Day 44 - Atlanta and Stone Mountain, Georgia (Addendum)

Some interesting things happened today that I thought I'd relate after we visited the Jimmy Carter Museum and gardens. First of all, we were just finishing up our stroll around the grounds when two women approached us about taking their photograph with a cell phone belonging to one of them. This I did with some coaxing on their part, since I never seem to get the darn process just right. Plus it always feels wrong to me to be talking photos with something that looks and feels like a poptart. After I succeeded in taking their photo I naturally asked if they'd like to return the favor, which is why we ended up having a nice shot of us in the garden to post on Facebook (and below left).

After our photo session we naturally fell into a discussion of where we were from, how awful the weather has been in the country this spring for folks in the north, how nice it is to live in Atlanta, how the traffic is simply terrible from 6:00 a.m. to 10:00 a.m., and any time after 3:00 p.m., and so fourth. I didn't have the courage to bring up the thing I had been wondering, which was how Atlantians could be on the highways during those hours of the day and have any time left to get any work done during the day? Oh, well, maybe someone will eventually clue me.

Retreating back to the truck, we had only just unlocked the door when an older gentleman appeared at my elbow.

"This your rig?" he asked.

"Ah, yes," I said, turning to face him. I expected that he was part of the grounds-keeping workforce and was going to ask me why I didn't park it in the official RV parking lot. Or, I did until I saw the leashed dog that was accompanying him.

"I was just wondering," he said, "if you like it."

I pondered this for a moment trying to figure what his angle was.

But then he continued. "I was thinking I'd like to buy one. Do you like it?"

"Oh," I said. "I just love it."

"I noticed that you're from Nevada," he said. "You drive this all the way here?"

"Yup," I said. "Truck runs like a sewing machine. We haven't had a bit of trouble. I went on to explain to him how we had bought the rig on Craig's List to see if we'd like RVing around the country. "Turns out we like it a lot," I told him. "When we get home we're going to put it back on Craig's List and buy ourselves a newer rig for our next on-the-road adventure."

My new friend perked up at that point. "You're going to sell it?" he asked, sounding very interested. "How many miles does it have on it?"

"About 47,000 now," I told him. "Probably 5,000 more before we get home."

"Hmm," he said. He looked more closely now, eying the rig from front to back. He pointed to the cab over portion. "That have a bed in it?" He asked.

"Yes," I said. "The cab-over has a double bed. The rear has a double bed. And both the banquet and the couch make into beds."

"Sounds like it would be great for grandkids," he said, smiling.

"You bet," I told him. I think it would work great for grandkids and we'll probably be taking ours out with us someday.

He asked then if the air conditioner worked and I told him that the air conditioner, the heater, the generator, the water heater, and everything else on the rig worked just fine. "Nothing wrong with the truck at all," I said. "And 47,000 miles on a ford truck is barely broken in."

"I'm interested," he said.

"What?" I said.

"I want to buy it," he said. "Not now. When you get home....before you put it on Craig's list. How much do you think you'd want?"

"Well," I said. "I'd probably start at $10,000 and work down from there."

"Okay," he said. "Let me give you my name and number. I'd like you to let me know before you sell it to anyone else."

"Ah, okay," I said. "I can do that." I called into to Concetta to get a pad of paper for me.

After that the chap, whose name turned out to be David, wrote down and information and we went on to explore our mutual history. He grew up in, of all places, North Hollywood. I was right next door in Pasadena. We both had dabbled in the movie business. We both had dabbled in boats. It was almost eerie. It was like I'd known him all my life we got along so well.

Do I think he'll really follow through and come all the way out from Atlanta and buy our rig? Well, stranger things have happened I guess. But whether he does or doesn't, I enjoyed the heck out of our conversation. In fact it was the high point of my day. I've never been one for shaggy dog stories, but the pit bull he had on the leash was a foundling that he walks every day by the Carter Center. I guess if he'd had no dog, we'd never have met. Something to think about for sure.

But that's not the end of our adventures for today. After we left the Carter Center and our friend with the Pit Bull, we had to find our way back out of central Atlanta and retrace our steps to the Stone Mountain RV park. This proved as uneventful and easy as the morning trip proved harrowing and tedious. All the traffic was gone from our route, probably because the Atlantians had arrived at work around 10:00 a.m. and weren't due to get off until 3:00 p.m.

At any rate, we breezed back up Highway 98 and almost before we knew it we were back at Stone Mountain. This time we didn't want to go right back to camp, but we wanted to visit a couple of points of interest in the area, the first being the Confederate Museum.

Now if you're like me, when someone says Confederate Museum you get all excited and start visualizing butternut uniforms, Enfield rifles, and the like. The museum was even housed in a structure which looked very much like a southern plantation.

Well, to our surprise there were no Confederates in the Confederate Museum, well, other than the ones found in the twenty-minute video about the fall of Atlanta to General Sherman in 1864. No, for the most part the museum was concerned primarily with the construction of the Stone Mountain carvings of Jefferson Davis, General Lee, and Stonewall Jackson (see model at left). In addition, the museum offered a truly marvelous exhibit on the geological history of Stone Mountain, as well as on the Natural History of the area.

Now we're not complaining necessarily, because we liked the museum just as it was. We would have liked coming face to face with a Confederate or two, but maybe next time. And once we exited the Museum we walked a ways up the back side of Stone Mountain to get the feel of it and took some photos of lichen and stuff along the way.

But that wasn't the end of our adventures, either. No, the other place we wanted to see, that happened to be located a short distance from the Confederate Museum, was the working plantation farm. This sounded really interesting and since the sunlight was so wonderful this afternoon, we decided to give it a shot.

Unfortunately, once we arrived at the plantation we discovered that there was but an hour to go before closing. Standing in front of the ticket clerk I tried to decide just what to do. I didn't want us to have to pay the $10.00 fee for just an hour. On the other hand, I didn't want to waste what looked like some truly wonderful-looking afternoon light that was just begging me to come out and do some shooting.

Remembering that if you don't ask, you don't get, I said to the ticket clerk, "I don't suppose you'd let us buy tickets for tomorrow, but let us do just a bit of shooting here today before you close?"

She eyed me for a moment, I'm sure trying to decide what sort of con I was trying to run on her. But finally she seemed to come to a decision and said, "Okay, I can let you do that."

"I be happy to purchase tomorrow's ticket now," I said.

"Not necessary," she said. "I'll be here tomorrow when you come back."

