Author Archives: Marce

We are well accustomed to water conservation after living on a boat. Escape Velocity had a reverse osmosis watermaker and we generally never wanted for fresh water, but there were a few times during our cruising life when we had to reduce our consumption, either because the watermaker wasn’t working properly, or the seawater we were in wasn’t optimal for running the pumps.

In the campervan, we’d gone two weeks on our 110 liter freshwater tank. That was just for washing up because we started out with a lot of drinking water in big jugs. No matter, we need water. And for that, we need a hose.

Jack was convinced a garden center was our best bet, but we’re in the Loch Lomond and The Tussocks National Park where there are few shops of any kind, and definitely no garden centers or hardware stores. This is going to involve a trek.

Google Maps showed us a garden center just outside the park area, 15 miles in the wrong direction. We reluctantly left the beautiful banks of the loch and set off through another breathtaking landscape.

There was roadwork all along the way, and no place to pull off to take proper photos, but we were both dazzled by the rolling hills and wide vistas, not to mention the perfect weather.

We found the garden center. They sold plants. That’s it. Plants. No garden implements, no hardscape materials, no hoses. They did, however, have a very nice cafe, which of course we had to try.

There was nowhere to go for a hose from here so we drove back to Loch Lomond and found yet another gorgeous parkup along the water.

Besides the trees and the water and the weather, we’ve also been enjoying the many wildflowers we see everywhere. We’re here at the perfect time of year to see all these plants that are familiar to me from where we lived in Pennsylvania, but that we haven’t seen during the years we were mostly in the tropics.

I think we’re going to continue our conservation scheme and enjoy Loch Lomond for a bit longer. Who in their right mind would want to leave this place?

We loved our parkup at Dumbarton Castle, but we don’t want to get stuck in one place so soon. And we’re ready to venture further afield. We set our sights on Loch Lomond, and it sounded like an expedition until we checked Google maps. Five miles. Five. Miles. My goodness, we are pathetic. At this rate we won’t see much of Britain before our bones turn to dust.

We skipped the busy tourist area at the southern end of the loch, especially since it was Jubilee week and we assumed it might be crowded, despite the lack of official events in this “non-Royalist” region. It was a four day holiday after all, and families were out for a long weekend of fun.

We parked up right on the shore of the loch. There are many of these little car parks, one after the other, that can accommodate anywhere from five to ten vehicles. We passed a few sites and chose one that was further off the busy road, with nice flat spaces and a wide beach. We had the joint all to ourselves for a while, but later in the day more and more people arrived.

We parked in the corner again, now our preferred spot, so that at least on one side we can see and appreciate the scenery when we’re inside. A family pitched a couple of tents on the beach in front of us, but it was still a lovely spot, with a pretty path along the shoreline to explore. We can’t believe our luck in finding spot after spot to enjoy this beautiful country. It’s like moving from anchorage to anchorage on the boat. We’re comfy in our own home, but with an everchanging view. It’s just what we envisioned. We stayed two nights.

I saw on our parkup app that just a little north of us there is a larger car park that not only allows overnight parking, but also has toilets, a gray water and toilet dump, and a fresh water tap. We don’t really need those yet, but we’ve been advised to take advantage when you see them. We knew it would be more crowded, but we’re keen to experience that too, and besides, it’s still free, with a donation box onsite for the services.

Once again we chose a level spot beside a small grassy area so on one side at least we have some space. The lot was quite busy as you’d expect on a holiday weekend, with day use people as well as motor homes. It’s the dock for Loch boats and ferries and tour buses came and went all day too. We actually enjoyed all the activity.

On Sunday while Jack sat in the sun, I watched the men’s tennis final at Roland Garros, streaming Channel 9 in Australia via a VPN logged in at Perth. It’s a source I’ve used for tennis for a couple of years no matter where we are. We found it more challenging to watch Formula 1. Most recently we VPN’d to Luxembourg to get the stream, but the commentary is in Luxembourgish, so we do BBC radio for the audio, which is of course out of sync. It’s better than nothing though.

Monday morning we walked up the road to a food kiosk for breakfast rolls. Our glorious weather continues, much to the surprise of the locals.

As we prepared to move on, Jack emptied the toilet cassette and checked out the fresh water tap. That’s when he discovered that the water hose we have is missing the proper fitting and we can’t fill our tank. We’re in the middle of a national park with no large shops anywhere nearby. Luckily our tank isn’t empty, but we’ll need to find either a new hose or the proper fitting before long.

