My time in Shenandoah National Park was cut short because of rain, so I headed to Tennessee with hopes I’d be able to do some hiking when I got there. I was able to get out one day for a short hike, but rain turned out to be a problem in Tennessee too. Before I knew it, my time in Tennessee came to an end and I headed north, back to Wisconsin where this trip began.

I was only planning on being in town for two days, and my schedule was pretty full both days. The night I got into town, I stopped by Kickapoo Creekside, one of my favorite restaurants in Southwest Wisconsin. I was in the mood for a beer and salad bar.

One thing I have noticed traveling around the country is that very few restaurants still offer a salad bar. Not so in Wisconsin. In fact, salad bars are a staple of Wisconsin supper clubs. “What is a supper club?” you might ask. Good question. I’ve always had a difficult time defining what makes a restaurant a supper club, so I asked Google. Here’s the answer I got:

“A Wisconsin supper club is a unique type of restaurant, often family-owned and deeply rooted in the state’s culture, characterized by a cozy atmosphere, classic American fare, and a strong sense of community. They are known for their Friday fish fries, Saturday prime rib, relish trays, and brandy old fashioneds.”

Goggle went on to say supper club tradition includes:

• Pre-dinner drinks at the bar: It’s common to grab a drink at the bar before being seated for dinner. 
• Reservations are recommended: Due to their popularity and focus on a relaxed dining experience, reservations are often encouraged. 
• A sense of community: Supper clubs foster a sense of belonging and camaraderie among patrons. 

In essence, a Wisconsin supper club is more than just a restaurant; it’s a social institution, a place to connect with friends and family over delicious food and drinks in a welcoming and nostalgic setting.”

In case I haven’t made it clear in previous posts, I love Wisconsin. During most of the year, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. I love the people (most of them, anyway), the geography, and the traditions. True, I hate the winters, but the summers and falls are the best. And the supper club tradition is one of the things I like most about life in Wisconsin.

Day one of my time in Viroqua was spent in my office, catching up on paperwork and meeting with my employees. It was a productive day.

Day two began at the office and ended with me giving a presentation about my books at our local library. I was contacted by the library over the winter about doing a talk, but since I try to be in warmer climes during the winter months, I wasn’t available. We kicked around a few possible dates I could give a presentation, and we landed on late July.

By the way, Viroqua is a town of only 4500 people, but we are blessed to have a beautiful library. It was built new just a few years ago, and if you’re ever in the area, you should stop by to see it. The library plays host to a wonderful book fair each April (Ridges and Rivers Book Festival), and serves as an important institution in our area’s cultural life.

My talk at the library attracted a small crowd, which made for an intimate setting and discussion. I talked about how I got started writing, a little about the books I’ve written, and a little more about my most recent book, The Walls Come Tumbling Down. I read from the book, and then we had a very enjoyable question and answer period. It turned out to be a good night.

After the presentation, I went to dinner with two of my employees—one current and one former—so we could catch up on each other’s lives. During our visit, it dawned on me how important this kind of fellowship is, especially as we get older. In my younger years, I was often full speed ahead, not taking time to relax and talk to the people in my life. Recently, I’ve noticed a real desire to slow down and enjoy time with family and friends. Maybe it’s an age thing or maybe I’m just evolving. Either way, I’m enjoying spending time with others more now than I have in a long time.

Originally, my travel plans called for me to leave Wisconsin and head out west; first to Deadwood, SD and Theodore Roosevelt National Park, then to Cody, WY and Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks. Unfortunately, that’s not going to happen. There are issues with the house I am building in Tennessee, and I feel I need to be in the area to handle them. So, back to Tennessee I go.

Next time, we’ll talk about the issues I’ve run into and how those issues get resolved. Until then…

America’s national parks are the nation’s crown jewels. They are full of beautiful natural scenery, have historical and cultural significance, provide recreation and enjoyment for millions of visitors every year, and they are a natural legacy that we pass from one generation to the next. They are spectacular. And sadly, I have only visited one in my life.

A few years ago, I went hiking in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. In fact, now that I think about it, I’ve been to the park twice: once staying on the west side of the park in Gatlinburg, TN, and another time on the east side in Cherokee, NC. It’s a beautiful place, and it’s the most visited national park in the country. But I wanted to see more, to visit other parks, and hike on other trails. That’s what I was thinking when I decided to change my travel plans in the Northeast and instead visit Shenandoah National Park.

Shenandoah is a wild wooded wonderland that sits just 75 miles from the urban sprawl of Washington, DC. It’s a place with dozens of overlooks, several waterfalls, and plenty of hiking trails to choose from. I was looking forward to diving in and exploring a few of the more than 200,000 acres that make up Shenandoah National Park.

When I arrived, a rainstorm had just moved through the area. Everything was wet, but the sun was making an effort to break through the cloud cover. It was late in the afternoon, too late to hike, so I decided to prepare for my visit to the park by scoping out the terrain and talking to a park ranger.

The first thing I did was purchase a lifetime National Parks Pass. There aren’t a lot of things that are great about growing old, but for just $80, senior citizens (like me) can get a lifetime pass to all of the national parks and federal lands, so that’s pretty great. The park ranger that sold me the pass encouraged me to get my money’s worth out of it, and I told her that’s exactly what I intended to do.

Next, I drove further into the park and stopped at the Dickey Ridge Visitor’s Center. There, I met Colin Wainwright, a friendly park ranger manning the information desk. I wanted to know the best places to hike, as well as information on where I was likely to encounter black bears. I brought my cameras and wanted to photograph black bears in the wild.

Colin asked a few questions about my hiking ability and what I hoped to see, then recommended I hike Lewis Spring Falls Trail, part of the Appalachian Trail, in the Big Meadows area. The trail features an up-close experience with 81-foot-tall Lewis Falls. Colin said that the water was really roaring over the falls due to the heavier-then-normal rainfall the area had received recently. I decided to take his advice.

When it came to photographing black bears, Colin wasn’t too optimistic. He said that the bears try to stay away from humans, and sightings were haphazard, meaning he really couldn’t recommend a place I was likely to see one.

I thanked Colin, then went into the retail store at the visitor’s center to see what they had to offer. The store carries all types of items, from shirts and hats to coffee mugs and shot glasses, with the Shenandoah National Park name and logo on them. They also sell posters (which I really liked) and books about the park. I bought an overpriced T-shirt but didn’t feel bad about overpaying since a portion of the proceeds go to benefit the park and the services provided there.

Late afternoon was turning to evening, so I left the park to grab some dinner and get a good nights sleep prior to my day of hiking.

The next day dawned bright and sunny. The initial weather forecast called for rain, but the morning sun suggested otherwise. I looked forward to a good day of hiking. I made my way to the Big Meadows area of the park (around mile marker 51) and decided to grab lunch before hitting the trail. By the time I got to the beautiful Big Meadow Lodge, clouds had moved in and the sky was threatening. I hoped that if I gave it some time, the clouds would clear, and the weather would be good enough to hike.

Big Meadows Lodge is a large post and beam building that includes several lodge rooms, the Spottswood Dining Room, the New Market Taproom, as well as a terrace for lounging and enjoying the scenery. I went into the Spottswood Dining Room and ordered a Big Meadows Cobb Salad. Since I was soon to hike, I didn’t want anything too heavy. The salad was surprisingly good, featuring field greens, bacon, cherry tomatoes, blue cheese, roasted corn, pecans, hard boiled eggs, and avocado.

When I finished, I drove the short distance to Big Meadows Amphitheater, where the trailhead for the Lewis Spring Falls Trail is located. On the way there, rain began to pelt the windshield, tentatively at first, then more insistently. Colin had warned me that we were likely to get rain, and he cautioned me not to get caught in a downpour. I had hoped he was wrong, but it appeared his prediction was coming true.

My schedule only allowed for two days in the park, and I didn’t want to waste one sitting around waiting for the rain to stop, so I decided to drive the length of the park on Skyline Dr., a 105-mile- long scenic road that runs along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains and cuts through the center of Shenandoah.

As I drove, the rain was on-again, off-again. When it eased, I’d stop to take photos at some of the dozens of overlooks on Skyline Dr. Many of the overlooks feature spectacular vistas of the river and valley below, as well as other mountains in the distance.

While I was visiting the park store at Dickey Ridge, I saw a CD audio tour of the park designed to be played while driving on Skyline Dr. As I drove, I regretted not buying the CD. With every turn of the road, I wondered about the history of the area or the significance of certain landmarks.

The drive on Skyline Drive turned out to be a more tiring endeavor than I anticipated. The speed limit along the road fluctuates between 25 and 35 miles per hour, which makes for a long day driving a total of 210 miles. By the time I was done, I was ready for a beer and some hot food.

Back in Front Royal, I visited Vibrissa Beer & Kitchen a trendy microbrewery in the downtown district. I ordered a Polo Lager, a malty amber beer, and set out to look over the menu. I was in the mood for bar food, so I ordered eight wings tossed in buffalo sauce, with blue cheese on the side. Although the wings I got were tossed in barbeque sauce rather than buffalo, they were still very good. The wings were meaty, and the sauce was good and tangy.

Back at my room, I turned in early, preparing for a good hike the next day. I fell asleep quickly, but thunderstorms woke me around midnight. I love a good thunderstorm, so I enjoyed it best I could, hoping that the storm would get all rained out, and the next day would be sunny.