And so Concetta and I spent one of the most enjoyable hours of this vacation, just wandering the grounds, talking with one of the docent gardeners, and snapping photos that I knew we wouldn't be able to get the next day with sun in the opposite portion of the sky. The light was so incredible and soft that I nearly ran from building to building to make sure I didn't miss a single one. Concetta, for her part, had time to read the placards with all the historic information, and learn all about 19th century gardening from the docent. To say it was just perfect would not do it justice.

And the best part of the story is that we're going back tomorrow for more photos, a more thorough study of the history of the place, and, if we're lucky, to score some more of the delicious jam that we bought on a whim and had as part of our dinner tonight.

So that's the rest of today's story. The Jimmy Carter Center was magnificent, and the rest of the day was so darn good that we could hardly believe it.

Stay tuned, we're headed for Charleston tomorrow. It's going to take two days to get there, but who cares? I'm sure we'll discover a few good reasons to take our time.

Ciao!

Day 44 - Atlanta and Stone Mountain, Georgia

Once upon a time, about forty years ago now, Concetta met an older gentleman at the Las Vegas airport who has remained in her heart all these years later. She remembers that the kindly gentleman took her hand, looked directly into her eyes, and said, "When are y'all comin' to Georgia?"

Well, we're here, Jimmy Carter. We're here, and we came to see your wonderful Carter center today. And let us just tell you that it was a grand adventure, from the time we arrived to the time we left. We're just sorry it took us forty years to get here.

Traffic was heavy as we motored in from the Stone Mountain RV camp and we spent nearly an hour in stop and go commuter snarls. But once we arrived at your library, museum, and gardens we soon realized that the effort was going to be well worth our time. The grounds are simply beautiful, and the architecture of the museum building is modern but extremely tasteful in its simplicity.

Jimmy, we do have a small complaint about the approach to your facility. You're supposed to park big rigs like ours in a special parking lot, however you're not informed of this requirement until you round a bend and are rolling past the driveway for the RV lot.

Because of that split-second miss, we had to go ahead and park in the regular parking area, which, thanks to light attendance today, was mostly free of cars at the far eastern edge. We just pulled our rig into a vacant lot, put the front wheels on blocks to level the coach, and left it there while we went exploring.

Once inside the museum, we paid our senior citizen entrance fee, and we were launched into one of the most outstanding museum experiences we have yet experienced, not only for our current trip, but in memory. We were both so impressed that your exhibits were so simply narrated and elegantly illustrated.

From your earliest days in Plains Georgia, where even before you started school you told your parents that you wanted to go to the Naval Academy, to your days as our 39th President, the museum tells the story in a way that we could easily understand and follow.

We were so impressed with all your accomplishments, from going to the Naval Academy, to becoming a state senator from Georgia, to becoming governor of your state, and finally President.

However your efforts to bring about a peaceful society as well as a peaceful world were perhaps the thing that impressed us the most. For those efforts, and your ongoing work, you were awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002 (photo left).

Being a Navy man myself, I was impressed that in 1998, the US Navy named the third and last Seawolf-class submarine honoring you and your service as a submariner officer. It became one of the first US Navy vessels to be named for a person living at the time of naming.

We're sorry we missed your visit to your Presidential library on April 9th. We hadn't quite made it to Georgia by then, but we heard from your staff that it was a "packed" event.

In closing we wish you well in your continued work for the poor and disadvantage worldwide, your personal history has impressed us very much. We extend our heartfelt congratulations on your upcoming 90th birthday in October. We loved visiting with you, with your state of Georgia, and we promise it won't be another forty years before we return. Cheers!

Day 43 - Macon to Stone Mountain, Georgia

Well, it's cocktail time in Stone Mountain, Georgia, and we deserve it. Today was sort of a pistol, and that's no lie. While getting out of that beautiful camp in Macon was a piece of cake, the rest of the day turned out to be quite a challenge.

It all started when we made the decision to pick out a camp for this evening before we left the camp in Macon this morning. Seemed easy enough. Since we had to use Interstate 75 to get from Macon to Atlanta, there being no secondary road that headed in that direction that I could find, we chose a camp on route 75 and programmed the GPS to take us there. My thinking was that if the camp looked good, we'd book for the night, pay the required fee, and then just return when we were through doing our sightseeing in Atlanta. That way we'd get a jump on people just pulling into camp later in the day.

That's what the script said. What really happened was the GPS, possibly to pay us back for the previous day's "dising," took us twice to a vacant lot on the side of a mountain that the guide book swore was an RV park. Not seeing any RVs by the second visit to said vacant lot, we jumped back on the freeway and headed for Atlanta.

Our destination today was the Atlanta History Museum. There we hoped to visit a 1860s working farm (photo right), a couple of vintage houses, and a Civil War museum par excellence. After leaving the vacant lot that didn't turn out to be a real RV park, we once again programmed the GPS and prayed. Wonder of wonders, though the damn thing kept saying "keep right" when we really needed to keep left on the maze of interchanges in Atlanta, we managed to arrive at the museum in one piece after motoring through some of the prettiest residential neighborhoods either of us had ever seen.

But as we pulled onto the museum grounds we immediately discovered that NO parking had been provided for RVs in any way, shape, or form. Only a small two-story parking garage, and some widely-scattered automobile parking was provided. There was a couple of school buses pulled up in the "Don't park here, it's the fire lane" spaces, but we decided that parking somewhere off the property was going to be necessary.

The first driveway we encountered after leaving the museum main entrance was the gate to one of the nearby mansions that is advertised on the museum brochure. Looking inside the gate, I didn't see anyone around and just beyond the gate was a dandy little spot just made for a motor home. It looked like perhaps gardeners normally parked maintenance vehicles there. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, I cranked the wheel over and entered the mansion grounds. Still not a soul appeared to be around. So......I just backed the rig in amongst the trees (photo top left), ran the front wheels up on blocks to partially level it, and then we spent the next half hour having lunch.

When lunch was over and still no one had come to challenge our bold bit of trespassing onto the mansion grounds, we packed up our cameras and set off for the museum. Every once in a while as we walked someone would exit from the parking lot labeled "staff only," but not a single one of these folks seemed interested in our presence.

With a last look back at the rig, we walked into the museum grounds and made our way to the 1860s farm where we soon encountered a couple of docents in costume who spent the next half hour enhancing our knowledge of 19th century farming. While Concetta interviewed first the main house "farmer" (photo left), and then the kitchen "slave," I wandered the grounds taking advantage of the wonderful blue skies for doing some photo work. All the while, we both hoped that the rig would still be there when we returned.

