It seems our travels always involve three things: adventure, education, and missed chances.  Even if I were to never recount our journeys here, their memories will forever remain incredibly vivid in our minds.  To us, they're legendary.  Our recent trip to the Apostle Islands National Lakeshore was no exception.

We awoke early that morning to the sweet symphony of nature outside our camper's windows.  Perched above Lake Superior and nestled beneath towering oaks and pines, we continued to revel in our campsite victory.  The city of Bayfield, Wisconsin maintains a campground just north of the marina.  When my husband suggested camping there, I was reluctant because I had pictured a slab of concrete with little privacy or amenities.  While the park lacked amenities beyond the basics, it more than made up for it in privacy.  With our only neighbors tucked distantly behind the trees, we felt like camping royalty with our hidden spot and superior views.  

The air was crisp, and the winds were charging off of the lake, cutting into our still thin Midwest skin.  As groups of tourists gathered on the marina docks, whispers of six foot swells began to circulate through the formed line of guests anxiously awaiting the blessing to board the tour boats.  Compassionate guides began making their way down the line with the disheartening news: due to the size of the swells on open water, we were not going to make it to the highly acclaimed Devil's Island-- an island known for jaw-dropping sea caves carved by the forces of nature.   It was strongly recommended that weak-stomached landlubbers stay ashore, full refunds available.  With a mix of ignorance and excitement, we shrugged off the warnings and climbed aboard.

Prior to shoving off, our captain reiterated the warning of choppy seas and offered us two things: last chances and barf bags.  We refused, nervously chuckling about the thought that while rough waters weren't tummy-turning, a boat full of puking guests would certainly weaken the most iron-clad stomachs.  Once we were no longer protected by the marina barriers, the chop was evident but more closely resembled a busy weekend on a Midwest lake.  We settled in and began to soak in the panoramic scenery beyond our vessel.  

Each island had a fascinating story that was animatedly described by our captivating captain.  For example, Hermit Island was aptly named in honor of the legend of William Wilson, a man who despised the thought of company on his private island so much that he kept hopeful visitors away by firing rounds from his shotgun.  Even if there were no tall tales to be told, our vigilant captain readily peered through his binoculars in search of wildlife that was abundant on the islands.  We were privileged to see the majestic bald eagle, circling a nest on the tip of Oak Island.  We were awed by the rock formations and boulder outcroppings that only enhanced the picturesque beauty of the shorelines.

As we neared the approach to Devil's Island, the waves begin to grow, tossing us around.  Suddenly our sizable ship seemed to diminish in stature against the tumultuous waters.  After some off-mic conversation between the captain and his crew, he addressed his guests by gesturing towards the fifteen foot spray crashing into the southern tip of the forbidden island.  Avoiding a dance with the devil, he steered our ship towards calmer waters and redirected our attention to more island folklore.

As we approached Raspberry Island, the ship filled with shutter noise from every camera that was intently aimed at the crown jewel of the park.  The lighthouse stood gleaming and proud atop the rocky shores, ready to beacon passing ships.  A recent $3.4 million dollar restoration, equal to the annual operating budget for the entire park, brought this crown jewel back to its former glory.  Although we did not go ashore, we immediately decided to make it part of our return visit.

Returning to the marina, the skies parted giving way to brilliant blue skies.  The sun sparkled across the lake, marina, and charming city.  As a gesture of kindness, the captain offered partial refunds to all guests in reparation for the missed island.  Although we were impressed by this offer, we never felt slighted.  Sure, it would have been incredible to witness the sea caves of Devil's Island, but we were equally satisfied with our adventure.

Oh, and I'm happy to report that no barf bags were filled on our journey!

As I navigate my way through adulthood, I am learning that dreams can come true, but the delivery may look a little different than what you expected.  I’ve always been a big dreamer.  A constant childhood goal included having a horse trailer with an RV, so that I could travel the world and ride my horse everywhere.  As I grew, the wanderlust spirit within me never disappeared.  My husband and I thrived on spontaneous adventures; from middle of the night trips to the lake, to driving to Chicago on a whim when our son was only three months old, we were always going somewhere.  We made it our goal to teach our children that life lessons, cultures, and history were best learned through the hands-on experiences gained in travels.