The next day was not sunny. Although it wasn’t raining when I woke up, the sky was threatening and rain was forecast throughout the day. It was my last day in the area, and I badly wanted to go hiking. I didn’t feel like sitting in my hotel room waiting for the rain to pass, so I decided to leave Front Royal and head to Tennessee a day early. My hope was that I could get in some hiking once I reached my destination.

My trip to Shenandoah National Park didn’t turn out the way I had hoped, but I was grateful to have seen the park, to have driven from one end to the other (twice), and to have gotten a t-shirt to commemorate my visit. I vowed to return some sunny day in the future. And I also committed myself to do as the park ranger recommended and get my money’s worth out of my lifetime park pass.

Until next time…

In my last dispatch, I talked a bit about my need to start eating healthier and get some exercise. That’s not what this post is about. This post is about gluttony.

My friend Sean lives in Newport, Rhode Island, but is spending the summer in California, teaching creative writing to gifted teens through a program with Johns Hopkins University. When he graciously offered his apartment as refuge during my homeless tour of America (Thank you, Sean!), I saw an opportunity to spend some time in New England, a part of the country I’ve neglected in my past travels.

The plan was to use Sean’s apartment as a home base to travel around New England, with stops in Boston, New Haven, and maybe New York City. I decided to get to Sean’s and play it by ear from there.

Front Royal, VA

Rather than drive straight through from Tennessee to Newport, I decided to break up the drive by spending a night in Front Royal, VA. There was nothing special about choosing Front Royal. It just happened to be roughly midway between my starting and ending points, and it was close to the highway, so I chose it. As it turned out, staying in Front Royal would completely change my future travel plans.

When I arrived at the hotel, the area had just experienced a significant downpour. The electricity was out, and the National Weather Service had issued a flash flood warning. Nice timing on my part. I checked into my room, then proceeded to sit in the dark with no air conditioning. I was hungry and wanted to go out for dinner, but I was afraid that the power outage would shut down restaurants in the area. Mercifully, after about a half hour of texting and playing games on my phone in the dark, the power came back on, so I decided to venture out.

The first two restaurants I went to were closed because of the power outage. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find a place to eat, then I happened upon Brick House Bar & Grill. The lights were on and there were cars in the parking lot, so I decided to give it a try.

The Brick House Bar & Grill is in what appears to be an old industrial building. The ceilings are high, the walls are made of brick, and the space is very open, like in a warehouse. I was greeted by a nice young lady at the hostess stand and was led to my table near the bar.

I ordered a Black and Blue Ridge Burger, which consisted of a quarter pound burger patty, blue cheese crumbles, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and onions. It was terrific. There was plenty of blue cheese, the meat was tasty but not overdone, and the tomatoes, onions, and pickles were the perfect compliment. I eschewed the lettuce. The burger normally comes with fries, but I opted for tater tots (I swear I’ve eaten more tater tots in the last couple of months than I have in the last several years).

When I got back to the hotel, I was looking through pamphlets for area attractions when I suddenly realized that Front Royal is the northern gateway to Shenandoah National Park. I had no idea. I’ve long wanted to visit all of our national parks, but to date, have only spent time in Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I made a mental note. At some point, I need to come back to Front Royal to visit Shenandoah.

Newport, RI

The next morning, I hit the road to Newport. During the drive, I was listening to the audiobook of American Ramble by Neil King. The book is part memoir, part travelogue. The author had been battling cancer, and when his treatments ended and his health improved enough to allow it, he set out to walk from his home in Washington, DC to New York City. It was a walk of self-discovery as much as it was a ramble through our nation’s early history and an exploration of the way we relate to one another in the modern world.

I enjoyed the book and the curiousness of its author. But what struck me most was that I was driving through some of the very areas King traversed on his journey, albeit in a vehicle rather than on foot, like King.

I couldn’t help but notice how outgoing King was during his walk, meeting new people and relishing the opportunity. I used to be that way. I’d talk to anyone, and I enjoyed meeting new people. I’m not that way anymore, and it bothers me. I don’t understand the change. After I had throat cancer in 2003-04, I became more introverted. I have no idea why that would be, although I’ve been told that chemo can impact the brain and potentially tweak a person’s personality. I have no idea if that is accurate, but it’s as good an explanation as any.

Around lunchtime, I was driving through New Jersey when I noticed a sign for Fuddruckers. It had been years since I’d eaten at a Fuddruckers, and I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

If you’re not familiar with Fuddruckers, it is a burger restaurant that is a cross between a TGI Fridays, a Five Guys, and maybe a couple of other places (that’s a pathetic description). In the old days, when I’d visit the Fuddruckers in Brookfield, WI, I’d always order a ribeye steak sandwich with provolone cheese, and a side of onion rings. I decided to recreate my order, with the only change being blue cheese instead of provolone (and I wonder why I have such a hard time losing weight).

After getting my order, I added ketchup and Worcestershire sauce to the sandwich, and got some nacho-type cheese for the onion rings. It was sublime (my mouth is watering just writing these words). For the past several years, I thought Fuddruckers had gone out of business. My old haunt in Brookfield was closed down, as were the other Fuddruckers I was aware of throughout the Midwest and southeast United States. But they are still going strong in New Jersey, and for all I know, they still have restaurants in other locations. I made a mental note to keep my eyes peeled for their sign.

This shouldn’t be a surprise, but the closer I got to New York, the heavier the traffic became. As I drove through the city, I hoped that traffic would ease after I got to the other side and headed into Connecticut, but that wasn’t to be. In fact, traffic stayed fairly heavy all the way to Newport.

The weather was hot and humid in Newport even as we approached sundown, with highs in the high 80s to low 90s. I worked up a sweat just taking my suitcase out of the car, and it was literally dripping off me after carrying my ridiculously heavy suitcase up three flights of stairs to Sean’s apartment. There was no elevator, and to my horror, no air conditioning.

I had gotten into town a little later than expected, and I was anxious to eat, despite the fact that I really wasn’t hungry. The steak sandwich from earlier in the day was staying with me. I simultaneously wanted to eat and not eat. In many ways, I am a creature of habit. I eat lunch around noon, whether I’m hungry or not. Likewise, dinner is around 6:00. It was already past 7:00, and despite not being hungry, I felt the compulsion to eat.

Sean mentioned a restaurant down on the Newport waterfront called The Moorings Seafood Kitchen. I decided to give it a try. Many of the buildings along the waterfront in Newport date back to the 17^th and 18^th centuries. They are among the oldest buildings in the country. Seeing those types of buildings isn’t unusual in New England, but having lived in the Midwest and southeastern parts of the country my whole life, I wasn’t used to it.

I had a strange reaction being around these buildings, a reaction I don’t completely understand. Being around them made me uncomfortable. I love history, and I’m certain if I had taken a tour of the area from a historical perspective, I would have enjoyed it. But being among the buildings on the waterfront, I felt an unease I can’t fully describe. It was the same thing I felt the first time I visited the old Spanish structures in Saint Augustine, FL. It’s very strange.

Despite my discomfort, I went into The Moorings and found a seat at the bar. I ordered a Buttonwoods Pilsner and began to look over the menu. I love seafood and hated the fact that I was at this highly-acclaimed seafood restaurant without much of an appetite. I ended up ordering a cup of the scallop chowder, as well as lobster and shrimp fritters.

Although the scallop chowder was very good, it was just clam chowder with scallops substituted for clams. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I guess I expected a completely different concoction. The lobster and shrimp fritters were wonderful. They were paired with a maple chipotle aioli that was delicious.

Eating good food makes me happy. There’s a spiritual component to having excellently prepared food that is hard to describe, but which somehow speaks to the soul. After eating the chowder and fritters, I was feeling especially good about my place in the world, and I decided to order a second beer. Life was very good.

Back at Sean’s apartment, I began thinking about whether I’d rather stay in the area to explore Newport, Boston, and maybe New York, or if I’d rather spend that time in Shenandoah National Park. I’ve always wanted to visit Boston and New York, but honestly, it’s something I’d rather do with someone else. Conversely, hiking in a national park was something I could do by myself. The decision was made. I was going to leave Newport the next day and go to Shenandoah.

However, there was one thing I was determined to do before I headed back to Front Royal. I was born and raised in the Chicago area, and I’m proud of our pizza heritage. Chicago-style thin crust pizza—also known as tavern-style pizza—is my favorite. So, it struck me as suspicious that Dave Portnoy of Barstool Sports, and the creator of the One Bite pizza app, recently crowned New Haven, CT as the pizza capital of America. I wanted to object, but the truth is, I’ve never had New Haven-style pizza. While I was in the Northeast, I needed to remedy that situation. So, I loaded up my vehicle and headed back down the road from Newport to New Haven.

New Haven, CT

For the uninitiated, here’s how I described New Haven-style pizza in a previous post entitled “Know Your Pizza”:

“The New Haven-style crust is thin, similar to a Neapolitan pizza, and is often oblong, as opposed to round. The pizza is normally cooked in a coal-fired oven, giving it a charred, chewy bite. The sauce and cheese are both applied sparingly, making a New Haven-style pizza drier than most other pizzas.”

My plan was to hit five different pizzerias in two days. To kick off my pizza extravaganza, I wanted to start with the granddaddy of them all, Frank Pepe’s Pizzeria Napoletana.

