We are home for the holidays, with no plans for travel. Thanksgiving dinner will be at my son’s house and Christmas will likely be here. By that time, they will all be living in Plantation, Florida, with the exception of my grandson who will be with his mother in nearby Sarasota. We’re not expecting my wife’s daughters to visit until early January, so our next excursion won’t be until mid-month when we go to Orlando, and then we have house guests on-and-off through March, with a weekend in Key West. The world travelers are grounded for once – no long drives, flights, or cruises are planned. More importantly, no surgeries scheduled.

We’ll be stuck in our resort center for once, certainly as good as any Marriott Vacation Club. My Chair Yoga class will expand to two days a week, while my wife has already added an extra evening of tap. She will continue to teach school when they need help and maybe I’ll find a part-time gig. Her gardening, bridge, and aqua-fit activities will hopefully keep her mind off travel for a while. I’ve had enough of suitcases, delays, and tours, so I won’t miss being on the road. We need to take advantage of what we have here. 

I’m beginning to heal after a long year of aches and pains. Being home is exactly what the doctor ordered. Maybe next year, I’ll feel differently, but this year I’m home for the holidays, extending to the next holidays. 

Another day in the car but nearing the end. It started with what we expected was just an hour-and-a-half route into New Jersey. Instead, we failed to follow the directions and went more than an hour out of our way. We still had time for a hotdog and gas at WAWA before settling in the Flemington, New Jersey city known for the Lindbergh kidnapping. We enjoyed some snacks with our Florida neighbor friends in their summer home, and then promptly headed for the Unionville Winery to continue our afternoon grazing with a multi-bottle tasting. The evening was then spent over a salmon dinner and a game of Code Names. I was first to bed after once again nursing a painful leg all day and trying to negotiate more stairs. 

After a restless night, I tried to get the blood flowing on their basement exercise bike. They served us a traditional Jersey breakfast treat of John Taylor ham on a sesame seed bagel. We opted out of adding ketchup like they suggested. They then drove us to nearby Asbury Park, where we all explored the boardwalk, pinball hall of fame, and a Bruce Springsteen museum. Nearby, was the famous Stone Pony where he and other local musicians like Southside Johnny still perform on occasion. It’s also the sight of unique artwork and a decorative glass dome where the beachside carousel was once housed.

We sat down for slice of Manuca’s spiral pizza, also known as a Trenton Tomato Pie, and wrapped up the evening with an authentic Jersey Italian Dinner, including a dish that they called “Sunday Leftovers” at Marinelli’s Restaurant. They are a couple that likes to play card games so we ended our Flemington stay with Five Crowns -I won! Winner, winner Italian dinner! 

We finished off our leftover pizza in the car the next morning while passing through Delaware, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington D.C. on our way to Fayetteville, North Carolina. The short stint in Delaware took my wife’s total state count to 47 – only three to go – Nebraska and the Dakotas, as previously mentioned. Fortunately, nothing eventful happened in route before we stopped at Cracker Barrel and went to bed early in preparation for our last day of driving, the longest of our trip. 

An eleven-hour driving day, that was supposed to be only ten, wrapped up our round-trip to Maine. The odometer read 25,112 as we departed the Fayetteville Spring Hill Suites. We passed quickly into South Carolina with only two last states to traverse, Florida and Georgia, soon seeing signs for an out-of-the-way Buc-ees. We planned to pick up the dogs, unload, and return the Rogue rental first thing in the morning. Oops – wrong turn and we end up at Buc-ees for the third time this trip, costing us an extra hour on the road. Maybe the cheaper gas and brisket sandwiches made up for the delays. 

The final odometer reading was 25,830, just about 4,100 miles, the longest we’ve ever traveled together by car. It probably is comparable my roundtrip excursion from Indiana to California as a teenager. Once again, I thank my lucky stars for another hassle-free, safe journey where little went wrong and most everything was right. Winner, winner, Italian Dinner!

Vermont was my wife’s 45th state on her way to 46 and 47, before the day was done. We picked up a celebration magnet and enjoyed the BLT lunch that was packed for us by our overnight hosts. We’ll eventually get her to Nebraska and the Dakotas, so she can join me in the prestigious “50 State Club.” Our overnight reservations were at Otter Creek in the Acadia National Park. We also picked up a New Hampshire magnet on the way there. We had finally arrived at the northernmost point of this journey with the odometer reading 23,960.