The dream of RV ownership was contagious too.  The whole family was certain that our version of freedom and adventure came only when we were able to travel with an RV in-tow.  For years we would envy the families that were not tied to the expense and limitations of hotel stays.  We also knew that one soaking wet, freezing cold tent-camping trip was enough for us.  We were certain that RV ownership was the answer.  However, we never expected to end up with a 1971 Dreamer Travel Trailer.  She was quite the beauty when we first laid eyes on her: parked in the middle of the woods, she had been used for base camp during hunting season and aesthetics were not a necessity.  While it wasn’t love at first sight, we could see past the dark paneling, hordes of dead bugs, and overwhelming smells, to the potential that lie beneath the surface.  Even though the sellers affectionately referred to her as “The Nightmare”, we settled on an offer we couldn’t refuse, and began the journey towards a revised dream.

The Dreamer came to us with a history of tales from the previous owners: some almost unbelievable, some that made you laugh, and others that inspired you.  For instance, we learned that eight cowboy boot wearing, worn-out girls could easily sleep in a camper conservatively designed for four.  That is, if these eight girls had spent twelve exhausting hours on the backs of horses navigating the hills of the Ozarks.  We also learned that it was possible for the Dreamer to break free from its towing vehicle, skidding into a middle-of-nowhere Kansas field, and yet still end up back on the road within an hour, thanks to the kindness of strangers and fortunate timing.  We envisioned ourselves on the same camping trip to Colorado that scored the Dreamer’s previous owners a plethora of fish and some envious neighbors.  As the previous owner Mike stated, “There’s still plenty of memories waiting to be made in the old girl”.

We had spent countless hours touring every dwelling on wheels, monopolizing the time of eager salesmen, in search of the perfect fit.  The amenities that modern RVs offered enticed us to get serious about our dream.  Our kids cheered us on as we gathered at the desks of hopeful salesmen to discuss the financial details.  Our kids booed as we walked away empty handed.  Each time we crunched numbers, financial responsibility quickly called us back to reality like the teacher snapping her fingers in front of the daydreaming student. We tried to reason out places we could trim from our already squeaky-tight budget, but neither of us could, in good conscious, convince the other to sign on the line.  We were learning that big dreams and a little budget were working against each other, and our goal slipped through our fingers like handfuls of sand.

The dream of owning an RV faded into the background.  It seemed the timing wasn’t right for us, and we dismissed it as one does a chronic backache; it was something we ignored as we went about our daily routines.  What my husband thought was a casual conversation with a co-worker serendipitously led us to the Dreamer.  Mike knew we were handy, and learned that we were itching to satisfy the desire to upgrade from the unpredictability of tent camping and budget-busting hotel stays.  He suggested to my husband that we come and take a look at an old camper that he had parked on his land to serve as base camp during hunting season.  He was sure to not oversell the Dreamer, but knew there was hidden potential under the dark panels that encapsulated the interior.  “I purchased the Dreamer in ’84, as a 13 year old camper, and knew she had many more miles ahead of her,” he recalled as he penned out the ownership transfer on the back of the title.  “I think that if you guys put a little elbow grease {and a lot of paint} into her, she’ll be as good as new,” he half-sarcastically chuckled.

The first weeks of the renovation were filled with enthusiastic family members, ready to lend a hand with spray painting or deep cleaning, but as the newness wore off, so did the stream of eager helpers.  My husband was left to battle the frustrations that come from taking a 45 year old aluminum and plywood box on wheels and turning it into a vintage beauty.  He quickly learned that windy days and spray painting were a bad combination.  More spray paint blew back on his face than what stuck to the faded sides of the camper.  He dodged a swarm of red wasps that took great offense to the relocation of their nest which was secretly placed in the air conditioner.  He dripped with sweat as he transformed every nook of the dark brown paneling into a sparkling white palace.  However, nothing compared to the pool of blood that gathered on the retro carpet as it disappeared under a fresh laminate floor, proving that box cutters can cut more than just boxes.  A trip to the urgent care, then a hand surgeon, and many stitches later, the floor was laid and our “Nightmare” was beginning to look like a Pintrest- worthy remodel. 