Frank Pepe’s Pizzeria Napoletana

I arrived at Pepe’s at about 10:30 in the morning. When I pulled into the parking lot, there were only a few cars. I knew Pepe’s didn’t open until 11:00, so I sat in the car for a while and waited for the doors to open. But I grew bored and decided to enjoy the morning on a bench that sat between the building and the parking lot entrance. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see the front door, so I kept an eye on the clock. At 10:55, I walked to the front of the building to find that a line had formed while I lounged in my vehicle and on the bench. I was maybe tenth or fifteenth in line. But no worries. When the doors opened, we all made it in and were seated.

I was given a small booth that sat straight across from a mini split blowing out ice cold air. My waitress came by and took my order. Normally when I try a new pizza place, I order a sausage and mushroom pizza so I can compare apples-to-apples with other pizzerias. But on the drive from Newport, I thought about it and decided that there was no need to rank the pizzas in order of preference. Instead, I’d order the house specialty to get a real feel for what each pizzeria does best. At Pepe’s, that meant that I ordered the white clam pizza (it was invented by Frank Pepe) and a tomato pie with mozzarella, which the New Haven Italians call “mootz.”

As I waited for my pizzas, I struggled to stay warm. Part of me wanted to ask for a different booth, but the truth was, the entire restaurant was freezing cold. The pizzas I ordered were both smalls, but when they arrived, I was surprised with how relatively large they were. They weren’t huge, but they seemed big for being smalls.

My first bite was of the white claim pizza, which consisted of fresh clams, garlic, oregano, grated pecorino Romano, and olive oil. The clams were a little chewy (as clams tend to be), and the pizza was dry. It doesn’t have a traditional sauce, only olive oil, so that shouldn’t have been too surprising. The crust was thin and crisp, with a smoky taste from Pepe’s ancient coal-fired oven. The pizza wasn’t horrible, but neither was it great, or even very good. I was disappointed.

The tomato pie was better. The sauce was a little bland, but not bad. Of the two, I preferred the tomato pie, but I wasn’t crazy about either.

One thing I have to mention is that New Haven-style pizzas are traditionally cooked in coal-fired ovens. Doing so causes the crust to char, leaving black, sooty debris on the skin of anyone that touches a slice, making it look vaguely like they been working in the garden. Several times during my lunch, I felt the need to wash my hands because of the black residue. I guess it’s part of he charm of eating New Haven-style pizza, but it’s a charm that was lost on me.

Zeneli Pizzeria e Cucina Napoletana

Because I had five pizzerias I wanted to hit, but only four meals to spread them over, I decided to have a second lunch across the street from Pepe’s at Zeneli Pizzeria e Cucina Napoletana. Zeneli’s is a small, intimate pizzeria that was started by an Albanian family that immigrated first to Naples, Italy, where they learned the pizza trade, then to New Haven. I thought the slogan on their menu, “Finally good pizza has arrived in New Haven” was kind of gutsy considering the city’s pizza history and tradition, particularly in the Little Italy neighborhood where both Pepe’s and Zeneli’s are located.

Although Zeneli’s wasn’t particularly busy, the service was slow. One person was waiting tables both inside and out (Zeneli’s has built a covered, outdoor seating area in front of their restaurant), as well as working the bar and the register. I was in no hurry, so I studied the menu to make sure I knew what I was going to order when the waitress finally found time for me. Of course, when she made her way to my table, I drew a blank and had to look at the menu again.

I ordered a Tartufella, which has fresh mozzarella, black truffle and mushroom cream, and sweet Italian sausage. The crust of my Tartufella was the thinnest crust I have ever seen on a pizza. It was practically translucent. In fact, it could not adequately support the weight of the toppings, causing it to flop when being eaten.

If I’m being honest, I was a little disappointed in the pizza. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t live up to the lofty expectations I had after reading the ingredients. Sausage and mushroom is my thing when it comes to pizza, but the sausage was mediocre, lacking in taste,  and the mushrooms—or more accurately, black truffle and mushroom cream—was kind of bland. Again, it wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t great.

By the way, of the first two pizzerias I visited—Pepe’s and Zeneli’s—Dave Portnoy gave them an 8.5 and 7.2 out of 10 respectively. I would not have given nearly such high scores. And unlike Dave, I preferred the pizza I had at Zeneli’s over Pepe’s. To each, their own.

Sally’s Apizza

That evening, I visited Sally’s Apizza, probably the second most famous pizzeria (behind Pepe’s) in New Haven. When I arrived, there was a line of about 30 people waiting out front, but I was able to snag a parking spot right in front of the restaurant.

One thing I’m not used to, being a small town guy, is the struggle for parking that businesses in New Haven have to deal with. Unlike Pepe’s, Sally’s does not have their own parking lot, and street parking is at a premium. So, I was super lucky to find a spot right in front of the restaurant.

It took about 30-40 minutes to finally get a table. Like Pepe’s, Sally’s is an old school restaurant that looks like it hasn’t been updated in 40 years. I don’t mean that as a slight. The retro feel adds to the vibe of both places.

At Pepe’s and Zeneli’s, the pizzas were basically circular. At Sally’s, they were oblong, which is a hallmark of handmade Neapolitan pies. I ordered two pizzas again: a mozzarella and tomato sauce pie and a pizza Margherita. The specialty at Sally’s is probably either the white clam pizza or the potato and Rosemary special, neither of which tickled my fancy, so I called an audible. I’m glad I did.

The Margherita was initially very tasty, although the allure of the pie seemed to subside as it cooled. Like the white claim pie at Pepe’s, the Margherita was kind of dry for my taste, although, as I said, I really did enjoy the first couple of slices. The tomato sauce was sweet and tasty, the mozzarella was fresh, the drizzle of olive oil added flavor to the pie, and the basil gave it visual appeal, although I didn’t eat it. As much as I enjoyed for the first couple of slices, I ultimately ended up a bit disappointed.

By contrast, the mozzarella and tomato pie was very good, with plenty of Sally’s signature sweet tomato sauce. I think it’s fair to say that Sally’s mozzarella and tomato pie was the best I had in New Haven. To that point, I was feeling a little despondent, making the trek to New Haven only to have pizza I didn’t like much, but Sally’s turned things around.

While at Sally’s, I also had a Foxon Park Root Beer. Foxon Park is a local soft drink company, and several restaurants have it on their menus. Like much of what I was tasting in New Haven, the root beer seemed to fall short of expectations. Foxon Park’s Root Beer has a more bland, less distinctive taste than other root beers I’ve had in the past. It especially falls short compared to root beers from places like Sprecher’s or Calvin’s 1836. In fact, I even prefer such mainstream brands as A&W, Barq’s, and Dad’s Root Beer to Foxon Park.

When it came to Sally’s, Dave Portnoy and I agree that it is better than Pepe’s or Zeneli’s. However, Dave gave it a monster score of 9.2, significantly higher than I would have gone. I would have scored it around 8.1.

Modern Apizza

With only two pizzerias remaining, things were looking up. For lunch the next day, I gave Modern Apizza a try. When you enter the restaurant, you are actually entering a vestibule of sorts, where you are expected to wait until a host or hostess comes out to get your name and the number in your party. That sounds worse than it is. The hosts and hostesses I encountered were very friendly, and the wait was not particularly long.

Once inside, I ordered a tomato and mozzarella pie as well as my go to favorite, sausage and mushroom. For a drink, I again went with a Foxon Park Root Beer (I didn’t say I hated it. It’s just not as good as other root beers I’ve had).

I tried the tomato and mozzarella pie first. It was very good, on par with Sally’s. If I want to be picky (I usually do), I found Sally’s sauce just slightly better, but Modern’s was close behind. The sausage and mushroom pizza was also good. The sausage at Modern was much better than the sausage used by Zeneli’s, but not as good as you would find at virtually any local Chicago pizzeria.

At Modern, as it was at Pepe’s and Sally’s, I was perturbed with the black marks I got on my hands from the coal-fired crust. It’s a small thing to complain about, but it did get annoying constantly having to wipe my hands.

For dinner, my plan was to go to Bar Pizza, but as I found out, their seating is limited and they were completely booked for the evening. Just as well. I had my fill of New Haven-style pizza. Despite some high points at Sally’s and Modern, I failed to see the alure of the pizza, or Dave Portnoy’s declaration of New Haven as the Pizza Capital of America. To my mind, Chicago still holds that title, with New York a distant second.

My time in Connecticut was up. It was time to head to Shenandoah National Park to try to hike off some of my gluttonous behavior in New Haven. I looked forward to getting out of the densely-packed Northeast and once again enjoy the wide open spaces. Until next time…

I left Aurora (see my last post) and headed south to Tennessee. Although I was staying in Murfreesboro, I would also be spending time in Nashville, and making at least one visit to Pleasant View, a small town midway between Nashville and Clarksville where I’m building a house.

In Murfreesboro, I had dinner with my son and future daughter-in-law, Isabelle, who I call Izzy. We met at Neighbors Bar & Grill, a new place in Murfreesboro. And like most new places that open in Murfreesboro, it was packed. There were no tables available, so we went across the street to Drake’s, another newer restaurant that used to be constantly packed until Firebird’s Steakhouse and Neighbor’s opened up nearby. The public is fickle, always looking for the next new, shiny object.