Flush with the success of our first two parkups we decided to venture further and start driving north. This required retracing our steps back through the traditional boatbuilding center of Port Glasgow and across the bridge over the Clyde.

Along the northern riverbank is a 240 foot high volcanic basalt plug called Dumbarton Rock that has served as a fortress since at least the 5th century. Our parkup app told us we could spend the night at the base of the Rock. That sounds good to us.

We turned toward the river and inched our way down a residential street and past a construction site before we spied the rock. We both leaned forward to peer upward through the windscreen, seeking the top. Holy cow! There, almost in the clouds, we could see the battlements of the stronghold perched so close to the edge it almost seemed cantilevered.

Our pitch for the night was directly beneath the sheer cliff wall. We quickly locked up the camper and headed toward the entrance. There was extensive fencing which became more dense the closer we came to the entrance. It gave us that sinking feeling.

Sure enough, closed again for masonry inspection. This one hurts. Joiners were chiseling a mortise into massive timbers right on the other side of the fence where intricate scaffolding reached up to the sky.

We walked along the river for a better view of the fortress.

We had a quiet cozy night, all the while wishing we could get inside the castle, and especially climb the rock to see the view from the top.

The next morning I glimpsed a man with large pads strapped to his back disappear around the back of the rock.

“I think they must do rock climbing here,” I said to Jack, and we jumped out of the camper and tried to follow where the man went. That lead us past a football club, through the woods and around the land side, all the way to the river on the other side, giving us a few more tantalizing peeks at the fortification at the top.

We found a couple of men bouldering, then a man and his father with their dogs, just shooting the breeze enjoying the view on a beautiful day. We stopped to chat, got a few tips on places to go, and they told us there was a break in the fence at the riverfront where we could see the castle better. They also said there were a few women climbing further around the rock.

The women told us this was the place for climbing and bouldering in the Glasgow area, and that on most days we’d see many more people there on the various walls.

We asked about the Queen’s Jubilee and if there were any events planned nearby. They looked at each other and shrugged.

“We’re not really royalists here in Scotland,” one of them said. Fair enough.

The path around the rock came to an end at the water’s edge, passable only at low tide, and we retraced our steps back to the parkup.

We found the break in the fence the father and son told us about (how had we missed it?) and finally got a better perspective on the castle and the fortress. It made us want to explore it even more, but I guess our record of closed castles will remain unbroken for now. You can read the history of the place here.

We walked into town to a place called Bangin’ Pizza for takeout and all the employees threw out their favorite places for us to visit. We’re acquiring quite the list of destinations to add to our already numerous Google Maps flags.

We woke to our stunning parkup after a peaceful night. The view over the river Clyde was just as beautiful in the morning light as it was when we arrived and we had to pinch ourselves that the Instagramable moment we’d hoped for was achievable.

Part of the dream was having our morning coffee-with-a-view and we bounced out of bed, dug out the Aeropress, put a pan of water on the hob. That’s when we realized the burners don’t have a sparker. What? We checked the little grill/oven. It has a built in sparker and fired right up. But the burners? No. We need a lighter, which we have not got.

This, for the Schulzes, is a disaster. Morning coffee is more than a habit for us. It’s a ritual, a long process of waking, savoring, planning, and most of all, taking the beginning of the day to appreciate what we have and contemplate what lies ahead. Ok, it’s only coffee, but we panicked.

“We could twist a piece of paper, light it on the grill, then light the burner with that!” suggested Jack with enthusiasm. I was reluctant to risk a fire on our first day out. Besides, we had a “no open flame” policy on our boat and I prefer to continue that policy while living in a big tin can with limited egress.

“We need a lighter,” I said, and I looked out the window to see if any cars were approaching our roadside overlook. The night before several carloads of young people had gathered for a few hours, enjoying the evening, sharing a few beers and a smoke. They were gone by about 9pm and didn’t bother us, but it made me think this little lot could be a place where people come with their takeaway breakfast, or just to enjoy the view. And a smoke.

“Fat chance,” said Jack. “It’s Saturday morning.”

A few minutes later a car pulled in. It was a single woman, and I leapt out of the van and approached her with a smile. She rolled down the window and I told her we just bought the van and can’t make coffee because we don’t have a lighter for the hob. She instantly handed me a disposable lighter and I asked it I could borrow it.