Vintage campers seem to be quite trendy for penny-pinching visionaries like ourselves.  From the robust Tin Can Tourists, a club that offers camp outs, shows, and a community, to the Great American Country Network’s Flippin RV’s, we discovered that it wasn’t just a budget proposition that brought RV’ers to the older models.  It was a culture.  In fact, the idea of retro camping became so trendy that entrepreneurs started snatching up these swanky digs and filling campgrounds with them.  For instance, in the heart of Oregon’s wine country, The Vintages Trailer resort offers guests accommodations in their choice of the finest Airstream, Shasta, Avion, or Oasis, complete with sumptuous terry cloth robes and exotic pour-over coffees.  It’s an experience so memorable, so unique, that they’ve been featured in the Los Angeles Times, Huffington Post, and The Oregonian, to name a few. 

The kids were already dragging out blankets and pillows long before it was time to settle in to the camper for our maiden voyage, which we determined to be our driveway, ‘just in case’.  The Dreamer had transformed from ugly duckling to a beautiful swan.  The once darkened panels gleamed bright white.  The scratchy, faded pumpkin-orange curtains and cushions were replaced by baby blue chevrons curtains, gray suede seats, and funky flower-patterned cushions.  It was the vintage RV that would certainly cause camper envy in our upcoming adventures, and we were all very proud of what the Dreamer had become.  Our techie-driven son wired a flat panel TV and DVD player so that a pre-bed movie could be enjoyed.  The smell of fresh popcorn now permeated the camper, and we settled in feeling right at home.  It seemed a fitting culmination, and our eyes fell heavy dreaming of the adventures that were just around the corner: snow-capped mountains, sugar-sand beaches, and the many miles that lie between them were now attainable in the camper that was once only a shadow in our mind’s eye.  What adventures lie ahead for our intrepid family and our vintage camper?  That was a dream yet to be dreamt.  One thing was for sure, I wasn’t going to limit my dreams to my fit my expectations.

We are planning an upcoming trip to _____________.  This is my dilemma, the blank space.  I know, I know, there are people making really tough decisions in life.  I don't mean to marginalize those struggles.  Mine is trivial.  My husband and I are about to celebrate 15 years of marriage, and we are going on our first vacation without the kids.  Just he and I, the Dreamer (our vintage camper), and the open road.  Residing in the middle of the country has its advantages.  Unique adventures in all regions are within reach.  Here's my working list:

Aspen Viewing in Colorado- Although I was just there a few months ago, I can't help but long to return.  Before my first visit to the Rockies, I had no clue just how hard I would fall for those mountains.  The air is intoxicating, so pure and fresh.  The feeling you get when you're sitting at the base of massive rocks is only matched by the exhilaration of climbing to the top.  While I've visited this beloved state several times, I have yet to experience the splendor of fall.

Minnesota's North Shore- I've been highly intrigued by this possibility.  It seems there are so many activities that appeal to both my husband and I: biking, hiking, fishing, waterfalls to explore, and wildlife to see.  Although there aren't mountains to climb, it seems outdoor adventures in Minnesota are plentiful.  The Minnesota Department of Natural Resources reports peak fall colors are timed perfectly with our travel dates, making it the icing on the cake.

Getting Away in the Natural State- I often wonder why I have yet to explore the abundance of recreational opportunities in Arkansas.  It is a very short drive for us, and their slogan speaks volumes for what you can expect in this state.  Waterfalls, mountains, lakes, hot springs, eclectic towns, and over 250 day hikes means I will satisfy the wild inside of me.  

Discovering More in the Land of Lincoln- Another neighboring state that I wouldn't normally think of when trip planning.  When I think of Illinois, I think of getting to the other side.  It turns out, there is more to see between the farm fields east of the Mississippi and a big lake to the north.  Starved Rock State Park and Matthiesssen State Park boast waterfalls, rocky bluffs to conquer, and a quiet reprieve close to home.

Putting our Toes in the Water and Sand- This one is totally for the hubs!  Although, I still have a piece of my heart on the beaches of Florida.  With so many state parks dotted along the Panhandle, it may be best to give one more salute to summer and spend our few days alone salty and sandy.

What do you think?  What is your favorite fall vacation?  We love spontaneity, and will likely surprise everyone with our choice.  Here's to 15 years of marriage, loads of adventure, and a lifetime of memories! 