Unfortunately, Drake’s disappointed. Izzy and I both got the filet and grilled chicken combo. The 4.5 ounce filet was cooked perfectly (medium-rare), yet it was tough and tasteless. The grilled chicken was dry and overcooked, although it had a good taste. I got my meal with tater tots (like any 12-year-old child). The tots were very good, although not good enough to make up for the crappy steak and chicken.

Of course, the meal wasn’t the point of getting together with Louis and Izzy. Any time I come to town, it is good to see them and catch up on their busy lives. Louis is an exercise physiologist at a cardiac clinic, and he also takes on a few clients as a personal trainer. Izzy is a nurse who recently passed her boards (or certification) to become a nurse practitioner. They are both constantly on the go, busy with both their personal and professional lives.

One of the reasons I’m moving back to Tennessee is to be closer to Louis and Izzy, as well as my daughter, Shelby. Louis and Izzy will be getting married in 2026, and Shelby is currently in a serious relationship. I want to be close to them as their young lives move forward. Could grandkids be in the cards? Truthfully, I think I’ll love being a grandfather, but I’m in no rush. My main concern is that my kids develop successful personal and professional lives. If that includes having kids, all the better. But no pressure.

It was good catching up with Louis and Izzy. My next day was open, so I made my way to Cedars of Lebanon State Park in Lebanon, TN. It’s one of my favorite places to hike. Since I hadn’t been out hiking in a while, I decided to go on the two-mile loop Cedar Forest Trail. I’ve hiked this trail more than any other trail in the world. It used to be my go-to trail when I lived in Murfreesboro previously. But the trail looked different. Park personnel had created a new entrance to the trail, and trees and brush had been cleared away from the trailhead. As I hiked, I saw more changes. It appeared that a tornado had swept through the park, downing trees throughout the area, including felling a few across the trail. There were so many downed and uprooted trees, I lost count. Crews had removed some of the larger trees that were blocking the trail, but other smaller trees were left in place, making for a slightly more strenuous hike.

It took me a good half-a-mile to settle into the hike. It seems to take so long to get into hiking shape, but it can be lost so quickly. After not hiking for more than a month, my trail legs were gone, and my cardiovascular system had taken a hit. I huffed and puffed along the trail, climbing over rocks and trees. I cursed myself for not staying in better shape. I like to eat and sit, and I tend to be good at both activities. Exercising always seems to take a backseat. I’m counting on my son to whip me into shape once I get to Tennessee full-time.

Thankfully, both my legs and my cardio system settled into a rhythm after a half mile. My legs felt stronger and my breathing and heart rate slowed. I love to hike. I really need to make it more of a priority in my life.

After two miles, I made my way back to the car, drenched with sweat, but feeling better about myself. There are so many benefits to exercise. Getting out and walking through the woods is a great way to spend your time. It helps strengthen your cardiovascular system, builds stronger muscles, and it improves overall fitness. But maybe the most important benefit is what it does to you mentally. It gives your mind a chance to quiet and just focus on the task at hand, and it tends to make you feel better about yourself. So, why don’t we exercise more? I can’t speak for everyone, but for me, it’s because I’m lazy. I’ll also add that I’m often busy and I don’t prioritize exercise. But mostly, it’s because I’m lazy. Let’s see if I can change that as my homeless tour of the nation continues.

That night, Louis, Izzy, and I went to Tijuana Flats, a Tex-Mex franchise. It was Louis and Izzy’s first time to the restaurant. I had been there a couple of times before and really didn’t care for it. Even so, I agreed to give it another try. I’m glad I did. The food was much better than I remember it. That makes me happy because the restaurant was started by a fellow alum from University of Central Florida.  Us Golden Knights have to stick together.

On Thursday, I met up with Shelby and her girlfriend Kara to move a couch and Clavinova (a kind of electronic piano made by Yamaha). She picked up a sectional sofa from a friend’s house without my help, but needed my assistance to move the Clavinova, which she was picking up from her mother’s house.

My ex-wife, Kim, and I have been separated for twelve years and divorced for nine after a marriage that lasted 28 years. We don’t see each other often, but when we do, we have learned to be generally civil to each other. Even so, it was odd being in her house, moving something that used to belong to both of us.

The word “surreal” is often overused, but I think it applies in this situation. Standing in Kim’s living room moving something that we bought and owned together felt surreal. I remember the discussions we had about buying it, the time we spent in the stores looking at options, the sound of the Clavinova as each of us played it. I don’t want to imply too much emotion about the experience. It wasn’t emotional. It was just strange. Even hours after leaving Kim’s house and delivering the Clavinova to Shelby’s, I still had this voice in the back of my head saying, “That was weird.”

When we were done at Shelby’s, she and I headed to Bartaco in East Nashville. We parked several blocks away from the restaurant only to find that Bartaco has their own parking lot. Oh well, the walk did us both good.

I ordered two tacos; one pork belly and one crispy shrimp. We munched on chips and salsa while we waited. It was the middle of the afternoon, so the restaurant was pretty empty. Nashville is full of restaurants like Bartaco; hipster joints that serve delicious, gourmet-style food, locally-brewed beer, and craft cocktails. I’m not a hipster, but I enjoy the bar and restaurant scene in the city. I hope to take greater advantage of it when I move nearby later this year.

The tacos at Bartaco were the smallest I’ve ever seen. When I saw them, I involuntarily thought about the movie Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. The crispy shrimp taco was pretty good, but I was disappointed in the pork belly. There wasn’t much to the taco to begin with, and the pork belly was dry and overcooked. Shelby suggested we get some fried plantains. I’m glad she did. I didn’t expect it, but the fried plantains at Bartaco are the best I’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot considering the amount of time I have lived in Florida, the fried plantain capital of America.

We went back to Shelby’s so she could shower, and I could move my laundry from the washer to the dryer (I was doing my laundry while I had the opportunity). Afterwards, we went to the Red Door Saloon in East Nashville for a couple of drinks. Shelby thinks it’s hilarious that I like the Red Door so much. I’m not sure why I do, but I’ve been there a few times and whenever I’m in town, I want to go back. Maybe it’s because the Red Door is a Chicago bar, with sports paraphernalia on the walls  for all of the Chicago sports teams. There’s even a sign in the bar directing patrons to visit the Country Club Bar in Wrigleyville the next time they are in Chicago. I like that.

I enjoyed sitting at the bar with Shelby, talking about our lives. I think Shelby and I usually communicate pretty well. I know it can be hard talking to your kids, especially as they get older, develop their own opinions, and build their own lives. But as we sat at the bar, Shelby and I opened up to each other, telling stories and sharing our feelings about a number of different issues. I’m sure the beer helped the conversation flow. Regardless, it was a wonderful time.

Shelby works as a sound engineer for country musician Jon Pardi. Her job keeps her on the road at least 50% of the time, so she is often unavailable to meet with me so we can waste time together, like we were doing at the Red Door. After a few drinks, it was time to leave. Shelby had other plans, and I needed to pick up my laundry. Moving furniture, eating mini-tacos, and drinking beer may not sound like the best day, but for me, it was fantastic.

In addition to seeing my kids, the purpose of my trip to Tennessee was to meet with the company building my home. Unfortunately, they’ve fallen behind (surprise, surprise) and were not ready to meet. So, on Friday, I drove out to Pleasant View to take a look at the house. When I got there, I saw that all four exterior walls were up, and workers were cutting holes in the walls for windows. In a few days, they’ll be ready to put the roof on.

I haven’t lived in a subdivision for a while. My home in Wisconsin sat back in the woods on 26 acres. Seeing the shell of my new house sitting on a postage stamp-sized lot was a bit of a shock. I mean, I wasn’t surprised about the size of the lot. I saw it before I bought the house. But seeing how much of it is taken up by the house and how relatively small the backyard is was a bit shocking. This is going to be quite the change.

On Sunday, I met Louis and Izzy for brunch at a little place near their apartment called Eggs Up Grill. I had not heard of it before, but it is apparently a franchise with locations across the southeast. We started with Eggs Up’s freshly made mini-donuts, split in half and filled with sweet custard and strawberries. They were finished off with a little powdered sugar. OMG! They were decadent and delicious. As I ate, I wanted to cry and sing and speak in tongues. They were that good.

For my entrée, I had a Crab Cake and avocado scrambler, which consisted of two crab cakes, chopped avocado, scrambled eggs, and chopped tomatoes with a hollandaise sauce. Delicious! I will definitely visit Eggs Up again, although I should probably start an exercise program and lose some weight first.

Leaving Tennessee this time was not as bittersweet as it usually is because this time, I know I’m coming back to stay. Until then, my journey continues. Next time, I’ll be in the northeast enjoying seafood on Narragansett Bay, pizza in what one person called the pizza capital of America, and I’ll visit a couple of our national parks.

I haven’t lived in Aurora, IL since 1984. Even for a few years before that, I was only a part-time resident, spending most of the year away at college. But even today, whenever I visit the Aurora area, I feel like I’m home. I still know my way around. I still know the names of most of the streets. And most importantly, I still know a lot of people in the area.

As I wrote in my last dispatch, flooding at my office in Wisconsin had me leaving Florida earlier than expected, and I found myself without plans for the 4^th of July weekend. The AirBnB I had rented in Wisconsin was booked for the weekend, so I had to figure out other accommodations. I decided to go back home to Aurora.