“Keep it,” she said with a smile. I thanked her and skipped back to the camper. Within minutes we had coffee in our cups, breakfast on our plates, and all was right with the world again.

We watched as the nice woman got out of her car and appeared to be digging around in the boot, in the backseat, all over the car. After a while she knocked on our window. “This one’s got more in it,” she said, and handed us another lighter. This clearly was a woman who understands the importance of morning coffee, even in a country of tea drinkers.

So ok, we’re missing a few essentials. We made a list, but we were reluctant to leave this gorgeous long distance vista, especially after spending much of the last month in cheap hotel rooms with views of the parking lot.

The other thing we learned on that first night is the importance of a level parkup. We were only tilted a few degrees, but we had to call up our dormant sailing skills to navigate the inside of the camper without incurring the hip and shin bruises familiar to most sailors. We moved the van across the lot to a more level space in the corner, then pulled the wheel ramps out of the “garage” and experimented with placement. We got it closer to level, and vowed to be more mindful in the future.

We stayed another night at that first place, learning how the heater and refrigerator work, moving things around for convenience, adding to our list. On Sunday we drove back down to the big retail park and once again went from store to store to store, this time with a little better idea of what we need to be comfortable and functional.

I found another parkup that looked promising, this one down along the riverbank, with a cafe across the street. We can’t believe our good fortune. We know we won’t always be able to find free places to spend the night, but we’re glad we held out for a camper that’s set up for off grid wild camping. We know we can last a week or two before we have to find services like fresh water, gray water dumping, and toilet cassette emptying. We have just enough solar power to keep things working, so far. Life is good.

It was almost time to return our rental car to Sheffield. On the way we wanted to meet up again with our friend Mark in Yorkshire. Since our campervan is already in Scotland, we’ve decided to explore northward rather than return to England, so this will be our last opportunity for a while.

Coincidentally, the best day to connect was Sue Owen’s birthday. Sue was taken by breast cancer four years ago. Jack and I last saw her in August 2016 when we met in Auckland for an Ethiopian dinner before they traveled for what was supposed to be a few weeks’ family visit in England. Sue never came back.

We first met the crew of Macushla at a cafe in Charleston, South Carolina. They were drinking coffee and reading the paper at a communal table when we sat down with our pastries. Jack nudged me and whispered, “I think they’re cruisers, too.”

We were new to the liveaboard life, and we learned they had been at it for 12 years already. We were in awe.

Our friendship deepened during a season in the Caribbean as we bonded in that way you do when your worldview and personalities mesh perfectly. We crossed the Pacific together in 2015, with more special times in New Zealand. So many of our best cruising memories include these two.

It is Mark’s tradition to visit Fountain’s Abbey on Sue’s birthday, a place he told us was very special to them. We were grateful to be included this time, to talk about Sue, to be in a place she loved, and to celebrate her birthday. We were joined by Sue’s sister Hazel and it was wonderful to finally meet her. We’d heard a lot about each other during the years we cruised with Macushla.

Fountain’s Abbey is a UNESCO World Heritage site, the ruins of a 12th century monastery on 70 acres in North Yorkshire along the river Skell. It is stunningly beautiful and peaceful. We could see why Mark and Sue loved the place.

The four of us walked the path around the abbey, Jack and I snapping photos of the changing views, all of us grateful for the weather.

We came to a place overlooking the water, and Mark and Hazel lead us to a bench with a breathtaking view. This is where Sue’s ashes are scattered, they told us. She’d wanted the water view. We sat for a while, and thought our own thoughts.

As we get older, and especially living a nomadic life, it’s hard to meet new friends and maintain the kind of social circle more stationary people enjoy. I’ve been fortunate to have forged strong bonds with a few very special women whose friendship I treasure, even when years go by before we see each other again. Sue Owen was one of them. She was beautiful, kind, funny, quirky, generous, passionate, and one of the best storytellers I’ve ever known. I miss her.

Our days started to follow a pattern. We spent the mornings exploring nearby points of interest, then returned to our digs in the afternoon to work on admin when the offices opened in New York. That synced perfectly with our age-adjusted energy levels, especially after a good lunch.

I pore over the map to find places to visit. Jack wants to see every castle ever built; I want to see graves. Often we just want to appreciate the stunning scenery. Before we came to Dumfries and Galloway I had the impression that the landscape would be flat agricultural land and we’ve both been surprised and entranced by the rolling hills and deep forests of hardwoods, territory not unlike where we both grew up in Pennsylvania. It’s pristine clean, with nary a scrap of trash to be seen, and even when the sun doesn’t shine, the sky is dramatic with cloud patterns that would inspire any artist.