After the farm we both headed into the main museum building, visiting first the Native American exhibit, and then the Civil War exhibit. Both these efforts were extremely well done, especially the Civil War room. In fact, I can't remember when I've ever seen a nicer Civil War Exhibit.

At one point I discovered that I had not taken the battery for the small camera out of the charger this morning and when I went to take photos in the museum, it naturally didn't work. This necessitated my walking back to the RV, which, though quite a hike, I didn't mind since I wanted to check on it anyway. The small Nikon takes much better low light photos than the larger camera.

When I got back to the rig the first thing I saw was a very official-looking chap standing a couple of hundred feet away, looking right at the RV while talking with his assistant. Oh, oh, I thought. Busted. Not wanting to look like I owned the truck, I busied myself taking photos of the grounds. After a few moments the man and his assistant both turned away, but continued to make hand motions as if he was telling his assistant how and where to perform some task. I took that opportunity to steal over to the RV, unlock the door, and dash inside.

After retrieving my battery and using the bathroom, I stole glances out the window to see where the man and woman were located. To my disappointment, they were still rooted to the spot on which I'd first seen them. Not wanting to draw attention as I exited the coach, I got up in the cab and quietly exited the driver's door, shutting it gently and locking it. Then, seeing they still had their backs to me, I quietly walked up the staff parking drive and disappeared into the museum grounds without being noticed.

Now this was all well and good, and it didn't appear that the truck was going to be towed away for illegal parking, but we weren't out of the low-karma woods yet, not by a long shot.

You'll remember that I mentioned a couple of school buses earlier in the narrative. Well, those buses, as you might expect, contained about three dozen children. As it turned out, those kids were the loudest, most ill-behaved tiny people on this planet. I don't think a single one of those kids said anything to one of their school mates unless they did it at the top of their lungs. They ran from room to room in groups. They laughed. They screamed. They just generally did whatever they wanted.

And the chaperones? Well, they didn't do anything at all as far as we could see. They gazed into their cell phone screens a lot. They sat semi comatose quite a bit. But for the most part they could have been totally absent and it wouldn't have made a bit of difference.

As you might guess, this bit of nonsense made the museum experience a bit trying. But still I would encourage you to visit the museum if you should find yourself in Atlanta. If we were to come back, we'd certainly try to time it for a day when children wouldn't be present, if that were possible, but we'd still visit again. The museum was simply great.

I have to mention at this point that just before we left the museum we visited the book shop, our habitual weakness. There we happened to mention to the clerk about how we had taken a chance and parked on the grounds of the Swan Mansion next door to the museum. The clerk smiled knowingly.

"You know," he said, "they've been filming a movie on the mansion grounds for the past few days. Anyone who saw your RV would probably just assume you were part of the film company."

And there you have it. The Davis luck, though a little weaker today for some reason, managed to do right by us in the end. When we got back to the truck there was no one present to chastise us for our bit of parking chicanery, so we just took the rig off the leveling blocks, cranked her up, and set off for our intended camping spot for the night, that of Stone Mountain (photo right). It's been around thirty years since I visited Stone Mountain, but I can tell you it's definitely worth the visit. The camp here is outstanding, if slightly pricey.

Tomorrow we're headed back into Atlanta to visit the Jimmy Carter library and perhaps one or two other points of interest. By mid afternoon we'll be headed back here to Stone Mountain camp for our second night. I'm sure hoping the GPS is in a friendlier mood tomorrow.

Day 42 - Savannah to Macon, Georgia

Today it rained a little.....and then it rained more than a little....and then it rained like someone had upended a lake and poured it on us as we motored in a westerly direction toward Macon, Georgia. I was really fearful a couple of times that the windshield wipers might not be up to the job of clearing the windshield and we'd have to stop.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Since it was raining as we broke camp this morning, we decided to take care of a problem that's been plaguing us since we left home in early March: the woefully inadequate internet facilities in virtually every park we have visited between Nevada and the east coast.

I have known for a long time that there existed a mobile internet connection that one could take along on vacations and one or more users could connect from the device (or d'vass if you prefer) wherever you could find a cell connection. I have, in fact, been linking with a single-user device periodically when I couldn't connect to a park's WiFi. This, of course, doesn't help Concetta because her IPad has no USB port in which to plug such a single-user device.

But two nights ago some fellow campers told us that they had just bought something called a "Jetpack" from the Verizon store and were very, very happy with it. Since we are already Verizon customers, this seemed like the most sensible solution to our problem, especially since we had actually seen a Verizon store just a few miles from our RV park.

So, since it was raining this morning, we decided to stop and see if we could acquire the necessary answer to our month-long problem. It took some time, but since we had no particular schedule to keep, we spent the necessary hour with a young "up-and-comer" named Steve, who was more than happy to get us set up.

By 9:30 a.m. we were back on the highway, sailing up Interstate 95, and looking to find a convenient rural route so we could put some considerable distance between us and the 18-wheelers who didn't seem to mind the torrential rain and didn't have any intention of slowing down. I wish we had had the ability to cover the rig with a coating of soap before we left this morning because the heavy trucks and their splashing water would have performed the rinse cycle for us as we drove.

Before long I spied an exit for Highway 16 west, which I remembered from the map, and quickly grabbed it in hopes of putting some distance between us and the rush hour traffic on the Interstate. At first the road looked fairly quiet, but soon I became aware that I was being closely followed by a guy hauling a truck-load of logs, one of those truckers who've done the route so many times that they don't think anything of doing sixty-five mph even if they're driving some skinny, two lane road.

After pulling over a few times to let the gear jamming speed demons get past me, I spotted a turnoff for Highway 80 west, which I also remembered from the map as going right to Macon, Georgia. This road, though initially somewhat crowded, eventually turned into the quiet, scenic route we had been seeking and we spent the rest of the day just cruising and listening to our current murder mystery.

About noon we did stop at our favorite shopping emporium to stock up on groceries, and, since we were there about noon, we made it our lunch stop at as well. Naturally, this gave us a good excuse to try out our newest toy, and we are pleased to announce that no longer will we be at the mercy of any RV park WiFi. WE ARE CONNECTED, both of us simultaneously! Oh happy day!

I had hoped, as we approached Macon, that we would stumble over tonight's camping spot quite by accident and save us the trouble of researching. But alas, no luck in that department. When we arrived at the city limits and had not enjoyed such serendipity, we pulled over to consult our camp guides. After coming to an agreement on the nicest-sounding park, we plugged the address into the GPS and set out for what would prove to be the improbably-named, "Safe Haven" camp.