My first stop on the way to Aurora was in Malta, IL, a town I didn’t even know existed until my friend Linda “Luch” Luciani moved there several years ago. Luch has a beautiful little place out in the country that reminds me of Little House on the Prairie. We made plans to meet for lunch at Remington’s Gastropub in downtown Malta.

I got to Remington’s before Luch and was disappointed to see a sign on the door that indicated that due to a broken freezer, they were going to be closed for the day. I called Luch, and she suggested we go to Fatty’s Pub & Grille in neighboring DeKalb. I drove the ten minutes down the road to Fatty’s just to find that they too were closed for the 4^th of July. I called Luch again. This time, she suggested The Junction in DeKalb. The third time was the charm. They were open.

It’s a good thing that Luch and I had a lot of catching up to do because the service at The Junction was not speedy. In fact, we had to ask for extra ice twice, because the ice in our drinks had melted while we waited for our food. But the restaurant wasn’t the point of our visit. Seeing each other was.

Luch is a retired teacher who spent her career at Schaumburg High School. Actually, calling Luch retired is a bit of a misnomer. Although she’s not teaching in the classroom anymore, she does work one semester each year at Northern Illinois University (NIU) helping to coordinate the student teaching requirements of education majors. She also spends a good amount of time helping her son raise Shorthorn show cattle. Between her work at NIU, helping with the cattle, and visiting with her grandkids, she keeps plenty busy.

We had a nice slow lunch, then it was time for me to move on to Aurora for more visits. I didn’t have anything planned for 4^th of July evening, so I made my way to Portillo’s for a Chicago dog. What could be more American than having a hotdog on the 4^th of July?

The next day, my brother Mike and I went to lunch at Rambo’s Bar & Grill, near Mike’s home in Somonauk. Rambo’s is kind of a dive bar and restaurant that serves pizza from their sister restaurant, Uncle Milty’s Pizza Palace. Mike is particular about his pizza, so he ordered it well done with the edges rolled.

While we waited, we had a couple of beers and watched the beginning of the Cubs vs. Cardinals game. On another TV, IndyCar qualifying from Mid-Ohio was on. It was like being in sports Heaven.

Mike and I had a good time, reminiscing about our childhoods and the people we grew up with in our old neighborhood. Between being back in the Aurora area and talking about our younger years, my memory was working overtime.

I have always maintained that I had a great childhood. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. But I have to admit that as a writer, it makes it more difficult to write characters who are going through tough times or suffering trauma. If you’ve read any of my books, you know that, although the characters face challenges, things are often not as bad as they could be. I’ve been told in the past that I need to put my characters in worse, more dangerous, situations. I don’t disagree, but it can be tough when you had the kind of great childhood I had. Even so, I’m working on it.

After a few more beers, Mike and I parted ways, and I went back to Aurora. With no plans for the rest of the day, I drove around a bit, going past our old houses and exploring our old neighborhoods. The memories continued to flow.

I had a very different childhood than my kids had. I was a free-range kid who was given a ton of freedom from a young age. I think most of us back then were raised that way. I remember being just twelve or thirteen and routinely riding my bike on the Pioneer Trail from Aurora to St. Charles along the Fox River. I thought nothing of being that far away from home (about 15 miles). In contrast, I would have never allowed my kids to ride their bikes that far away from home at such a young age. Again, I think that type of more protective parenting was the norm when my kids were young, but it makes me sad that they didn’t get to experience the type of freedom I experienced as they were growing up.

My next visit was with my friends Keith and Mary Johnson. A week earlier, Keith retired following a 40+ year career in the corporate offices of Ace Hardware, so we met up at Granite City Food & Brewery in Naperville to celebrate.

Keith is one of three friends I’ve had since at least junior high that I have stayed close with over the years. The other two are Ken Jordan and Paul Baudouin. People say it is odd to stay so close for so many years, but that hasn’t been my experience.

A few years ago, our friend Bill Breeden, passed away following an issue with his heart. Bill’s death hit me hard, and ever since, I have made an effort to get Ken, Paul, Keith and myself together once a year or so. It can be hard to juggle schedules, especially when kids and grandkids are in the picture, but I definitely think it is worth the effort.

Bill’s death made me realize how important it is to stay in touch with friends, and how easy it is to lose touch with them. It’s not so much that we lost touch with Bill, but we didn’t stay as close to him as we could have. We took for granted that we had plenty of time to talk and hang out. But the truth is, none of us ever knows how much time we really have. Bill’s death brought that home to me.

Keith, Mary, and I had a good visit. I’m already looking forward to seeing them again soon. And with any luck, Paul and Ken will be there too.

With the end of my visit to Aurora, I’m back on the original schedule I set for myself for the summer. Next stop: Tennessee.

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” –Robert Burns

One of the things I have enjoyed most about my homeless tour of America this summer is planning the logistics of the trip. It’s fun to look at a calendar and fill the empty days like an artist filling a blank canvas. There’s a certain freedom involved with making plans for a three-month adventure.

But there’s a reason that the famous Yiddish proverb says, “Man plans, and God laughs.” Even the best laid plans are subject to change.

I was enjoying kicking around Florida, seeing friends and family, and visiting some of my favorite places. My tenure in Florida was supposed to last until the middle of July, but fate had other plans. While I was complaining about an insignificant rain shower in the Keys, my office in Wisconsin was being deluged with several inches of rain. Not only did my office flood, but I stored all of my furniture and other possessions in an empty office in the same building, and it got flooded too. It was time to head north.

As you might imagine, I was a little freaked out. My business was literally under water, and nearly everything I owned had been damaged by the flood waters. But something unexpected happened. I stopped freaking out.

I tend to like to control things. I’m not a control freak, but I prefer to direct the outcome of my life rather than accept whatever life brings my way. It’s how I’ve lived most of my life, and although the results have been mixed, I’ve generally been happy with the outcomes.

For whatever reason, this flood shifted my thinking. Rather than continually worrying about the flooding, I just accepted that all of my stuff had been ruined. When I let go of the attachment to my things, the worry dissipated. Suddenly, the idea of starting with a clean slate became appealing. I came to embrace the idea of starting over.

Although I welcomed this change in perspective, I have to admit that it surprised me. As I drove north toward Wisconsin, several times, I caught myself trying to get upset about the flood damage. It was an odd phenomenon trying to be upset. I couldn’t do it. I was at peace with whatever damage the flood had caused.

I didn’t know it during my drive, but I soon learned about the destructive power of attachments from Anthony de Mello, an Indian priest and psychotherapist. De Mello, who died in 1987, spoke about how attachments lead to unhappiness and anxiety.

Here’s how he described an attachment:

“An attachment is a state of clinging to something or someone that you believe is necessary for your happiness. Thus, attachments have you thinking, ‘Unless or until I get or can keep [fill in the blank], I cannot be happy’…Attachments have us thinking that, I cannot be happy unless I get out of debt . . . I can’t be happy unless my boss appreciates me. . . unless I make that sale . . . unless my neurosis goes away.”

I remember hearing something similar from a Buddhist teaching. In that case, it was that attachment and expectations lead to suffering. Remove the attachment or expectation, and suffering disappears. The Buddha taught that all things are impermanent, and attachment to them, whether material possessions, relationships, or even our own bodies, leads to dissatisfaction and pain when they inevitably change or cease to exist.

For de Mello, this does not mean that we have to give up enjoyment of the material world. There is a difference between denouncing the material world and simply detaching from it. As he explains, “One uses the material world, one enjoys the material world, but one does not make one’s happiness depend on the material world. We begin to enjoy worldly things when we are unattached because attachment makes us tense, frustrated, nervous, insecure and fearful. Let go of an attachment to something, and we begin to enjoy what it provides.”

Although this way of thinking was not completely new to me, I don’t think that I’ve ever practiced it before. The experience was a little uncomfortable, but the outcome was great. I detached the connection I had to my material possessions in the office, and I was happy despite potentially losing nearly everything I owned. I was at peace with whatever happened. It’s not a feeling I was used to, but I wanted more of it.

When I got to my office, things were much better than I expected. Not only had the office that houses my business dried out, but I found that my personal possessions had only suffered minor damage. My initial worry was a complete waste of time. I suppose that’s another important lesson I need to learn.

I’m thankful that the flood didn’t destroy my things, but I’m even more thankful for the change in my thinking that the flood brought about. As a result, I’m going to work hard in the future to stay detached from material possessions, relationships, and outcomes. Easier said than done, I know. But it’s a worthy goal.

My time in Wisconsin came to an end. I’ll be back at the end of the month, but it was time to head out on the road again, this time to see my brother and a couple of friends. More on that next time.

My spirit soars when the bright sun shines,
When blue skies reign o’er all
But for life to thrive, including mine
Sometimes the rain must fall

I love the Florida Keys, and over the years, I’ve been fortunate to spend some time there. I thought it might be fun to visit for a couple of days during my time knocking about the country, killing time until my house is ready in September.

There were two things I wanted to accomplish while I was in the area. First, I wanted to go to Key West to take some photos of the iconic bars on the island.

I have two cameras that I’ve been wanting to put to use for some time. The first I got seven years ago. The other, five years ago. Two years ago, I bought a nice telephoto lens to take photos of the wildlife around my property. I’m embarrassed to say that in that entire time, I’ve never taken even one photo. That’s right. Zero. Zilch. Nada.