We took off one morning to visit what was bound to be a sad place. On the way we passed a gypsy caravan.

After about an hour’s drive and a few wrong turns we finally arrived at our destination.

For those of you too young to remember, a few days before Christmas in 1988 Pan Am flight 103 was destroyed by an onboard bomb as it flew over Lockerbie, Scotland, en route from London to New York. All 259 passengers and crew died. Parts of the plane landed on a suburban street and 11 residents of three houses also perished.

Thirty-five of the passengers were students at Syracuse University heading home for the holidays after a semester abroad.

The bomb was eventually traced to Libyan nationals and in 2003 Muammar Gaddafi finally accepted responsibility.

Whenever we visit any kind of memorial I read every name, pronouncing it in my mind. I know how quickly even the most horrific events fade into history and I want each person to be remembered and honored, even by a stranger. I was heartened to see that there were other visitors to the memorial garden during the time we were there.

Lunchtime lead us to a farm market and café that was recommended by our Airbnb host. After three years in SE Asia, this kind of shop display is an eyeopener.

Luckily, vegans and vegetarians are also respected here in the UK and there are always options for me too.

We walked off the calories on a pretty little trail around the farm where we met some of the Beltie Beef cows that end up in the butcher case.

Someone on the farm enjoys chainsaw sculpture.

Jack finished off his lunch with his beloved apple crumble, and then it was back to our cottage for more banking fun.

As long as I have a few days of admin to finalize the camper purchase, and we weren’t going to take up residence for at least a week, I booked us into a little Airbnb cottage near Dumfries so I could focus on the tasks at hand, and for another, special reason.

Longtime readers may remember that one of my hobbies is family history research. If you’re interested you can check out some previous posts here and here and here or search for genealogy or family history in the search box in the blog.

I’ve continued to research even while we were in the far flung corners of the cruising world, and last year I had a giant breakthrough because new records were made available online by the Danish National Archives. I’m not one little bit Danish but some of my ancestors lived in St. Thomas, Virgin Islands, owned and governed until 1917 by Denmark. The records they released are probate records from the 18th and 19th century, handwritten and mostly in Danish.

I spent hour after hour during much of the pandemic lockdown paging through the records, hoping a familiar name would pop up. And it did! I learned that my great great grandmother’s birth name was Roddan and for the big breakthrough, I learned that her father was from Dumfries in Scotland. This is the first time I’ve been able to make the leap across the pond to my ancestors’ origins in either Ireland or Scotland.

With that new information I’m able to start to piece together a previously missing branch of my mother’s family tree, and now that we’re in Dumfries and Galloway, I’m hoping to make even more discoveries, primarily to learn what would have possessed four carpenter brothers to leave this beautiful place in the 18th century and undertake an uncomfortable journey to the West Indies.

In anticipation of our visit to Scotland I joined the Dumfries and Galloway Family History Society. I looked forward to visiting the center to see what records are available, and to pick the brains of the local historians.

Before we got here I found online a book of headstone inscriptions from a small village churchyard near the town of Dumfries.

“In Memory of William Roddan Esq., of the Island of Tortola, who died at Bilbow in the Parish of Troqueer the 13th of Sept 1784 aged 23 years And of James Roddan his youngest son, who died the 30th December 1784 aged 6 months Also of his eldest son William Adamson Roddan Esq., accountant in Kirkcudbright, who departed this life at Bowhouse of Terregles on the 23rd day of June 1822 in the 41st year of his age.”

Months ago I marked the cemetery on my Google map and we were finally close enough to find it. Jack has known of my fascination with graveyards since we met, and on our first date he took me to an old German cemetery in Pittsburgh. So off we went to read some headstones.

The yard was much larger than I thought, with a couple of hundred engraved stones. Jack was first to find the name Roddan. Unfortunately it was a century too late for my people. We kept looking.

An hour later we admitted we couldn’t find the right stone, but saw that quite a few had either fallen or broken. The stones were transcribed for the book in the 1970s and the preface noted that many of them are no longer standing or legible for one reason or another. Sadly, I think the one I was looking for might be one of them.

On the way home from the churchyard we visited the Twelve Apostles stone circle. It’s the largest in mainland Scotland, and the 7th largest in Britain.