I began to worry as soon as we were encouraged to pull off Interstate 75 where it had sent us initially, and we started climbing residential hills on streets too narrow for two cars to effectively pass on a good day. Finally, as we crested the top of the hill where the park was promised to be, the GPS announced that we were arriving at the appropriate address for our intended destination. However only forlorn and neglected 1920s bungalows met our gaze.

To say that I was irate is decidedly an understatement. I had Concetta zero the device and redo the address. But again the GPS attempted to send us right back to the same narrow street.

"okay," I said. "Let's plug in the next camp on the list and forget this one."

This Concetta did. But it was soon apparent that the GPS, now incensed that we had doubted its veracity, intended to send us in ever widening circles until nightfall and we ended up camping beside the road somewhere.

Now, doing my impression of Mr tightjaw, I abandoned the search for camp number two and plunged back onto Interstate 75 north. I knew there was a KOA just 30 miles or so in the direction of Atlanta. I intended to ignore the pleadings of the GPS, though it was loudly refusing to believe I was intentionally ignoring its instructions, and continued to insist that I get back on course.

It was at this point that Concetta noticed that camp number two was listed with two distinctly different addresses in the Good Sam guide. Plugging address number two into the GPS seemed to suddenly bring the device to its senses. Though it was with some trepidation, I nevertheless exited the Interstate and decided to give it one more try.

I'm sure glad we did. As you can see from the photographs, camp choice number two, Lake Tobesofkee, turned out to be nothing short of magnificent (even if you couldn't pronounce it). We are perched on a bluff at the edge of a lake with nothing but beautiful vistas on every side. Amazingly, the camp cost a very thrifty twenty-five dollars. I suspect that the Davis luck had, at the very last moment, kicked in and not only brought us to the nicest camp in the area, but snagged one of the only two sites they had left today. Amazing!

Anyway, our new WiFi device has already allowed Concetta to do Facetime with baby Vivian tonight and, though the temperature here is considerably cooler due to what the park clerk called a sudden cold front, everything is just darn right with the world. Tomorrow I'm not sure whether we're exploring Macon or moving on to Atlanta, but whatever happens I know it will be great fun.

Day 41 - We explore Savannah, Georgia

Savannah is yet another city that Concetta and I have been wanting to see forever. Every time its magnolia and live oak-shaded streets, lined by quaint 18th and 19th century buildings, appear on TV, we just want to get in the car and go there immediately. Well, yesterday our fondest desire finally came true.

We got lucky with the RV park we chose. One call to a Savannah tour company, and one of their trolleys drove out to the park and picked us up. No charge. Of course, since we bought a tour package from them when we got to town, the company more than made back their expenses. Still, in these large historic cities like Savannah, it's often best to line up one of these hop on/hop off arrangements where you can visit a variety of your favorite attractions, then hop aboard the trolley for a ride to the next place you want to explore.

And Savannah is a wonderful place to explore, whether you go on foot, or whether you just ride around on the trolley all day. James Oglethorpe was the genius who plaited Savannah and dreamed up the system of central squares surrounded by multi-story houses. Originally there were twenty-five squares. After some ill-advised "urban renewal" the city lost three, but there's still twenty-two left and boy are they picturesque. Each square is basically a fabulous park, and most of these charming tree-shaded glens have some commemorative statue illustrating the city's history as the central theme (photo below left).

Naturally, since we only planned on spending one day in Savannah, we missed many, many things. We purchased tickets that allowed us to take several house tours, including the homes of Juliette Gordon Low who was famously involved with the creation of the Girl Scouts. Though Low did not dream up the concept of the Girl Scouts, she assumed leadership soon after the groups' creation and was thereafter the prime mover for the scouts until her death in 1927 at the age of 66 from breast cancer.

There were fourteen stops on the hop on/hop off trolley tour. Once we hopped off, we did our best to follow the maps provided by the tour company and show up at the proper addresses for our tours. This, unfortunately, left little time for just hanging out and taking photographs. Combined with the overcast skies most of the day and the unwillingness of docents in the historic properties to allow photographs meant that I don't have much to show you. Still, if you're a fan of historic architecture, Savannah is the place to come and hang out for a week or two. Virtually every building is photogenic and even the tourists are worth shooting.

By 1:00 p.m. Concetta and I had "worked" through lunch and still had a tour of the nautical museum to accomplish. But we remembered that our trolley tour guide had mentioned in passing that Leopold's Ice Cream Parlor had the best ice cream in the world. Since according to the map we were only a couple of blocks away, we set out to see if we could solve both our lack of noonday meal and test the tour guide's faith in Leo's ice cream.

Well, when we got to the ice cream parlor we discovered that a whole lot of people had taken the tour guide seriously and were now lined up down the sidewalk in front of our destination lunch stop. Undaunted, we got in line and discussed just what we were going to order. At one point, a fellow line-stander grabbed a couple of menus and we all perused our choices together.

At first we thought we might get a BLT and maybe grab an ice cream cone on our way out, if that were possible. But as we got closer to our turn to order we noticed that just getting a table might be a tall order in itself. At the last moment we decided to just get a couple of waffle cones, stuffed with our favorite flavor, and eat our "lunch" as we walked back to the trolley stop to catch a ride to the nautical museum, stop 14 on the itinerary.

And that's almost what we did. We did order ice cream -- I got tutti frutti and Concetta got lemon -- but as we finished paying and turned to go we noticed that a table had just opened up not six feet from us. So in the end we got to eat our ice cream lunch in comfort as we watched in total wonderment the queue of happy ice cream seekers, never less than two dozen, trail through the door and out onto the sidewalk.

Sad to say that when we finally did get to our last tour of the day we discovered that the nautical museum was closed on Mondays and we had to miss what I had anticipated would be the highpoint of the day, at least for me. There was nothing to do at that point but ride back to the depot as our shuttle to the RV camp was scheduled to pick us up in less than an hour.

But back at the depot I discovered that for a mere $10.00 I could walk around the rail museum that happened to be right next door to the tour trolley drop off point. To my surprise, the sun actually came out at that point and made my life a little easier, though the rail museum proved to be of far less quality than the one we have in Carson City. Still, railroads are always interesting, no matter where you find them, and I got to tour two 1940s era sleeper cars, wander unsupervised through the machine shop area, and hitch a ride on a moving turntable by the end of my 45 minute visit. Pretty cool!

