The desire to just “go” was always there in me, buried—yet in motion, building, like magma under the earth’s crust. It just needed an outlet, a time to finally erupt and push me to get on the road.
During my childhood, the notion of travel teased me nearly every day. I was an Army baby, but my dad got out of the service when I was 2 years old. Thus, I heard my older siblings and parents talk about being stationed in Germany, North Carolina, California, and elsewhere. As if that weren’t already enough, I grew up in an Army post town. So, my Army classmates often talked about their time in Hawaii, Europe, and other great places.
The one travel outlet I had was my dad’s VW campervan. We camped all over New England, but also took long road trips to see family in Wisconsin, Texas, and Washington, D.C. He put more than 230,000 miles on that camper.