The circle is unimpressive, especially from this distance. It rained heavily the previous night and the field was too mushy to venture into. The stones are nearly buried but were originally close to 2 meters tall and oriented toward the midwinter sunset.

I have a lot of stone circles and standing stones marked on my Google map so expect to see more as we travel further.

We’ve known right from the start that buying a campervan in Europe would be a challenge. In most countries, non-residents just aren’t permitted to buy any vehicle. You’d think they’d be happy to have foreign tourists commit long term to spending their hard currency in restaurants, supermarkets, tourist concessions and such. But no.

Some places have workarounds. There are a few dealers in Europe who will purchase, register and insure a camper on your behalf, for a price. An enterprising agent in France assists in setting up a corporation, for a price; then the corporation buys the vehicle. Many people have successfully used these strategies. I was skeptical. Plus the timing of Europe was a bit concerning, what with uncertainty about Covid restrictions and too many border crossings. We really wanted to start in the UK before venturing further afield.

What to do? We contacted our British friend Mark and asked if we could use his address for the purpose of registration. He very kindly said yes. That’s one hurdle.

Our second hurdle was banking. The owner of our new baby told us if we were British we’d be able to transfer the money bank to bank in minutes, sign the papers and drive away. In our case we’re doing international foreign currency transfers and it just doesn’t happen that quickly. And it was a weekend. And we are five hours ahead of bank hours in New York. This is going to take a while.

We gave Davie all the cash we had on us at the time as hand money and initiated a transfer of the remainder of the deposit. Then, because there wasn’t anything we could do until all the money made it to Scotland, and the promised service and safety inspection couldn’t be scheduled for another week, we decided to spend the rest of our prepaid time in the rental car touring.

During the following week I got all the money transferred and started on the biggest hurdle: insurance. Every company I contacted said they couldn’t insure a nonresident. Lots of people advised me to just not mention it, since we are using the UK address of our friend, but we don’t want to run the risk of having a claim denied for not being truthful.

After many calls and refusals, I finally found a company to agree to insure us — at an extortionate cost. But we are over a barrel and needs must. The cost of insuring this campervan is nearly as much as we paid to insure our worldcruiser yacht with a value more than six times that of the camper.

Life is short, we tell each other nearly daily. It’s only money and we aren’t going to quibble at this point. We don’t know how much longer we can travel, or when our desire to see new places will start to wane as our bodies grow tired. Go now, go with what you’ve got. Just go.

So that decision was made, which led to an unexpected hurdle. The insurance company refused to accept our US credit card. You’re kidding, right? No, they were not. We crawled back to our English friend Mark and asked if he would pay the premium and we’d bank transfer him back. He agreed, but it took an additional three days before the company actually answered Mark’s calls and deemed to take his money.

That brought us to the final hurdle, paying the road tax, which turned out not to be a hurdle at all. We went online, entered our registration number and credit card and presto! Done.

All in all it took nearly ten days for the purchase to finalize, which turned out ok because a very important football match delayed the service and safety inspection for a few days. The mechanic was hung over.

We’d been talking about a campervan for a while. The idea really took hold as the months turned to years waiting out the travel restrictions of the pandemic. But, as we all learn again and again, having an idea is easy but bringing it to fruition takes a mountain of will, energy and endurance. It took us 21 years to get a boat and start sailing the seven seas; it’s the reason we named our catamaran Escape Velocity. I am definitely not interested in another 21 year struggle.

Life is short and for us baby boomers getting shorter every day. While I would have thoroughly enjoyed the process of building out our own bespoke campervan, we don’t have a place to live or a place to build. Plus I don’t want to spend the time and effort it would take. We need to buy a camper that’s ready to go.

As Jack wrote, we found it impossible to do from America. One by one we flipped the calendar pages of 2022. Time was getting away from us. We knew we had to just get up and go. Ten years to the day after signing the papers for Escape Velocity we flew to London.

Unlike 2012 we had nowhere to go and only a determination to find a campervan as soon as we could to start making every day an adventure again.

We took the train to Sheffield where we’d found a reasonably affordable rental car, then drove to a small farm near Durham to a motorhome dealer who offered to help us navigate the challenges of nonresidents buying a vehicle.

Like any savvy salesman he showed us campervans in our price range, then pushed the envelope with a larger more expensive unit. Jack fell in love. But not me.