Words cannot adequately describe the anticipation we had as we boarded our train on a perfectly crisp summer morning in Durango, Colorado. Our son's affection for "steamies" lingered past the toddler days where he constantly wrapped his tiny fingers around Thomas the Tank Engine or constructed wooden track that spanned the entire length of our living room. He wasn't the only one in our family whose fondness of steam engines brought us to the beginning of our adventure. We could hardly contain ourselves; our energy was much like the iron horse's boiler, full and ready for action. Our dream of riding a steam engine through the "Wild West" was about to come to fruition... only we didn't expect it to truly get wild.

Everything about the Durango-Silverton Railroad is authentic. From the costumes of portrayed passengers to the railroad crew, all involved were committed to bringing history to life. With a call to action, "All aboard!", and a final whoosh of steam, our journey began. The conductor was heard before he was seen. A request for tickets, followed by a quick click-click-click signified his approach. We presented our proof as our coach car swayed gently side to side. The sun drenched everything in its morning glow. The meadows lining the Animas River were ablaze with wildflowers that stretched to the foothills surrounding us. Conversations began to rise within the confines of the coach. Strangers became new friends, and travel stories were swapped as we began to ascend from the valley floor.

Not too far into our journey, we came to our first stop in the mountains. New passengers came aboard dressed in hiking gear, and fragrant with the aroma of triumph. They had just finished a fourteener- backpacker slang for mountains of at least 14,000 feet elevation. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of envy, as that goal still remains unchecked on my bucket list.

We linger well after the hikers board, and my curiosity is piqued by the urgent way a brakeman climbs along the edge of the engine, peering down as if to inspect the mechanical elements. He scurries back, returning to his rightful place inside. The train rolls back a minute, then abruptly jolts to a stop. Nothing is said, and we soon begin our journey further into the mountains.

As the broad ground surrounding the tracks narrowed, passengers began to squirm in their seats.   We clung to the edge of the rocks while the river's rapids raged in the canyon perilously far below us. Everyone subconsciously leaned towards the mountain, as if our weight would prevent the train from tipping towards danger. All except a daring few who peered over the edge, myself included. We were of course perfectly safe, but the element of danger made our hearts race as we continued on.

We pulled up next to the remains of some wooden box cars and the now eye-level Animas River.  It was quiet in this part of the forest, and the stop gave us a moment to drink in the serenity.  Only this stop became an hour long wait, as we learn our train's air brakes had failed.  Man, were we all glad to learn this on level ground!  Our crew has determined the safest solution was to hitch up to another engine that was hauling its unsuspecting passengers up the  mountain behind us.  Watching the men and women of the Durango-Silverton Railroad problem solve for one hundred year old equipment made the time pass quickly, and most guests were so engrossed in the process that the delay brought few complaints.  As our conductor boarded our car to apologize, he summarized it best, "You didn't purchase a ticket to Silverton, you paid for an experience".  His words were the gospel.

Arriving in Silverton was like arriving on Ellis Island.  We were strangers to this land; weary from our long journey yet hungry for possibilities, we stepped off the platform with enthusiasm.  In a city whose population is a whopping 629 people, one wouldn't expect to find many options.  However, with the railroad being a major source of revenue, there were many restaurants and stores that catered to the daily influx of guests.  We decided that BBQ good enough for Guy Fieri was good enough for us.  Thee Pits Again had limited seating and a line out the door, so we knew we had chosen the right place.  Settling along the wall at a long table, there was room for more than our family had occupied.  A couple from Texas gave us a big "howdy" and asked to join our company.  We obliged and dug into the smokey, sticky ribs.  I encourage everyone to invite a stranger to dine with them.  In a world of isolation, it is wonderfully refreshing to connect with people while breaking bread.

We boarded the Durango-bound train with a mix of thoughts over what the next leg of our journey would hold.  Although we had already taken the same route, traveling the opposite direction opened our eyes to even more wonders.  The San Juan National Forest could possibly be my favorite chunk of ground in all of Colorado.  It is that splendid.  I chose to ride in the open car for most of the trip back, which proved to be another great decision.  The conductor stood beside me and shared treasured stories and hidden facts that only enhanced the magnificence of the mountains.  It was evident that he too loved his job and those mountains.  It seems that many people have stories like his.  They've left the "normal" world because they got an elevation high that they craved again.  The more I visit them, the more I agree with Muir; those "mountains are calling, and I must go".​

Entering the area surrounding Arches National Park seemed other-worldly. Awed by the uniquely shaped rocks, we shouted out, "that one looks like a sleeping bear," or "I see E.T. in that one!", much like one would lying on their backs to watch clouds take form. Only we were not ready to lie around. Red rocks, river-gorged canyons, and legendary arches begged us to come explore.