I can’t fully explain why that is. I’ve had good intentions, but I just haven’t pushed myself to get out and use the cameras. I’d make plans, then realize I didn’t have an SD card, or the batteries were dead, or I didn’t have the right lens. I’ve also used the excuse that I really don’t know how to properly use a digital camera. I was raised on 35mm cameras, and I have very little experience with the digital variety. But truthfully, that’s a cop out. The digital camera literally only requires that you set it to automatic, turn the camera on, and push the button. It’s not complicated.

So, when I started this homeless journey, I promised myself that I would take some photos. I’ve followed through on that promise, taking a few photos here and there, but the effort has felt forced. I’m taking photos because I’m requiring myself to do so, not because there are scenes I really want to capture.

For whatever reason, there are only two things I really want to photograph. First, I love the sight of cattle out on pasture. I think it’s beautiful. A variation on that theme would be buffalo or horses out on pasture. It can be gorgeous and I’d like to take those photos.

The other thing I want to photograph is bars, both inside and out. I don’t know why I am drawn to bars, especially dive bars. I’m not much of a drinker anymore, yet I love to sit at a bar, love the look of a rustic tavern, love the beer lights in the windows of a worn, well-loved saloon. As you can tell, I also love the various names we have for establishments that sell alcohol by the drink.

So, my plan was to snap some photos of iconic bars in Key West like Sloppy Joe’s, Captain Tony’s, The Green Parrot, etc. I drove down from Miami Lakes, taking the only road into the Keys: U.S. 1. If you’re in a hurry, U.S. 1 in the Florida Keys is not for you. Traffic is often heavy, and speed limits are kept unnecessarily low. By the time I made it to Key West, I was feeling frustrated and stressed, the exact opposite of what you want to feel in the Keys. My frustration was made even worse when, just before I got to town, it started to rain.

June is not the busiest time of year in Key West, yet I couldn’t seem to find a parking spot. Even at the best of times, parking in Key West is at a premium, and I made the mistake of coming into town mid-day, when the tourists were out, and the bars and restaurants were getting into full swing. Between the lack of parking and the rain, I gave up. I’ll just come back tomorrow, I thought, as I turned around and headed toward Sugarloaf Key, where I would be staying for a couple of days.

I thought it might be fun to stay in an Airstream trailer for my visit. I’ve never understood the attraction to Airstreams. They are fairly basic when compared to other campers, yet they are very expensive. I wanted to give one a try for myself.

I stayed at the Sugarloaf Key RV Resort and Cottages. It was conveniently located between Marathon and Key West. The place was laidback, uncrowded, and the staff was very friendly and helpful. During high season (Nov-Mar), I could see the resort being a hive of activity. But in the heat of June, it was much quieter and unrushed.

The Airstream itself was nice, but not overly fancy. The AC unit was extremely effective. I’m still thawing out from the experience. The camper was comfortable, but not overly so. In fact, I thought it was kind of sparce. That’s not necessarily a bad thing, but I expected more bells and whistles. To be clear, I didn’t need the bells and whistles. I just expected them.

I said earlier that there were two things I wanted to accomplish during my visit to the Keys. The first was to take some photos. The second was to visit two different locations that I included in my two most recent books.

In The Ones That Got Away, the protagonist, Scott Thompson, runs away to the Keys after he finds out his child was fathered by another man (it’s complicated). While there, he meets a woman named Sheri, who is running away from her own problems. They hit it off, and when they go to No Name Pub for pizza, Scott thinks Sheri may be the woman for him. Why? Because they both like sausage and mushroom pizza. After Sheri ghosts him, Scott decides that liking the same go-to pizza toppings may not be the best indicator of true love.

Prior to writing the book, I was aware of No Name Pub, but I had never been there. So, I made my way to Big Pine Key to check the place out for myself.

I sat at the bar on a heavy wooden stool that was too high and made my legs fall asleep. The place is dark inside, and nearly every square inch of the walls and low ceiling are covered in one-dollar bills. I would guess there were thousands of dollars stapled to the walls.

The bartender, Josh, had a thick Boston accent that made me think of my friend Eddie, who I had seen the day before. He was friendly, and took my order for a Corona, as well as a sausage and mushroom pizza (life imitating art). The beer was cold, and the bar was humming. For a late Tuesday afternoon during low season, I was surprised how many people were packed into the place.

No Name Pub sits way off of U.S. 1. If you’re not looking for it, it’s unlikely you’d just stumble across it. That’s not how I envisioned it when I wrote about it in the book. I also didn’t expect it to be so dark inside. And the pizza? It’s considered some of the best pizza in the Keys, but if I’m being honest, it was just okay. I’ll admit, I can be a bit of a pizza snob. It wasn’t bad, but I’ve had much better.

After the pizza and another beer, I had to commemorate my visit by stapling a dollar bill to the ceiling. Most people write their name on the dollar along with the date or a funny saying. For mine, I wrote the names Scott & Sheri, along with a heart. If you visit No Name Pub, be sure to look for it.

I left Big Pine Key and went back to my Airstream for the night. The spot where the Airstream sits includes an outdoor dining table and a two-seat glider, as well as a charcoal grill, I went out to sit in the glider to plan my next day. I only had one more day in the Keys and I wanted to make the most of it.

The next morning, I headed back to Key West to take some photos. The weather on Sugarloaf Key was gorgeous, so I had high hopes. But as soon as I hit Key West, the rain started to fall again. The town was quiet. With the exception of Duvall Street—which is tourist central—very few people were out and about. The rain picked up and seemed to come down harder the closer I got to my destination. It dawned on me that it wasn’t mandatory that I take any photos. I wasn’t required to stand out in the rain, getting drenched, just to snap a few pictures. The realization was a relief. I could just be in Key West without having to take any photos. I drove around town, seeing the sights while staying dry. Maybe someday I’ll get those photos. But today was not that day.

I decided to leave Key West and head to Marathon for lunch. The closer I got to my destination, the more the skies cleared and the sun shined through. I had lunch at Porky’s BBQ and Seafood, opting for the BBQ pork tacos. Like a lot of restaurants in the Keys, Porky’s is under roof, but open air, meaning there are no walls. I like that vibe. It feels the way an island joint should feel.

The tacos were mediocre—good, but not great—and the service was friendly. Porky’s sits right on the water, so it was nice to be able to look out on Florida Bay while eating. It made the experience of eating mediocre tacos much more enjoyable.

I bummed around Marathon for a while before heading to Sugarloaf Key. On the way back, I turned off U.S. 1 on Cudjoe Key to look at the area where Henry, the protagonist of A Thousand Ways Home, ends up living at the end of the book (Spoiler Alert!). The houses that were there in the 1940s are gone, replaced by concrete block structures on pilings better designed to handle hurricane-force winds. Even so, I could imagine what it must have been like when the Keys were much less developed, when people lived so much more simply than they do now. Although the culture of that time might not appeal to me, the lifestyle surely does.

Shortly after I got back to Sugarloaf Key, the skies opened up and rain came down angry on the aluminum skin of my temporary home. The sound of rain, even when it’s coming down hard, always seems to relax me. I laid my head back and was quickly lulled to sleep by the insistence of the rain. A nap was just what the doctor ordered. When I woke an hour later, the sun was out and I felt like a new man. After a shower and a change of clothes, I headed to Kiki’s Sand Bar for happy hour.

Kyle, the bartender, welcomed me and quickly set a Landshark down in front of me. The wind was blowing hard off the bay, clearing out the humidity and cooling things down. Being at a bar by myself always makes me a little self-conscious. I generally don’t like doing things alone, including drinking. Even so, I was determined to get out and enjoy myself.

When I sat down, there were two couples at the bar with me. One was from Detroit. I didn’t talk to them, but heard all about their trip down and how things were back home before they left. In fact, I think everyone in the general vicinity heard them talking about their exploits.

There was another couple sitting across the bar who were having a difficult time keeping their hands off each other. She was good looking and younger than her partner. He was older and not particularly good looking. I wondered what the attraction was. Then I realized, that’s probably what other people have wondered when they’ve seen me with my past partners. That hurt. I need to try to be less judgmental.

The point is, being around these couples made me feel all the more alone. I fought through my self-consciousness with a couple more beers before putting in an order for conch fritters. They were delicious and encouraged me to order another beer and some grouper bites. I was on a roll. Unfortunately, the grouper bites were not great, which is a shame, because I love grouper. I could feel that my time in the Keys was coming to a close, and the thought made me sad. I decided to head back to the Airstream for the night. The glider was calling my name.

A lot has happened in the past few days. I had planned on staying in Florida for another week to ten days, but a problem is calling me back to Wisconsin. More on that next time.

I don’t really like the term “work friends.” It makes it sound like friends from work are somehow less than or not as important as “real friends.” I don’t buy that. I don’t have any hard facts to back this up, but I suspect that we spend more time with “work friends” than we do with “real friends.” And as a result, those “work friends” end up becoming “real friends.”

That’s what happened with two people I worked with more than 30 years ago. Eddie Pierce—who lovingly goes by “Fast Eddie”—was one of the first people I met when I began working in West Palm Beach. From the minute I met him, I knew Eddie was a character. It wasn’t just his strong Boston accent that gave me that idea. It was his jokes, often irreverent and inappropriate (but always funny). It was his work ethic, always the first one at the office and the last one to leave. And it was his commitment to his job. To be around him for any time, it was obvious that he cared deeply that we were all doing the right thing and taking care of our customers.