When we first crossed the state line, any chance for a photo of the welcome sign was obstructed by a MEN WORKING warning. There were indeed lots of road delays along Hwy. 1, but we did see a covered bridge along the way. Due to our remote location and late arrival, dinner was a disappointing cheeseburger under warming lights and re-heated chowder in a Styrofoam cup. The inn was charming on the outside but had cheap towels, no hair dryer, and a lumpy mattress. On the positive side, there were at least fresh blueberry muffins at check out.

August 8th was our 25.5 first-date anniversary (Eddiversary) and the 11th day of this journey. My wife had lunch with a best friend at Eddy’s Restaurant in Fishers last week, where this particular occasion gets its name.  We had also acknowledged the 10-year date when we first moved to Portland, Oregon in 2014 while passing by “sister-city” Portland, Maine. 

Our second and final Maine reservation was at Ocean Acres in Ogunquit. Road construction had slowed our progress into scenic Boothbay after shopping and walking around Bar Harbor. We were searching for last night’s elusive lobster roll and found it at the Nautilus Restaurant in Belfast. Dinner was also lobster at the Ogunquit Lobster Pound. My wife picked one out of the tank while I ordered lobster pie. We were pleased to find that our room even had a hair dryer, tub, and a TV that worked without multiple remotes. However, you would think that with a name like Ocean Acres, it would be on or even near the Atlantic, especially with the inflated price tag. Not the case!

Back on the road to Maine, we “shuffled off to Buffalo,” 7-hours away from Indianapolis to visit Islandwalk neighbors at their Upstate NY lake home. I had so far managed to get in a walk every morning, but only a mile on two occasions. My leg continued to bother me, particularly when I first got out of bed, so this limited exercise was not nearly enough to counter all the tenderloins, tacos, candy, wings, cookies, and alcohol consumed. On the way, we passed through Cleveland with memories of visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. 

21,750 was our starting odometer reading from Venice. It was about 1100 miles from there to Indy and another 500 to Buffalo (23,170). The side trips to Rochester, Kokomo, and North Vernon added 400 more, and by the time we reach Acadia National Park another 800 will pass. It was already the 9th day of our journey. The next stop will be Maine, my 50th state to visit. 

Once we left Buffalo and dined at Johnson’s Landing on Lake Erie, we experienced miles of new countryside for both of us. Rochester was about as far north and east I’ve been in New York state. Lake George took us close to Vermont where my travel was limited to ski areas. I did fly into Burlington, but the scenery was mostly snow on the bus ride to Stowe (3,625 ft.). Mount Washington (6,293 ft) is the highest point as we continue east towards New Hampshire and Portland, Maine. This will complete the Portland, MA (43:40 latitude) to Portland, OR (45:30 latitude) circuit, the two cities, one named after the other, are more than 3,000 miles apart but at similar northern points.  

We shared what I called a “Buffalo sampler” at dinner that included wings, pizza, and beef on weck. It was great to spend time with our former neighbors that also spend their summers in NY, the first of two such overnight visits in a row. I managed to get a 2-mile walk in before our next 5-hour segment in the car. 

While driving in the rain, it had struck me that our current travels had taken us from Rochester, Indiana to Rochester, NY, once home to my Indy friends. Years ago, I came on two occasions to nearby Lake Canandaigua (Can-You-Dig-It?) for a week of partying at their family summer “cottage” of at least twenty small bedrooms, once a fishing lodge or most likely a bordello. I remember a ghostly presence – maybe a result of the drugs and alcohol? 

We arrived for Happy Hour at the beautiful Grosso Camp House, constructed of pine, on Great Sacandga Lake, just west of Saratoga Springs and south of Lake George. They made us a delicious salmon dinner before the bourbon put me to sleep. The next morning, I stumbled through a short, hilly walk before we all stopped to take-in a majestic view of the Adirondack Mountains on our way into Vermont.

A 9-hour drive took us from Atlanta to Indianapolis, followed by short jaunts to New Castle, North Vernon, Scipio, and Rochester over the next four days to sample as many breaded tenderloins as possible. The only delays so far had been heavy rainfall in mid-Kentucky and brief, mysterious computer glitches with the rear hatch.  We stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner as we passed into the Hoosier state – “Back Home Again!”

My addiction to baseball cards was evident, as we rolled along, squandering $50 here and there on upcoming Topps Chrome breaks. Lady Luck was not on my side with the cards but kept us safe throughout this journey. I proceeded to devour breaded tenderloins at a Moose, an Elks, and two other casual restaurants with expectations of wings when we finally got to Buffalo and of course Lobster in Maine. I “wandered” the back roads of Indiana, while visiting local landmarks and the homes of two half-sisters. My wife took advantage of my absence and dined with her old pals.  We next headed north to her big high school reunion at another small-town Elks Club, passing more cornfields along the way and spending the late night in Kokomo.