When I had run completely out of time and Concetta was wondering if I had finally become lost for good, I made it back to the shuttle

pick-up point in time to catch the shuttle back to the RV park. Our day had felt pretty rushed, and I suppose we should have just stayed another day to continue the fun. But when we got up this morning, still waffling over our decision, it started to rain lightly and got steadily harder. Since neither of us wanted to do any sightseeing in the rain, we instead packed up and headed for the open road. I think we'll always wish that we had spent more time in Savannah, one of the most beautiful cities in the country, but maybe we'll make it back someday. I'd love to stay a week and just walk the city streets. Maybe the sun will even accommodate me and hang around a bit, too.

There was only one sort of irritating problem with Savannah and I spent most of today being reminded of it. They have some sort of bug that bites and you don't even see them. I woke up today itching in a dozen different locations. Good thing I thought to pack "AfterBite," which is a roll-on anti-itch ointment in a tube. Very handy stuff. Don't leave home without it if you're venturing south of the Mason Dixon line.

Day 40 - St. Augustine, Florida to Savannah, Georgia

The adventures have been coming hot and heavy lately and I'm having trouble keeping up with the writing. Today we spent the entire day in Savannah, Georgia, which was great fun. I'd love to write about it, but I haven't written about yesterday yet. So, before I launch into Savannah, what follows is the short version of yesterday's adventures.

As you might guess, we very much wanted to stay in St. Augustine. It's a truly wonderful city for those of us who appreciate history and love to just savor every roof tile and quoin, every green leafy garden and crooked door on every block. But as we've said before, if we stayed an extra day or two in every city that we found fascinating, we'd not be home before Linus staked out the pumpkin patch waiting for the appearance of that fabled giant Halloween vegetable.

So yesterday morning we loaded up the RV and headed north out of St. Augustine with the avowed purpose of ending up in Savannah, Georgia, some 180 miles away. Now I know most people wanting to make that drive would find their way as quickly as possible to Interstate 95 and in a little over two hours would be enjoying a cocktail in some seaside restaurant as they gaze out at the sea birds cavorting overhead. Not us. Rather than jumping right onto I95 and zooming northward, we ambled over to Highway 1, a more scenic route, and proceeded to roll along the coast at a very sedate pace.

At some point we consulted the map and determined that Highway 17 north might serve as our scenic byway for the day. Good choice indeed. The little rural route, once referred to as the Dixie Highway, proved to be just what the doctor ordered for folks who don't enjoy the hustle and bustle of the interstates. The little two-lane road was lined on both sides with tall trees, abandoned and quietly moldering roadside businesses, and the occasional lonely farm or outbuilding. I liked the route because it tended to just meander its way northward rather than bully its way in any single direction. Sometimes we seemed to be headed north, but oftentimes we might just as easily be heading either east or west. If you're in a hurry you might want to avoid Highway 17 out of St. Augustine. But if you're intent on enjoying life in the slow lane, 17 will be your friend.

Normally the very best thing about traveling the rural routes is what you discover by accident between the rare tiny towns, or off on some side road only hinted at by a decades-old roadside sign. Yesterday did not disappoint. As we skipped over the bayous, backwaters, and islands on our way north along the coast, we suddenly came upon a village where something way out of the ordinary was taking place. In order to enter the town we had to drive over two or three hundred feet of bridge. But where you might expect to be greeted by "No Fishing from Bridge" signs, in this case there were hundreds of people lining the east side of the span, all intent on something down below in the estuary. This called for investigation

As we entered town, we discovered the tiny hamlet looked like the fourth of July had come a couple of months early. Aside from the hundreds of people on the bridge, there were hundreds and hundreds more along the banks of the estuary. Just north of the river bank we encountered a carnival in full swing. There were so many cars parked along main street, and in every nook and imaginable cranny, that we ended up parking the RV on the front lawn of a Baptist church some distance down a side street (photo top right). We didn't figure that the church was going to be much of a draw with the carnival in town, so our parking spot would probably not irritate any parishioners.

After loading up with the usual cameras, water, and the like, we set out for the river to see just what in the heck was going on. It didn't take long to find out. The town was celebrating the 46th annual blessing of the shrimp fishing fleet. Say what? Forest Gump not withstanding, we'd never heard of the practice. But what the heck, we decided that a party is a party and we threw ourselves right into the celebration.

The first thing we did was make our way out to the middle of the town bridge and position ourselves for some good shots of the fishing fleet. Let's face it, it's pretty hard not to take good photos of snow white boats on blue water backed by a brilliant blue sky. So, fire away I did. Along the way we ran into a half dozen Knights of Columbus (photo left) who kindly turned away from the ceremony and granted us permission to film them.

The "blessing" ceremony involved each individual boat in turn steaming out into mid channel, approaching the bridge amid clapping and cheering, and the appropriate clergy reciting a prayer over the P.A. system that I think God would have no trouble hearing. After the blessing, the boats all did a 180 degree turn amid more clapping and cheering, and then chugged back to their mooring as the next boat approached. I was getting chills just watching, and I know nothing about the dangers of shrimping -- well, at least nothing beyond what Forest taught me.

Once we had snapped a couple of dozen shots of the boats, we headed for the carnival. Though neither one of us are much up for carnivals, Yours Truly wanted a genuine, 46th anniversary, blessing of the shrimping fleet, t-shirt. Well, we hadn't gone more than fifty feet inside the carnival grounds and we came upon the t-shirt booth. That was easy, I thought. But just to be neighborly, we went ahead and strolled the length and breadth of the carnival grounds. A few minutes later we stopped at a booth selling genuine cane sugar syrup suitable for waffles, pancakes, and the most scrumptious biscuits you'll ever put in your mouth. At least that's what the little old lady standing next to me said as I studied the bottle.

"No corn syrup in this beauty," the salesman added.

"It's dandy stuff," the little old lady said.

"I'll take it," I said, and snapped a photo of her just to prove I hadn't been imaging the whole exchange (photo right).

So there you have it. That event in the tiny town of Darien, Georgia, made our whole day. I just wish we could have spent another hour or more, maybe learned more about the day that General Sherman came to town during the Civil War and left not a building standing. But the road was calling and soon we were back on Route 17, enjoying the grandeur of the countryside, and scouting for the next eye-opening experience.