Our spontaneous trip had already been chock-full of adventure: the spouting geysers of Yellowstone and the pristine beauty of the Tetons were checked off our list, but we were hungry for more. Thanks to the Every Kid in a Park initiative, our free entrance into the National Parks afforded us the ability to see as many parks as we could in our two week escape from reality.

Coming into Moab, Utah on the second of July meant that we risked not finding a camping site due to the influx of visitors that vacationed around the holiday. Searching for campgrounds ended successfully, and without the camper in-tow, we set out in search of arches. The summer heat often exceeds 100 degrees, but we were blessed by a blanket of storm clouds that offered reprieve from the baking desert sun. We explored Balanced Rock and began to get a taste of just how fascinating this park really was. However, we came to see arches, and the impending storm and late evening hours meant we had to keep moving, in order to see the park's most famous arch.

As we pulled into the parking lot at Wolfe Ranch, we gathered water bottles, laced our hiking boots, and wasted no time trekking towards our destination. The trail that led to an up close and personal view of Delicate Arch was a moderate three-mile hike, which we reasoned very doable for our pre-teen kids. As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, we began to debate whether we could make it to the arch with the remaining twilight hovering in the sky. "You still have quite a distance to go," was the not-so-encouraging remark from a nearby hiker who noticed our lack of lighting and dwindling water supply. A quick family discussion ended with a disappointing 180, and an undiscovered arch. Not all was lost, however, as lightning bolts shot across the sky in magnificent display.

The storm passed quickly, and the remaining light gave way to the darkness of night. Our adventure-hungry family wasn't about to call it quits because of a few limitations, so we continued our journey deeper into the park and into the night. Consulting the map, we decided that Broken Arch was something we could surely find in the dark. After all, it was only .3 mile off the road. We were certain that our cell phone flashlights were electronic flares to light our way. However, in a place void of light pollution, they were no more helpful than the glow from a lightning bug's back side. With the moon hidden behind the clouds, navigating trails in utter darkness made us question whether we were daring or dangerous in our plight for the arches. At once the sound of other's voices gave us hope that we might have found our destination. Between us and the body-less voices stood a wall of rock too sheer to climb. The voices instructed us to go into the campground and follow the trail there, which would lead right to the arch. "It's easy," they promised.

Driving into Devil's Garden Campground, we briefly envied the campers who had made reservations well in-advance, guaranteeing them a site during the holiday influx. As we set out in our third attempt to experience the grandeur of an arch, we said a quick prayer for the batteries to hold out on our cell phone-turned flashlights. We soon became aware of the dangers that lie underfoot, as sand gave way to rocks, which dropped without warning into seemingly bottomless pits. Lights flickered ahead, and the body-less voices sang out through the darkness. We shouted to our new friends, and they gave the same promise that an easy route lay just ahead of us. We searched for this path with trepidation, hoping our friends would have pity for us and come show us the way. Alas, they served only as a lighthouse, proudly anchored upon their discovered arch.

There's a moment when you know you've been defeated, and our moment had come. The illusive arches lay unconquered in the dark, but we did not return to our campsite with heads hung in shame. Making the most of our time in this thoroughly wild place, we parked along the road and shut off the truck. Beckoning our hesitant kids from the safety of steel, we encouraged them to experience being in complete darkness in such a remote place. As we climbed out of the truck, my husband heard a rustle in the sagebrush next to us. I quickly dismissed the rustle until it got louder, and bigger. We breathlessly scrambled into the safety of the cab, giggling with excitement. While it may have been a jackrabbit, in our minds we had just missed an encounter with a hungry mountain lion.

Even if we were not victorious in our search for arches, our adventures in the park would never be forgotten. The stories we earned through our quest were the making of legends. And with unconquered arches still on our list, we have reason enough to return. The National Parks are our nation's finest treasures. Far greater than any material possession, every person gains great wealth when they experience them first hand.