I met Eddie under difficult circumstances. I had been brought in to shake things up in our West Palm office. I had been working for State Farm Insurance for about 6 years at that point, and it was my understanding that we were supposed to be spending our insured’s money wisely. That meant paying everything we owe, but nothing more. Eddie felt the same way, and he soon became my right hand.

It was suspected that several of our employees had been taking kickbacks from area body shops. An investigation was completed and sure enough, we found evidence that some people were accepting “gifts” they weren’t supposed to be getting; others were doing what the body shop told them to do, not what we told them to do; and at least one person was using a company car to deliver pizzas at night. It was a mess. We ended up firing a few people, re-training some others, and hiring some new employees. Most of the hard work of all of that chaos fell on Eddie’s shoulders. Our trial by fire ended up bonding us together as co-workers and friends.

Over the years, Eddie and I have stayed in touch, and we made a habit of getting together at least once a year, even after I moved to Wisconsin. But in recent years, our visits have been less frequent. We would talk once in a while, but it wasn’t the same as getting together face-to-face. So, I made my way to West Palm, and Eddie and I got together for a long overdue lunch.

It’s funny how friends can fall right back into well worn patterns, even after long absences. That’s how it always is with Eddie and me. Eddie always has plenty of stories to tell (he’s a great storyteller), and I’m only too eager to listen.

I drove down after my visits in Melbourne the previous day to Twin Peaks, a restaurant in West Palm neither of us had been to previously. The best way I can describe it is an upscale Hooters with a mountain theme. Eddie was in his environment. He loves to tell jokes and entertain, and that’s exactly what he did. Our waitress, Kaylee, thought he was hilarious and adorable, which only made Eddie tell more stories.

Eddie has lived an extraordinary life. He moved to West Palm Beach in 1971, leaving the cold of Boston behind. Eddie was a master body man and fell in with exotic car builders in the area. For years, he worked hard all day and partied hard all night. He was young, and he was enjoying his new home, as well as the money he was making. His life became filled with expensive cars, fast boats, and gorgeous women. When I say “gorgeous women,” I’m not exaggerating. Eddie has dated some of the most beautiful women I have ever seen.

But as happens so often, those late, crazy nights took their toll, and it became obvious to everyone around Eddie that he had a serious drinking problem. He eventually lost his wife and was on the verge of losing his job. That’s when Ron Mislowsky stepped in.

Ron was in charge of our office in West Palm Beach. He saw something in Eddie that others wanted to dismiss. Ron made arrangements for Eddie to enter an alcohol rehab program, and stood by him as he went through his recovery.

I have known a few alcoholics in my life, some who had stopped drinking and others who had not. I’ve never known anyone who went through alcohol treatment and came out the other side stronger or better than Eddie. He not only pulled his life together, but in the next few decades, he built a successful career and has helped others make the same journey to recovery that he made. I know Eddie feels he owes it all to Ron, and I can’t argue that Ron was a tremendous friend to Eddie when he desperately needed one, but the majority of the credit goes to Eddie himself. He did the hard work, he showed the dedication to sobriety, and he paid it forward to his friends and colleagues.

Recently, Eddie had surgery to remove some pretty serious skin cancer from his face. As he said, when the doctor was done with him, his nose “looked like hamburger.” But he’s made a full recovery and the surgery left only small, faint scars. At 78 years old, Eddie still surrounds himself with expensive cars and beautiful women, but his nights aren’t as late as they used to be.

Eddie and I ended our long lunch, and I made my way to Miami Lakes, where I planned to stay for the night. The reason for my visit to the Miami area was to see another “work friend,”:  Isis Alsina.

Isis and I became friends in West Palm Beach right around the same time I met Eddie in 1992. We hit it off right away. We both had an irreverent sense of humor, and we both took our jobs seriously, but not ourselves. Some of my fondest memories of my time in West Palm are of Isis, Wayne Wallace (another long-time friend), and me sitting in my office talking. Those were good days.

While in Miami Lakes, I met Isis at El Novillo, a Nicaraguan restaurant in a beautiful, upscale area. Isis got the Churrasco and I got a trio of appetizers: country sausage, sauteed mushrooms, and pork baby ribs. Except for the ribs, the food was excellent (the ribs were way too dry). Isis shared a bit of her churrasco with me, and it was delicious; tender and tasty.

It was good to catch up with Isis. She retired a few years ago and I’m always intrigued with how she is spending her life. She’s working a part-time job that allows her to hang out with her friends, she’s traveling a bit, and she’s enjoying life. I love to see good things happen to good people.

Like Eddie, Isis has lived an interesting life. She was born in Cuba, moved to Mexico, then Miami, then New York, then Thailand, where she graduated from high school. She returned to Miami to go to college, and has lived mostly in South Florida ever since.

One interesting thing about Isis is that she has a beautiful singing voice and once recorded an album of Latin jazz called “New Directions.” She recorded with the great Arturo Sandoval, and even played the Buenos Aires Jazz Festival several years ago.

Despite her long tenure in Miami, she hates the heat, loves colonial architecture, and claims she’d like to move north someday. I’m interested to see if she actually ever makes the move.

As we always do, Isis and I compared notes on our love lives. Sadly for both of us, there was nothing to report. But even that sad fact gave us something to laugh about.

Our night came to a close with hugs and a promise to get together again soon. Then I was off to my hotel to prepare for my two-day Florida Keys adventure. More on that in my next dispatch.

There are few things in life as good or as important as sharing time with friends and family. I’m not sure I realized that when I was younger. I had a different attitude back then. I wanted to constantly be on the go, and my personal achievements and success often took precedence over everything else. But now, at the age of 65 (I swallow hard every time I type that), spending time with friends and family is at the top of my priority list.

As you know from my last missive, I’m currently bumming around the country waiting for construction on my new house to be completed. My journey started in Cedar Key, then I made my way across Florida to Melbourne to see my sister, Cindy.

Cindy is currently battling breast cancer. The doctors have told her that there’s nothing they can do to get rid of it, but they are continuing chemotherapy in an effort to prolong her life. I was pleased to see that she is doing pretty well. In fact, I thought she looked and moved better than she had when I last saw her in March.

Cindy has accepted her fate. I suppose that’s good, but for her loved ones, we continue to pray for a miracle, even though we know how unlikely that might be. But her continued good health (relatively speaking) and good attitude stokes the fire of hope we have that somehow, someway, she’ll be able to beat this cancer. Even as I know I’m setting myself up for massive disappointment, I continue to look for signs of a pending miracle.

We met at Miller’s Ale House in Viera. Cindy, my brother-in-law Craig, and I sat in a booth opposite the bar. In front of my brothers and me, Craig has put on a brave face. Like me, he continues to hope for a cure the doctors say will never come. But I know, below the surface, he’s scared. Who wouldn’t be in his situation? His wife, the mother of his two children, is facing a death sentence, and the most he can do is put on a brave face and be supportive. It must be the most helpless feeling in the world.

Craig’s devotion to Cindy reminds me of my own experience with cancer. In 2003 I was diagnosed with stage 4 throat cancer. Doctors tried to determine what was wrong with me for nine months before they finally diagnosed me with cancer. By that time, the tumor at the base of my tongue was large enough to be seen by the naked eye.

Kim, my wife at the time, couldn’t have been a better partner. Despite whatever problems we had in our marriage, you’ll never hear me utter a negative word about the care she provided to me while I went through cancer treatments. She was loving, thoughtful, and supportive; a true partner. I’m seeing that same thing from Craig. Cindy is lucky to have him by her side through these difficult days.

After our visit, we went back to Cindy and Craig’s house for dessert. Whenever we get together, Cindy insists on serving dessert. I’m not complaining. We had chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream. I’m more of an ice cream man than I am a fan of chocolate cake, but both were delicious. Afterwards, we sat and talked about anything and everything. It was nice to spend time together and just let the conversation go wherever. It’s one of the things I missed most while living back in the woods in Wisconsin. Although I like my privacy, I missed being around other people and sharing time together.

After our visit, I drove south down I-95 to Palm Bay to see my friends Mike and Rhonnie. For several years, Mike was my teammate when we both raced sports cars. We used to spend a lot of time together at the racetrack, but in the last ten years, we haven’t seen each other nearly as much. Just as it had been with Cindy and Craig, it was good to catch up with Mike and Rhonnie to talk about whatever any of us had on our minds.

Mike recently retired from his job and he hasn’t yet settled into a routine. I’ve known him for a long time and I don’t think there’s any chance he’s going to be lazing around. He already has a bunch of projects lined up in the queue and I suspect he’ll be working as hard—if not harder—on those projects than he was at his former job.

For most people, I’d say Mike’s retirement will give him and Rhonnie the opportunity to travel more, but I doubt if that’s the case. They already travel two or three months out of the year. In the past, their jobs allowed them to do that. So, I don’t think Mike’s retirement will result in more traveling. I also doubt if they’ll be traveling less. They already have another trip to England planned for later this year.

I had to say goodbye to Mike and Rhonnie so I could meet my pal Greg at one of my favorite restaurants, Bunky’s Raw Bar & Grill  in Indialantic. I’ve known Greg almost as long as I’ve known Mike and Rhonnie. When I first met him, he was an insurance defense attorney. I watched him develop into an excellent litigator, then take his skills to the other side of the “v.”, representing injured plaintiffs. He built a solid, lucrative career as a plaintiff attorney. Then a couple years ago, he decided to shut down his practice, sell his building, and head out to conquer the Appalachian Trail.