I'm NOT going to relate how our GPS decided to screw with us when we got close to Savannah, how it asked us to leave Route 17 and get on the interstate in the wrong direction, and then, when we had corrected the direction problem, put us back on Route 17 as if it never needed to make us leave in the first place. Our campsite turned out to be just a half mile off of Route 17 and the GPS must have been having a bad day or something.

When we got into camp, we parked our rig right between two fancy, but older, Class A motor homes (photo left) where the septuagenarian inhabitants of same could be seen sitting in the shared space between their two coaches having cocktails. I felt a little bad about backing into their living room, but as it turned out, both were one-time fellow Californians, and they greeted us warmly. Deciding not to be shy, we immediately insinuated ourselves into their cocktail party and even brought the ice.

And that was our day. Lots of fun, adventure, camaraderie, and education.

Day 39 - Touring the oldest city in the U.S. -- St. Augustine, Florida

Yesterday Concetta and I got to do something that we both have been dreaming about doing since we were kids: visit St. Augustine, Florida, America's oldest continuously inhabited city.

As a youngster I was fascinated by tales of sea-going explorers and adventure on the high seas. I read just about everything I could get my hands on to do with those subjects. Whenever you start reading about the exploration of North America, be it Spanish, French, English, or whomever, it isn't long before you run into a discussion of the first men who tried to colonize the New World. Usually that distinction goes to Spain.

St. Augustine was founded on September 8, 1565, a date impossibly old for our modern north American minds to fathom. Over four hundred years? The Spanish Armada hadn't even sailed yet. And yet it's true. It's almost like getting to have lunch with Christopher Columbus. We couldn't resist. We just had to go and check this out.

Here's where the Davis luck swung into action. We had parked our RV in a handy KOA that advertised that they were just scant miles from the old part of the city. The park was easy for the GPS to find, which is always a plus. Once set up for the evening, we checked with the park employees and they told us that a shuttle bus parked just across the street from the park and the fare into town was just $.50 each way. Now that was a bargain for sure.

The next morning, after all our chores were done, we set off with our backpack, camera, water bottle, maps, and assorted other essentials for whatever adventure was to come our way. As we walked toward the entrance we fell into step with another couple who were apparently headed our way. After a few moments we conferred on just where the bus stop might be and together the four of us figured it out (based on the fact that four actual buses were parked across the street, waiting for passengers).

Almost sooner than it will take to tell you about it, the bus had crossed the drawbridge into the old city and had dropped us about three blocks from Fort San Marcos. It being the largest building we could see, we naturally headed in that direction. Once again we were pleased that our senior pass purchased at the U.S. Forest Service facility in Carson City got us in for free.

The fort is very interesting because it's constructed, not of stone as you might expect, but of a mixture of sand and sea shells that they call coquina. The park interpreters told us that the sand/sea shell mixture, which had been pressed into a rock-like consistency under great pressure over thousands of years, made a great building material for a fort because canon balls were just absorbed when they hit. Forts constructed of actual rock tended to disintegrate under a canon barrage.

We discovered, as we wandered the grounds, that our Saturday visit had been fortuitous. Not only was a man on hand to discuss eighteen and nineteenth century medical equipment (that's him above right), and a park ranger scheduled to discuss various types of canon shot used by the fort against marauding ships in the harbor, but in the latter part of the morning they planned to fire a couple of canons from high atop the battlements. To accompany the canon demonstration, they had a full compliment of soldiers in proper Spanish artilleryman's colors to do the job. Much to our delight, the soldiers even received their battle commands in Spanish. Just really exciting.

Somewhat before midday, Concetta and I had ended our tour of Fort San Marcos and had ventured into old St. Augustine to see what we could see. Our plan was to meet with a couple of ex-coworkers from my days at Nevada's Department of Public Safety. The couple had retired several years ago and had relocated from the mountains north of Truckee, California, to the seashore south of St. Augustine.

Our plan at this point was to find St. George street on which my friends said they wanted to meet, and hang out for a few minutes until they called. After wandering around a good bit, concentrating more on taking photos than navigation, we had stopped to admire an old church on St. George street. Just then my phone rang. It was my friends.

"Where are you?" my friend, Janice asked.

"We're at the southeast corner of St. George and Cathedral," I said.

"Wow!" Janice said. "We're just parking in the lot on the northeast corner of St. George and Cathedral."

And so it was that ten seconds later the four of us were united and trying valiantly to fill each other in on the events of the past several years, all of us talking at once. A short time after that we had located the Columbia restaurant, ordered up lunch and drinks, and spent the next forty minutes or more getting reacquainted. Along the way the waiter snapped the accompanying photograph. As for food, I, for one, had a truly memorable dish of eggplant Parmesan, followed by the very best key lime pie I've had in years. Great restaurant, that.

Though we walked a bit after lunch so our friends could get us pointed in the right direction for some more exploring, Concetta and I were on our own again for the afternoon. Knowing us, you now what we did. That's right, we visited museums -- no less than three. Our favorite was a hands-on interpretive, more outdoors than indoors, museum that I just thought was wonderful. Our guide was a very animated young man who, in my opinion, was a magical cross between a thespian and a historian (photos lower right and below left). He really knew his stuff. He felt just as comfortable showing us how to do blacksmithing as he did firing a flintlock rifle. For at least an hour he marched us around the museum grounds and discussed every part of St. Augustine history. Just fascinating.

Before our tour had begun I had wandered off to conduct my own tour and managed to stumble over a full-sized wooden Caravel being constructed on the property. Now ship building has long been fascinating to me and I naturally crossed the barricade and started taking photos. Very soon a man appeared at my elbow and wanted to know just what the heck I was doing there and could he help me. However, in mere moments he and I were in a very animated conversation about ship building when he found out that I had lived and worked aboard a wooden boat for a year. We discussed all the ins and outs of boat construction and by the time I left we were best buds. In fact, before I could start on the scheduled tour, he dashed up and gave me a handmade belaying pin that he had crafted for his boat project. A belaying pin is used to tie off halyards on a sailing vessel and I was very happy to accept such a special gift.

But the day wasn't over yet. Once off the museum tour of what they called "The Colonial Quarter." we had to decide on dinner. The time was about 5:30 and the last shuttle bus was due to pick us up and return to the KOA camp at 7:15. Thankfully, much of the decision of just where to eat was taken out of our hands. Along with our trio of museums came a black wrist band that was good for ten percent off at one of two restaurants on St. George Street. At first we couldn't decide just what we wanted to eat. Our choices were Mexican or British. But as we passed the Bull and Crown Pub, one of our choices, the idea of Fish and Chips seemed to leap into my head and I suggested to Concetta that we give it a try.