I expected to meet many familiar faces from our past while in the Hoosier state, greeting nearly 50 at the Mousetrap, with more to come at the HS reunion gathering. Along the way I had already amassed a collection of gifts including cookies, caramels, a numbered bottle of Field of Dreams bourbon, a glass sculpture made from my birth father’s ashes, and one of his controversial swastika-labeled golf balls. I never knew the man but enjoyed hearing stories about him. He liked to call himself, “Bad News Banister.” I’m glad I wasn’t raised by him. Four of his daughters and I gathered at the Brick House in North Vernon, once the local train finished going back and forth, blocking the way there. You can always expect to be delayed by trains in Indiana. 

Six days in Indiana before the next long drive to Buffalo. Before we left, we got to meet our newest family member, as I became G.U.M (Great Uncle Mike) once again. We also lunched with friends from our Egypt trip at Dick’s Drive-In, my wife’s hometown favorite (another tenderloin and Spanish fries). She grew up not personally knowing these Rochester neighbors until we were in a foreign country under coincidental circumstances. 78 classmates then attended my wife’s reunion at the Country Club (in reality just another Elks), near where my Mother-In-Law once lived on Lake Manitou. I dutifully manned the bar and tried to stay out of the way. 25-years prior to the previous reunion, I proposed to my wife on a lake pier. 

We bypassed another Tropical Storm with our travels. This was the third time since we moved to Florida three years ago, including Ian, Idalia, and now Debby. Chicken legs on the grill and the houseful of young, rambunctious boys (Cole, Carter, and baby Calvin) kept G.U.M. entertained on Sunday, along with more Olympics action. Our last full day in Indy included Torchy’s Tacos for breakfast and a fill-up of the tank at Costco on our way back from Kokomo. We spent the night there at the Courtyard after the RHS reunion, taking advantage of Marriott Rewards Points. It was time to “Shuffle off to Buffalo.”

We’ve done so much traveling this past year that we decided to take a break and rent our Marriott Vacation Club timeshare. We selected the Barony Beach facility at Hilton Head in prime season and reserved a two-bedroom, beachfront unit. We then posted its availability on several credible VRBO sites. Several weeks ago, we got a bite from a guy named Thomas Britt claiming to be out of Washington, DC. His company was awarding he and his family a trip incentive, and the corporate vacation planner would make the arrangements. It sounded legit, so I drew up a contract from a legal site with his name, address, and phone number, as provided. The check arrived yesterday. 

He had apologized in advance that the check was for more than the agreed rental because the fees for this planner had been accidentally included by the company. We were to cash the check and forward the balance. The check turned out to be nearly double the rent, so I grew suspicious and went to the fbi.com website:

“Rental scams occur when the victim has rental property advertised and is contacted by an interested party. Once the rental price is agreed-upon, the scammer forwards a check for the deposit on the rental property to the victim. The check is to cover housing expenses and is, either written in excess of the amount required, with the scammer asking for the remainder to be remitted back, or the check is written for the correct amount, but the scammer backs out of the rental agreement and asks for a refund. Since the banks do not usually place a hold on the funds, the victim has immediate access to them and believes the check has cleared. In the end, the check is found to be counterfeit and the victim is held responsible by the bank for all losses.”

I immediately did a Facebook and Linked In search for the renter’s name and the travel agent. Nothing. I then put the name on the check and the Downers Grove, Illinois address into a second search and found a phone number. Luckily, the person answered even though she didn’t recognize the number and could have dismissed my call. I could tell she was very suspicious and when I told her about the check, she was very disturbed. “This has happened before,” she claimed, so she had to go to the trouble of closing her account, including automatic payments and already written checks. What a hassle! I felt sorry for her, but at least we apparently stopped the scan.

I still have the check that will never be cashed but noticed that the return address on its overnight package was from Gold Coast Mall in San Francisco (it doesn’t exist). The scammer’s texts are from a Nashville area code. Unfortunately, there is probably no way to track this guy down. All I could do was cancel our Marriott Vacation Club reservation, moving the points to something else. I probably should have been more proactive earlier in this process but had no reason to be suspicious until the request for a check on the balance. 

Obviously, our first attempt to be a landlord was a bust, but we didn’t get burned. At least, not yet! There are a lot of bad people out there like this criminal. I certainly don’t want to make any threats directly to him because he knows our name, address, and phone number from the rental contract. He (or she, since we’ve had nothing but electronic exchanges), would also probably claim that they knew nothing about this, and that the company they work for was also a victim. I also thought it was interesting that they chose a bank holiday to send the check to us. Be careful!