Let me tell you a big difference between Greg and me. Greg willingly tackles challenges by himself. His wife, Jenn, is very supportive, but she has no interest in hiking the Appalachian Trail or taking on some of the other challenges on his bucket list. By contrast, I hate doing things by myself.

Since my divorce in 2016, I have made one plan after another, only to abandon them because I didn’t want to do whatever I was planning by myself. And I’m not just talking about big undertakings. I’ve canceled small things—like going to dinner or to a ballgame—because I didn’t want to do it alone. This cross-country adventure I’m on is at least partially an effort to break myself of this bad habit. And as you might have guessed, I’ve thought about canceling the cross-country adventure a time or two. So far, I’m sticking to my plans.

Not only did Greg complete the Appalachian Trail (by himself), he has since written a book to help others over the age of 50 do the same thing (publication pending). And for good measure, earlier this year, he hiked the Camino de Santiago in Spain. Impressive, isn’t it?

After a few beers, a blacked mahi sandwich, and some tater tots (I know tater tots are for toddlers, but I like them), it was time to say goodbye. What a great day it had been, catching up with family and friends, enjoying drinks and good food, and just spending time together. Sometimes, the simplest things are also the most precious.

I was sitting at a table at The Tipsy Cow Bar & Grill in Cedar Key, FL enjoying a shrimp quesadilla, which they call a Shrimp-a-dill-a. My day on Cedar Key was the official kickoff to what I have variously called my Homeless Tour of America, My Great Summer Adventure, and the Summer of Lou. I’m still not sure what I’m going to call it, but it was made possible when I sold my house in Wisconsin and bought a new-build home in Tennessee that is not going to be finished until the middle of September. I have to stay somewhere, so I thought I’d take the opportunity to do a little traveling, see family and friends, and enjoy my homelessness.

At the Tipsy Cow, Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” played over the speakers and Baywatch was on the TV near the bar. Lt. Stephanie Holden (played by Alexandra Paul) was being held hostage, and it seemed that even the great Mitch Buchanan (played by the equally great David Hasselhoff) wouldn’t be able to save her. I was enthralled by the show. Between the music and the images on the TV, I was transported back to the much simpler times (at least for me) of the 1980s. But then the server brought my lunch and I decided to let Lt. Holden fend for herself. It was time to eat.

It wasn’t just the music and TV show that made it seem like a throwback to the 80s. The rustic vibe and bohemian charm around Cedar Key made it feel that way too. It was as if I had crossed a bridge and gone back in time.

Cedar Key is located a little over an hour west of Gainesville, FL and about two-and-a-half hours north of St. Petersburg on Florida’s Gulf Coast. The island is home to about 750 people, as well as the Cedar Key National Wildlife Refuge, which itself is home to about 20,000 birds. But those numbers were once much higher. In the mid to late 1800s, Cedar Key was a thriving town of more than 13,000 people, and the area was home to more than 200,000 birds. Today, things are not booming the way they once were for either people or birds on Cedar Key.

Last year, the area was hit by Hurricane Helene, a devastating storm that produced a great deal of destruction along the west coast of Florida. After ravaging the Gulf Coast, Helene then turned inland, made its way across Georgia, and settled into western North Carolina, inundating that region with rain and causing terrible flooding.

Cedar Key experienced a 14-foot storm surge that submerged much of the island, with water making its way into nearly every home and business. The destruction is still visible in many areas, and work continues to repair and rebuild structures across the Key.

I couldn’t help but notice that there are dozens of homes for sale throughout Cedar Key. In some ways, the area feels like a hidden paradise, off the beaten path, but well worth the effort to get there. But below the surface, the island is facing an existential crisis.

Cedar Key’s economy relies on tourist dollars to survive, but since the hurricane, the economy has taken a real hit. Many people have decided to leave, tired of hurricanes (2024 was an especially tough year) and the struggle to earn a living on a remote island. But the bigger culprit in driving people off the island is the cost of homeowners insurance.

Florida’s insurance market is an absolute mess, and Cedar Key—which, after all, is an island that sits barely above sea level—has felt the fallout from the insurance market especially hard. Assuming homeowners on the Key can get insurance, it’s almost always unaffordable. One person I spoke to said that many people are paying more for homeowners insurance each year than the cost of their mortgage.

Despite its struggles, Cedar Key remains a unique destination that is quaint, laid-back, and has an Old Florida feel. In contrast to many of Florida’s tourist areas, which are commercial and often overrun, Cedar Key harkens back to a time gone by, when life was slower, more friendly, and less crowded. There are plenty of restaurants, bars, and boutique shops, but there aren’t hundreds of things to do, like in other areas of Florida. There are no amusement parks or massive miniature golf courses. No outlet malls or chain restaurants. What there is is water, and lots of it. Boating swimming, fishing, lying on the beach, and birding on nearby islands are the area’s strong suit.

During my visit, I took a boat tour with Captain Doug’s Cedar Key Tours. Captain Doug Maple left Georgia 25 years ago to enjoy the natural splendor of the inland. He is a graduate of the University of Florida’s Master Naturalist Program, and he enjoys sharing his knowledge of the Island and its history with guests.

Our first stop was Atsena Otie Key. The Key is part of the Cedar Key Natural Wildlife Refuge and once served as home to the cedar trees that were made into pencils for the Faber Pencil Company. The company ran a sawmill on the island and shipped cut cedar planks north to New York. The planks were then whittled down, matched with graphite imported from Europe, and made into pencils that were sold around the world. Today, the Faber-Castell Pencil Company is the largest manufacturer of pencils on the planet.

In contrast to the Pencil Company’s success, Atsena Otie Key has become a ghost town. Once home to nearly 200 people, today, no one lives on the Key. The reason for that is that, in 1896, the homes and the Faber Pencil Company sawmill were destroyed by a powerful hurricane. Few people decided to remain on the island after the storm, and the Faber Pencil Company decided that there weren’t enough cedar trees left to make rebuilding the sawmill worthwhile. In 1923, the island was purchased for $500 by a private party, and in 1997, it was sold to the Suwanee River Management District (SRMD). The SRMD entered into an agreement with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to manage the island as part of the Cedar Key National Wildlife Refuge.

Today, visitors are allowed to use the beach on Atsena Otie Key and can take advantage of the hiking trails, but are otherwise prohibited from accessing the interior of the island. The same rules also apply to nearby Snake Key. However, during bird nesting season (March – June), access to the island is strictly prohibited. I found Snake Key especially interesting. We saw several different types of birds from the boat, including frigatebirds, roseate spoonbills, white ibis, cormorants, snowy egrets, great blue heron, and brown pelicans.

Snake Key has an interesting history, which includes once being used as a quarantine island for ships making their way to unload cargo on Cedar Key. Ships first had to stop on Snake Key to make sure they didn’t carry disease onto Cedar Key. Any sailors found to be ill were treated at a hospital on the island.

At one time, Seahorse Key was used as a military infirmary, and during the Second Seminole War (1835-1842), the island was home to a detention camp for enemy combatants. As Cedar Key became more of a shipping destination, a lighthouse was constructed on Seahorse Key. The lighthouse still stands today, but is no longer operated as a lighthouse. Instead, it is used by the University of Florida to house students who are conducting research in and around Cedar Key. In fact, several students were in the area collecting samples while I was in town.

After my day on the water, it was time for a drink. I stopped by Steamers Clam Bar and Grill and ordered a beer. After being out in the heat and sun, it tasted especially good and went down fast. So, I ordered another. My bartender, Mary, was only too happy to accommodate my request.

I was in the mood for seafood (after all, I was on an island in the Gulf of Mexico), and knew I wanted to try Steamer’s clam chowder. I knew the clams would be fresh because Cedar Key is home to several clam farming operations. But when it came time to order dinner, I forgot to order the chowder. Instead, I ordered a combo platter with blackened grouper, grilled scallops, and grilled shrimp. It was delicious, and with a side salad and sweet potato waffle fries, I had plenty to eat. Even so, I feel like I really missed out by not getting the clam clowder.

Steamers was not shut down because of Hurricane Helene, but that isn’t as good as it sounds. Less than a week before Helene hit Cedar Key, the building where Steamers used to be located on Dock St. was destroyed by a fire (the building is currently for sale).  Along with Steamers, Duncan’s on the Gulf, the Rusty Hook Bait Shop, and the Island Trading Post were also destroyed. When Helene arrived, Steamers hadn’t yet relocated to their current location on 2nd St. In other words, they weren’t operating when the island was hit by Helene. I’m not sure if that’s a blessing or not, but it may have allowed the casual restaurant to begin the healing process more quickly than other area businesses.

After dinner, I had another beer. I wish I could remember what brand it was. All I remember is that it was a blonde ale and it was very good.

With the end of the beer came the end of my day on Cedar Key. I have to say, I really enjoyed my visit, but I’m not certain everyone would like it as much as I did. Cedar Key is quiet, laidback, and unrushed. Not everyone finds that type of atmosphere attractive. I do, and I very much would like to visit again to enjoy all that Cedar Key has to offer. And next time I’m on the island, I’ll be sure to get the clam chowder at Steamers.