This turned out to be fortuitous, as just as we sat down to order, a guitar player appeared beside our table and started setting up. It wasn't long before we not only had some very tasty fish and chips, and a couple of bottles of Corona, but we had entertainment as well. The young woman doing the strumming did everything from Bobby McGee to tunes by James Taylor and Joni Mitchell, so her music choices fit right in with our tastes. We can certainly recommend the Bull and Crown for its food, its service, and extraordinary entertainment. Everything was just great.

All too soon it was time to catch the shuttle and head back. The couple we had met in the morning, who happened to be French from Montreal, rode back with us. As we rode we got into quite a spirited conversation (their English was quite good) about motor homing around the country (ours) and lasted long after we got back to the park. We walked back to their Class B RV, a much smaller unit than our Class C, and spent the next hour exploring subjects that ran the gamut from Archeology and Anthropology, to genetics and computer technology.

Though we hated to have the day end, we finally made it back to our RV close to 9:00 p.m. where we collapsed in total exhaustion. Still, it had been one of the most memorable days of the trip.

As I write this it's close to 10:00 p.m. and I fear that Concetta is already asleep. Of course the events related above happened yesterday. Today, we had another incredible adventure, but I'm going to have to wait to tell you about that. Tomorrow, hopefully, we're headed into Savannah to see what we can see. The adventure goes on, so stayed tuned.

Day 38 - Orlando to St. Augustine, Florida

Your humble correspondent has always been far more interested in the road less traveled than the road that contains the tracks of multitudes of my fellow humans. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy my fellow humans quite a bit. It's just that I like to enjoy them in less than crowd-sized numbers.

So it was that today, as we chose our route north from the western outskirts of Orlando, Florida, I had the choice of jumping on U.S. Route 4 which lay just a stone's throw from our campsite, or to choose a more bucolic route that might include a few stoplights, occasional holdups, and perhaps the opportunity of getting lost. You know what I chose.

We did have to travel a few miles east on Route 4 to get to our turnoff, and we did have to pay a few dollars in tolls for the route north that I chose, but very soon we were motoring north on some of the prettiest stretches of highway we have yet seen.

I know that some of you are going to want to know just what course we took. Here's what I remember: We went east on U.S. Route 4 from the vicinity of our KOA at the crossroads of Route 4 and Florida Route 27. Then we took the Florida Route 429 toll road north for a time. We should have exited the toll road around the town of South Apopka, but we missed the turnoff and ended up having to double back using the Orange Blossom Trail, Route 441, from the town of Piedmont. We continued on Route 441 until we came to a sign that said, "Florida Route 19 North." Once on Route 19 we were home free for most of the day. Route 19 eventually intersected Route 20 which eventually intersected Route 207 which quite quickly brought us to within a couple of miles of our camp.

And there you have it. We took the road less traveled, put up with just a tad of traffic in a couple of towns, and probably spent twice as long getting here as we would have if we had stayed on the Interstates. U.S. Route 4 charges right through the middle of Orlando, picks up U.S. Route 95 on the coast, and in just a couple of hours or so we would have been here at our destination in St. Augustine.

But here's the thing. If we would have taken the Interstates, we would have missed out on the beauty of rural Florida as seen in the above photograph and that surely would have been a big mistake. We're probably the only travelers who regularly take all day to drive a little over a hundred miles, but as they always say, "it's not the destination that's important, it's the journey."

And, as an added bonus, today we rolled past the 5,000 mile mark. We're 38 days into what should turn out to be a 10-week journey.

Cheers!

Day 37 - Naples to (almost) Orando, Florida

Today we opted to not stop at any points of interest along the way, and just motor our way up first Interstate 75, then Florida route 17 towards Winter Haven and Orlando. Florida roads are pretty top notch, and for the most part the traffic was very light. As the green countryside rolled by outside our windows we discussed our visit to Florida at length (more or less because Concetta had dropped our book on tape down beside the truck door and couldn't reach it).

The reason, of course, for our visit to Florida was to connect with the multitude of Concetta's relatives who have given up battling the snow and gray skies of Ohio and have taken up mostly permanent residence in the sunshine state. Couple by couple, they've all been fleeing south and buying places in picturesque gated communities surrounded by gorgeous lakes, waving palms, and a sea of Spanish tile roofs.

To say that their new homes are a fantastic, not to mention timely answer to things like snowy winters and freezing temperatures is a gross understatement. To say that these new residences provide them with the maximum enjoyment of a dazzlingly green and flower bestrewn landscape is also an understatement. Yes, everything is truly beautiful, all the time, and in every direction you look.

Naturally, this arrangement is especially wonderful since the landscape is largely cared for by professional gardeners and paid for by nominal association fees. One need never push a mower nor scout for weeds. You are allowed to have potted plants, but you're not required to do so. You may have a screened-in porch to ward of winged creatures, but you're not required to do so. For all practical purposes it looks very much like the garden of Eden without the apple tree. You do have the snakes occasionally, but they tend to be fairly well behaved.

I, for one, did not really know how to react to this environment exactly. How could you not like it? If you happen to be retired, and most are, you get up in a leisurely fashion, pad out to the screened porch to have your coffee and listen to the birds sing while you surf the web or read the paper. The air is cool and refreshing, and the cloud-studded, achingly blue sky is a perfect backdrop for the coconut palms and flowers lining the walkways leading to a series graceful arched bridges over the nearby waterways, all visible from your patio.

Before long, when your housemates have risen for the day, you'll be digging into a succulent breakfast and making plans for lunch in a few hours. After lunch comes planning for drinks and maybe a visit to a nearby relatives' home for dinner. There's no stress. There's no hurry. It's just life in the S-L-O-W lane. There are weeks when the only thing that has a deadline is when you have to get the trash barrel rolled to the curb by pickup time.

After three days of this Garden-of-Eden lifestyle, Concetta and I had begun to get just a tad antsy. Where were the challenges? Where was the surmounting of obstacles? Something just didn't feel right!

Once before I had had the chance to do nothing much of importance for months at a time. It came when I had done my stretch in the Naval Air Corp for several years, done a half dozen semesters in college, and had decided that I needed to launch into some sort of adventure. A short time later I and my buddy, John, found ourselves living and working aboard a sixty-foot sailboat (photo below left) based in in the Mediterranean Sea. Though there was, indeed, work involved with this life aboard a sea going yacht, there was far more nightlife than worklife. Wine, women, and song was always the order of the day.

