge, with time came to experience and confidence. And as we met folks along the way and exchanged tales of “Oh, places we’ve been…”, and “Wow, the things they’ve seen…” Well, we got inspired, and then motivated, and then we kind of just… Became.
We often get asked:
“Well, aren’t you scared?”
Doing something different can certainly bring feelings of fear. And it’s certainly all about perspective. But we answer with a shake of the head:
“Not usually, no.”
I remember the first time we moved to a new house in a new province and walked the streets of our new neighbourhood. It was kind of scary, as we didn’t know anything or anyone. With time, the *fear* dissolved. Even then, when days of routine had set in, I always strived to seek new ways of expanding my horizons. Like taking a different route to work some mornings, *just for fun!* Adventure could be as simple as putting on your sneakers and going for a walk somewhere new to you. When was the last time you did something for the first time?
I remember the first time we stopped to overnight at a Wal-Mart. I have to confess that as both of us sat there, feeling totally weirded out. I mean, who sleeps in a parking lot? At Wal-Mart? Turns out, plenty of people do. As the evening sunset, dusk descended and filled the inside of the van with a bit of anxiety. Our overactive imaginations envisioned the worst of the worst as we peeked out our windows. There were dark shadows behind every person walking around, every moving car, and every noise we heard!
We always spend a few minutes sitting in our seats, feeling the vibe of the area. And if our views and our guts tell us that we’re uncomfortable? We move on! For example, there was this one time we were well parked, feeling comfortable and just settling down for the night when we heard noises just outside our bedroom window. OhOh! A truck had parked right beside us, the loud sounds of upbeat music had permeated our space and were shaking our walls. Shortly thereafter, a car joined the truck, there was a quick exchange of hands, and the car drove off. And then another one. And then a third one. We quickly moved to another area of the parking lot before we could see if there would be any more cars to count. And spent a perfectly comfortable night.
This Season we experienced firsthand the availability of BLM lands. Areas, that somehow, if but for a moment and certainly the first time we tried them, felt in their remoteness somewhat even scarier than the busyness of the box stores and truck stops we’d allowed ourselves to get accustomed to. Because sometimes, there feels a comfort in noise and numbers.
This time the intense sounds of silence, and the shadows of the trees felt just a little spooky.
But with time, that too became the new normal. And so we Adventure On.
It isn’t always all about having an Adventure, and certainly not to any unhealthy limits of your own tolerance. Our Adventures are not your Path to Follow. But we hope, in writing this, that they might inspire you to Adventure on your own Path.
We met fellow travellers on their way to bungee-jump off a bridge. Kudos to them, certainly not something either one of us would do, although we certainly feel the thrill when we helped them toast their achievements, what fun!
We went on what we thought would be a short walk three miles down the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. As we navigated the switchbacks, walking straight downwards, we got hotter and sweatier, knowing full well that when we turned around? We’d have to come straight back up! What a challenge lay ahead of us.
And that’s when we crossed paths with a group of ladies who were on their way up, looking just as hot and sweaty, and just as exhausted, if not more.
As our Paths crossed for a moment, we exchanged stories. Once a year the group of them get together for An Adventure, something they’ve been doing for years. This year? They were on their last legs (pardon the pun) of hiking the Rim-to-Rim Trail of the Grand Canyon. These ladies had started at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, descended down to the depths below, and were now emerging on the South Side. What an accomplishment! And who knew *that* was even a thing? Being avid hikers, we were certainly intrigued. With further research and planning, not to mention some training, *that* might just end up on our Bucket List!
Whenever we’re about to head out to do something new and different, we feel the familiar twinges of butterfly wings in our tummies. And although those twinges can be a little unnerving at first, they’re a great reminder that you’re alive. Heading out on an Adventure!
And as you go, you might notice that your breathing quickens. Sure it’s uncomfortable, you don’t know where things are, you’re not sure if you can do it. But your senses wake up!! Your muscles might be tense at first, but then somehow, they relax and you know what? That flutter of butterfly twinges? They’ve disappeared. As your eyes settle on what they’re seeing, you might notice that things seem brighter, more colourful? And perhaps later, at the end of it all, in the telling of tales and ensuing conversations with family and friends and fellow travellers? Why they might notice something different about you. They might just comment how you have a jig in your step, a hint of a song in your voice, an enthusiasm that is catchy!
Adventure is a Passion that’s Contagious.
One of the items we received from Leisure Travel Vans for writing our story was an LTV JournalBook.
And as I held the black-bound hardcover book in my hands, the empty lined pages stared solemnly back at me, I wondered just what I would do with it.
As boat owners & cruisers, one of the tasks of our Passages is to keep a LogBook. Mine happens to be a digitalized columnized record of departures and arrivals, miles travelled, places stayed. Engine hours, issues dealt with, and such. And that’s when I knew! I would do the same for our Adventures on Land!
I keep my JournalBook readily available on the Dash and I note the date we left, and where we stop. I record the Fuel Cost, and if I’m industrious enough, I’ll note the financials of that day. I note the cost of the campground. Or a Big Fat Zero with a smiley face gets jotted down if we’ve been Wally-Marting or BoonDocking. All of which will *someday* allow me to input those numbers and calculate just how much we’ve spent in a day, month, year or trip.
I also keep a record of maintenance *stuff*: for example, when we topped up with propane. And will highlight the day/place we crossed borders into the USA / Canada to make it all easier to find when need be.
But the best and my most favourite part of my JournalBook? When we’re spending time with folks, perhaps around the campfire sharing stories of respective Adventures, and I inevitably hand them my book and a pen, asking them to write a little something-something.
Sometimes they simply write their names and the date. And sometimes I get paragraphs full of words of times shared.
Inevitably sometime later, as I’m perusing the pages of my well used, dog-eared JournalBook? I find myself stopping to read those words… what great memories of great times, meeting great people, all of us out here living Adventures.
We look forward to crossing paths with you. And if we do, you can rest assured that we might just ask you to sign our Journal Book. And perhaps, you might just ask us to sign yours?
** Note: Some of the BLM lands we’ve been in, actually have allocated spaces and fire pits!