Travel Articles & Blog

Perched on the edge of a rock wall with our feet dangling over the San Antonio Riverwalk, my son and I watched the people weaving through busy crowds. Holiday lights dangled from the tall trees and a quiet blend of music drifted from the long line of restaurants tucked into the bottom of historic buildings. The air was soft and I pulled my sweater close. This was our last night in San Antonio and my feet hurt. It was the second week of January 2024 and despite the chill, I welcomed the 60 degrees.

Mindful of the 45 mph speed limit, I drove along the deserted road in the early morning. I planned to make it back to Del Rio by the end of the day and did not relish the lonely drive along the main paved road in western Texas – Highway 90. I hoped to see the dinosaur exhibit on the two-hour drive to exit the park. As I began to brake for a rare stop sign, a large mountain lion strolled across the road. My mouth open, the tawny cat looked at me curiously as if daring me to leave the campervan. Enormous, I could see the muscles ripple under their fur. As quickly as it arrived, it disappeared into the cactus undergrowth leaving behind the feeling of untapped power.

Sitting on a park bench as close to the trading post as I could find, I connected to the WiFi to check my messages.  Along with the handful of other campers, the trading post was the only spot in a hundred miles with connectivity. No cell reception. No towns. Just swamp.  I was bleary-eyed from staying up the night before enjoying the Leonid Meteor Shower Star Party and didn’t immediately notice the dark lump moving slowly in the nearby water. First I heard a shout from a young boy yelling “There’s one!” And then the lump moved with ferocity snatching the fish from a fisherman’s line. Before he even knew he had caught one! The crowd slowly stood as we gazed transfixed at the dark lump now lazily moving from the lagoon down the canal with the tip of its snout above the water to the swish of a tail trailing a dozen feet behind.

The traffic was heavy for Thanksgiving week so I breathed a sigh of relief when I found a parking spot at the far end of the tiny island.  Within minutes I was walking pristine sands and watching families dig for clams.  As I admired the lighthouse across the bay, I heard a horse whine behind me and I turned to see an entire tour group of twenty horses riding in a line along the beach.  Children laughed, parents photographed and the birds flew in lazy circles around the group. Everywhere I looked was a multi-generational photo op.

I inched my blanket back a foot to capture more shade from the single tree on the steep hill.  Below me, tie-dye-shirted people flowed up the hill carrying bags, baskets, and blankets.  Children rolled down the middle of the hill and dogs chased butterflies along the edge of the crowd.  The sky was a brilliant lack of pollution blue and the forest colored a dark evergreen. My companions laid back lazily chatting in the way of new friends sharing previous memories of their time on the hill. Suddenly, trumpets sounded and all of the 1,000-plus crowd came to attention focusing on the circus below.

I shouldered my day pack and considered my route.  A simple mile. Right through town. My hiking shoes were tied and I elected to use both canes instead of hiking poles. The day had dawned with pain and while the trail was mostly through the town, there was unfamiliar terrain leading up to the town. I was going to hike the middle mile of the Appalachian Trail in Duncannon, Pennsylvania.

I zipped my heavy fleece and tugged on my winter gloves. The wind was brisk and blew through my layers stinging my eyes and cheeks. I stood on the overlook looking over the edge and marveling at the difference in the weather. At the base of the mountain, the temperature was a lovely 72 degrees; at the top, it was 34 degrees. I made my way back inside the building and held the door for a long line of Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who all gave me a weary smile and thanks. It was mid-August.

The mist rolled below me as the sun rose slowly from the Atlantic Ocean. I was perched on the farthest eastern part of the US coast watching the sunrise from Cadillac Mountain in Acadia National Park, Maine. Far below me the midst and fog swirled in and around the surrounding islands playing peek-a-boo with the colorful sailboats bobbing in the bay. Far below nestled in the early 5 am dawn lay Bar Harbor tucked into a corner of Mt. Desert Island. I was fortunate to score a ticket to drive up the mountain as I watched dedicated and tired hikers emerge from the only trail to the summit. Quietly, people gathered in small groups to watch the sunrise. Whispers were carried on the wind as we all sat on the large granite mountaintop in awe of the scene before us.

As I approached the silky, colorful flags waving in the breeze, I could see each flag was printed with Japanese script in beautiful, flowing letters.  Each flag was a little ragged as the wind tossed them against the dark pines of the Massachusettes forest.  I paused to admire the life-size zen garden of white rocks with the familiar swirl of lines raked into sweeping lines.  The posted sign explained that each flag was a prayer for peace to be placed outside allowing for the wind to carry the prayer to the heavens.

Gobble gobble.  I stopped on the bottom step of the water house and eyed the flamboyant turkey.  He stood audaciously in my path quivering and bristling with full plumage.  Sighing, I edged around him and made my way to the brethren’s bath house.  He kindly escorted me to the next building and the next and so on.  Well, you get the picture. Orville Redenbacher the turkey was obviously infatuated despite his girlfriend living across town in the barn.  I had a full day touring the Shaker Village of Pleasant Hill Kentucky with Orville.  I would like to think that I let him down easily and we parted friends.

11 pm. Only a half hour ago the sky suddenly clearly against all weather reports. The moon was entering the first day of the full moon phase. I pulled into the parking lot amazed at the crowds. They carried chairs and warm blankets. Little children were bundled in winter coats with thermoses. I found a spot in the overflow lot and parked quickly on the grass. I had no idea how long the sky would remain clear. This was my only chance.