Well, contrary to what you might expect, I did not easily fall into this life of near permanent relaxation. Before a year had passed I found myself increasingly obsessed with the fact that I was not accomplishing anything of any note whatsoever. When I had passed my twelve-month anniversary I quit that job and flew back to the daily grind of the eight hour day. Believe me, I has just deliriously happy at the time.

Remembering those days under the sun-soaked skies of exotic places like Greece and Turkey, I had to ask myself just how long anyone could be happy in Florida's paradise where the toughest decision you have to master each day is whether you want one lump or two in your coffee. I'm sure many will disagree with me, but I think just a bit of adversity is absolutely essential to a healthy and happy life. Florida just doesn't make the grade in my estimation. I'd rather ply the nation's highways in a motor home, dealing with the ups and downs of travel, coming up with solutions to problems that come at you out of the blue. Florida just didn't strike me as rough and tumble enough. Very soon you couldn't help but fall into a regime of eating and drinking and very little else.

Now, having said all this, I don't think anyone can avoid the "pull" of paradise very easily. I, too, was totally wowed by the model homes we were shown. I'm sure Concetta felt the same way. No yard work to do. Jogging paths that run right by your door. Swimming pools of bathwater temperatures. Bocce courts just a golf cart ride away. Totally immaculate landscaping everywhere you look. No messy neighbors. No graffiti or litter. I didn't even hear anyone talking loudly.

Darn hard to resist.

But if you want my advice, you should resist.

Days 33-36 - St. Petersburg to Naples, Florida, and remain

Yesterday, we traveled down from St. Petersburg, Florida, to Connie's sister's house in Naples. Not much to report, as we didn't stop at any points of interest, and spent most of our time on the Interstate system just cruising and listening to the last of our James Lee Burke novel. The novel was terrific, scenery was blue-sky beautiful, and traffic was pretty light. We spent our lunch hour in a strip mall parking lot, chosen more for it's "easy off/easy on" freeway access then for it's beauty. There was only one thing I wanted to accomplish for the day: visit an RV sales lot.

Since our driving distance to Naples was fairly short, I wanted to spend at least an hour wandering through new RVs to see if we might pick out a particular model that we liked more than others. Now that we've spent a month in the Tioga, we've come to be reminded of what we like and don't like about its design. I felt it would be a good time to see if the things we don't like had been solved, or at least addressed, in newer models. Conveniently, a Camping World dealer popped up alongside Interstate 75 yesterday just when we were ready to stop for a break from driving.

Personally, my biggest complaint with the current truck is not having enough room in the bedroom. There's very little room on either side of the bed to make the bed each morning, or change out the sheets and blankets when required. In a new RV I would want at least a foot on either side of the bed. On the newer models, depending on the length, they have provided more room. But having provided the room, the manufacturers then stole it back again by locating a storage locker in the rear of the coach, under the floor, that eats into the aisle and blocks access to about half of the mattress on each side (photo right). Major flaw for me.

We both object to the smallness of the bathroom area in our Tioga and in new models they seemed to have gotten that point. Almost every rig in which we toured had made the bathroom larger or split it in two so that the shower was on one side of the center aisle and the potty and sink on the other. Kudos for that design improvement.

Another objection we have with our 1996 model is the carpeting throughout. Because you can't help but track dirt and sometimes worse things into your RV depending on where you're traveling, our next RV will have some floor surface other than carpet. All of the RVs we walked through sported vinyl flooring, which would be easy to care for and more suitable than carpet (See photo left).

On the worrisome side, our Tioga has enormous lockers on both sides of the coach in which I store all kinds of things, from a trio of padded lawn chairs, to my drive-up ramps and blocks, to just about every possible piece of gear you'd need on the road. New RVs do not appear to come with these huge lockers unless you're buying one of the giant Class A models. Since we intend to keep to the Class C models with a length of thirty feet or so, we didn't see a single model yesterday that would be acceptable when it comes to storage. Above left is a photo of the largest lockers I've seen in a Class C coach.

Following the same theme, it looked to us as though they've actually cut down on interior storage as well. In our model there is a sort of peninsula cupboard arrangement, that comes out from the side wall in the kitchen, in which we store lots and lots of things related to cooking. None of the new models have retained this feature.

Having brought up the kitchen, this is the area that bothers Concetta the most about the present RV. The coach does not have enough working room in the kitchen area, though storage doesn't seem to be a problem. I'm not sure just what we can do about this as from what I've seen and researched, you don't get much additional kitchen room until the coach size exceeds thirty feet. Thirty-one and Thirty-two foot models seem to put that footage into kitchen counter tops in most cases. The problem you run into when you exceed thirty feet is that some state and national parks limit coaches to thirty feet. However the kitchen counter in the photo at right from a Thor brand coach probably would be adequate.

On the subject of overall storage, I've always been satisfied with the interior storage in ours. The upper lockers over the side windows are large enough for most anything we want to store. I noticed in a lot of the models we toured yesterday that they had reduced the height of the side lockers, making the storage of anything taller than a package of napkins difficult if not impossible. That would be a deal breaker.

Most of our "overflow" storage takes place on the forward, cab-over bunk area. This area is so cavernous that we have no problem storing things like extra winter clothes we don't usually need or large bulky items like extra blankets or quilts, as well as bunches of other "crucial" items to numerous to mention. I sure hate to do without this storage area. However many, many new coaches have turned this into a media wall where the TV resides accompanied by some small lockers and drawers. This wouldn't work for us.

I like it where they've put just a small cutout (see photo left) on the front bunk which keeps you from bumping your head when you come back from inside the cab, but allow for the bunk to be fully extended to provide the most storage. With our current model, if you push the bunk back to where you don't hit your head then your storage area is cut in half.

Arriving at my favorite subject, that of the internet, I would really like to have a coach that has some sort of built in up-link device with a powerful aerial so I could quit having to depend on parks with inadequate WiFi setups. As I see it, the future of WiFi at parks where people are not prevented from streaming videos and such is not good. We won't be hitting the road again without being independent from the RV park systems.

On a more frivolous level, I would sure like those steps that pop out and pop in on their own as you open and close the door. This would be handy since occasionally I forget to push the thing in when we leave camp. I'd also love it if the rear corner jacks were automatic, but I don't know if such a thing exists on the Class C models.

Lastly is paint. Anyone who knows me knows I don't like white for vehicles. Just too common. I simply must have a sand-colored one or maybe multicolored model (like model right).