​Yellowstone: Re-Awakening the Wild in Me
                The minivan was loaded: grandparents, two kids, my husband, and myself.  Every remaining square inch was crammed with suitcases, road-worthy entertainment, snacks, and drinks.  The day started with an impressive drive across the Bighorn Mountains (another must-see) and a supremely satisfying lunch in Cody, Wyoming.  After playing twenty questions with our locally-raised waitress, we prodded her for the must-do activities once we entered the park.  She insisted we stop at the last fueling station just outside the park entrance to enjoy the owner’s homemade ice cream.
                We hit construction just outside of Cody.  I suspected it was repair work on what remained of the road, post-snow melt.  We laughed about the pot-holed gravel road that guided us into this national treasure and followed a hand-painted sign to famous ice cream.  We pulled in and were immediately greeted by two tail-wagging black labs who, we assumed, were politicking for handouts.  The ice cream, we discovered, was not homemade: it dripped out of the heavily worn soft serve mixer behind the counter.  The germaphobe mother in me crept out and I managed to convince the family that we could wait on the ice cream.  Back in the car my husband informed me of the owner’s boast: world-travelers returned year after year to enjoy her frozen treat.  First lesson learned?  Let go a little and trust the local advice.
                It was rainy and cold as we entered the park.  At our first glimpse of Yellowstone Lake the teacher mother in me took the platform and we discussed how the lake was formed.  Upon hearing the word “volcano,” my daughter hit instant panic mode.  While everyone else marveled at the hydrothermal activity at water’s edge, I held my daughter and reassured her of her safety.  We prayed together, which apparently moved some onlookers who insisted on photographing the tender moment.  As we obliged, we felt a connection, one which expanded to include many other people we encountered during our time there.  Maybe it’s because we were all mystified by the greatness and power of this place.  Maybe it’s because we were all a little more open to the world around us when the cell service dropped off.  Whatever the reason, it was a welcomed change from the isolated, individual worlds we construct in our fast-paced society.
                From the hissing mud pots to the roaring waterfalls, our exploding curiosity carried us through rain and hail, from one impressive site to another.  The crowds of umbrellas and poncho-dressed tourists created camaraderie:  we weren’t the only ones who cared little about the weather.  Nothing could hold us back from experiencing all there was to see.  At the end of our first day we were quiet as we retreated to our accommodations in West Yellowstone.  Our minds were full.  Our hearts were full, but we knew we would hunger for more.
                The rain beat on the roof as we awoke to begin another day’s adventure.  We unanimously agreed on our first must-see: the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.  As we parked, the clouds parted, giving way to brilliant blue skies speckled with cotton ball clouds.  Each step towards Inspiration Point was more impressive than the last.  The gold and amber of the canyon walls gleamed in the warming sun.  Suddenly the falls came into view and most of the hushed conversations overheard were filled with awe-struck superlatives. 
                From Inspiration Point we laced up our hiking boots to adventure down a 500 foot descent named Uncle Tom’s Trail which led to an up-close view of the breathtaking Lower Falls.  The further we descended, the more we realized how physically challenging this hike would be.  Red-faced hikers returning from the bottom gasped out the words, “It’s worth it,” as they struggled to ascend.  Facing the stairs proved physically and mentally strenuous: 328 metal-meshed stairs clung to the side of the mountain giving way below us.  Our knees trembled as we viewed the nothingness below us.  Once we hit the platform we certainly agreed: it was indeed worth it!  We reminded ourselves of this point as we began our own ascent.
                Each remaining day of our time inside of Yellowstone held its own bragging rights.  While Old Faithful was indeed worth seeing, equally impressive Castle Geyser deserves its own attention.  Every stream that meandered through the park glistened regardless of sunshine or clouds; they were pure and clean. 
                The National Park Service has been successful for the last 100 years for many reasons.  At Yellowstone it was evident in every aspect of our experience that every park employee carried the highest respect for the land and its wild inhabitants.  The ample parking and well-marked trails made viewing the park’s main features easy and accessible for all.  However, this is still a very wild place.  The hydrothermal activity was everywhere, as were the bison herds.  Fuzzy golden-colored calves rested in the prairie grasses while their nearby mothers grazed; unscathed by the tourists that gathered in droves, it was clear this was their land.    
                This wildness left us hungry for more and planning our next return.  Somewhere between the dripping ice cream machine, majestic mountains, and spouting geyers I lost the germaphobic mother in me and re-awakened the adventurous woman that was dying to get out.  In Yellowstone I rediscovered what it meant to get a little wild.