I was determined to stick to van size, mostly because we’ll be driving on the left (the least of our worries since we’ve been doing that since arriving in New Zealand in 2015), navigating the ubiquitous roundabouts, and negotiating impossibly narrow streets lined with parked cars. In a wide motorhome I envisioned an endless fiesta of sideswiping, leaving a trail of amputated rearview mirrors in our path.

Jack had no such worries. And Jack likes to end uncertainty as soon as he can. He pushed for the large, deluxe model from the nice dealer who sweetened the price with a very generous buyback offer that would give us an easy exit when we’re ready to move on. I tried to talk myself into it.

In the end I couldn’t bring myself to ignore my own stress, however misguided. The prospect of months of mashing the phantom passenger-side brake pedal and the inevitable arguments every time I shrieked “move over!” just wasn’t what I had in mind. Yes, it’s wrong of me, but we both get a vote and in the end we have to agree on such a big step.

The same thing happened while we boat shopped ten years ago. Jack fell in love with one of the first boats we saw but I had misgivings and it didn’t get my vote. It was quite the discussion and it meant our quest took a few months longer but I know Jack would agree that we ended up with the best boat for us.

During the van shopping we met up with our dear friend Mark Owen of Macushla, who, you may recall, lost his beautiful wife Sue four years ago. We met Mark and Sue early in our journey on Escape Velocity and so many of our most memorable experiences were shared with them. It was a joy to see Mark again, and as with all the best friendships, it was as if we’d seen him yesterday.

Our initial two weeks came to an end with no campervan and no prospects. I found us a cheaper rental car and booked a further two weeks, and as the stress and disappointment was wearing on us we took a few days off and had some fun.

We visited a couple of castles, drove to some beautiful vistas and oh, I tested positive for Covid. I had no symptoms and Jack was negative but we booked into an Airbnb cottage in the country and isolated for a few days. It was exactly what we needed.

During our isolation we narrowed our vehicle choices, scoured Gumtree and Autotrader and eBay and I marked the potentials on Google maps. I contacted them all, researched their history, made lists. One by one they disappeared. We knew we’d need to jump on a new listing right away. One of the best possibilities was an earlier year model with a layout we weren’t crazy about and with no solar, but the price was right and it needed very little work. The salesman gave us time to talk ourselves into it then dropped the bomb. He was not willing to pay for the work, and he was “backed up” and couldn’t deliver for six weeks. We walked away.

Four new listings sparked long discussions. This layout or that, solar or no solar. Two were priced to sell, two were above our agreed budget. We spent a couple of intense days, feeling the ongoing drain of hotels, Airbnbs, restaurant meals and car rental. Spending most of each day driving then figuring out where to sleep and eat was wearing us out. The contenders were scattered in the four corners of the country.

In the end we chose to go for one that was relatively close by. It didn’t have solar but it was a year newer than the rest with a clean service history. Decision made I called the dealer to arrange to see it. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’ve just sold it.” Damn.

Our second choice was actually our first choice because it already had add-ons we wanted, but it was a full day’s drive away, in Scotland. I contacted the owner. “We want to buy your camper,” I said.

“Great! I have someone coming Sunday to look at it. I’ll be here all day. You can come then.” It was Friday night.

Jack and I looked at each other. “We’ll be there tomorrow.”

We’re going to Scotland!

It took some doing to find a PCR test site we could walk to from our hotel, but we managed and tested negative and finally got to insinuate ourselves into my sister’s home for a few weeks. Jack and I were suffering severe culture shock and were barely communicative at first. The sale of the boat happened so quickly, we had no plan for what’s next, and the Covid situation in America was much worse than we’d experienced previously, especially compared to our safe little island in Malaysia. But my sister and brother-in-law gave us the space to process and kept us fed and watered while we adjusted to a culture that’s familiar and alien at the same time.

Eventually we rented a car and started off toward Pittsburgh, our old home town and still home to other family members.

We took a few days to drive what normally would take one day, zigzagging north and south, shopping for warm clothes and exploring back roads along the way.

Pennsylvania, we learned, boasts more covered bridges than anywhere else in the country and we made it our mission to find a few and appreciate their construction.

It was comforting to be on the move again, and even though we miss the endless blue of our life on the water, driving through the hilly piedmont and over the familiar Allegheny Mountains of Pennsylvania helped calm our uncertainty. Lovely as it is, even in the bleakest of seasons, we agree we don’t want to live here anymore. But we’re on our way to see some of our favorite people, and that’s the joy we’ve been missing.