     Perhaps my favorite moment in the movie Captain Ron (1992) was when the Harvey family is sailing in to Miami, about to bid farewell to the adventures they've just experienced.  The entire family is somber, knowing that they are saying farewell to the life at sea to return to normal American life.  Suddenly the mother has an epiphany and presents her revelation to the family.  "The way I see it, we have to options: sell the boat and return to our lives in Chicago... or don't!"  In an out-of-character move, the father spins the helm around and the family cheers as they sail off into the sunset.

     That's me: the spontaneous, forget normal life, live the adventure kind of girl. With my husband's vacation time rapidly approaching I present a gutsy idea (the day before his vacation was to begin nonetheless).  "Let's try and make it to the California coast" I say to my husband.  As a man of thought and process, I awaited the expected pause before his response.  "Do you think we could really do that" he asks with a mix of excitement and hesitation in his voice.  I reassure him that with our trusty GPS and cell phones we had the ability to be spontaneous and adventurous.  

Without further ado, I give you The Wandering Frame's Tips for Spontaneous Travel:

1) Trip Advisor is your first source for last minute lodging options.  With reviews, availability, photos, and more; this site is a last-minute (and pre-planned for that matter) traveler's best friend.  What I immediately look for are customer reviews, followed by customer photos.  Things to remember: there's always more complaints posted than good reviews, so look for issues with cleanliness, security, and major maintenance problems.  Customer service is important, but what does it matter in the grand scheme of things if your front desk agent was crabby?

2) Always negotiate your room rate.  With last-minute travel, this is your ace in the sleeve.  When hotels want to book their rooms last minute, they are typically willing to negotiate.  We have generally received 20% off the initially quoted rate.  Additionally, you want to ask for any discounts you are eligible for after you ask for the walk in rate.  We have several different discounts we qualify for which typically knock another 10% off that quoted price.

3) Make sure you have data!  Day three of our spontaneous adventure began with a friendly data warning from our cell phone carrier.  Although this hampered our ability to read reviews and know our options, this certainly did not prevent us from continuing with our "no plans" plan.  With free Wi-fi available at many public facilities, we determined how far we wanted to travel that day, set our GPS for that area, and continued using our regular method.

4) Spontaneity is great, but a little research goes a long way.  Knowing some of the must-see places along the route from our Missouri home to our California dream helped us stretch our budget and have options available to us.  Watching weather patterns, we avoided routes that looked like they would be rained out.  Traveling during the busiest holiday of the summer means the tourist hot spots are going to be busy, room rates are going to be higher, and travel times will be greater.  A little foreknowledge goes a long way.  Siri and Google are your go-to for the last minute research (when the above mentioned data is available).  

5) Food is your biggest daily expense. You may think hotels or fuel are the biggest hit on the wallet, but the cost of meals can quickly add up to a greater expense than both.  There are ways to keep this part of your travel budget within reason.  First, book hotels with a breakfast.  Even the basic continental breakfast is a savings.  Purchase your lunch from the grocery store and enjoy it at a local park.  A loaf of bread, big bag of chips, and lunchmeat can feed our family of four for more than one day and costs far less than the lesser-quality fast food options available to budget travelers.  Dinner is typically your biggest expense, but the blow can be softened by utilizing different dining apps which will advertise dining specials.  Drink water!  You'd be surprised how much you can save by avoiding soda... your waistline will thank you too.

     Our spontaneous trip was a great success; filled with laughter, quality time together, and was set among some of our country's most beautiful places.  We indeed made it to the coast and enjoyed equally fantastic stops along the journey.  Stay tuned to hear about these adventures and the awe-inspiring places found in this beautiful country we call home.  
     

     The little blue frame made its debut at my family gathering yesterday.  The day was perfect (well, almost... if you don't count the maddening bugs): the temps were cooler than usual, the company was the best, and the food was to die for.  

     It's funny what happens when a little blue frame is introduced to a photo shoot.  Suddenly those who normally shy away from the camera want to be in a shot or two.  Soon everyone wants a turn with the little blue frame.  Although I normally like being the one behind the camera,      I gave my best impression of one who enjoys getting her picture taken.
  
     I regret not having the little blue frame along with my family as we traveled this beautiful country over the course of what may go down as the best summer ever.  I look so forward to the many adventures that lie ahead of me and the little blue frame!