How I Became a Traveler (And Why I’m Still Going at 60+)
When I was growing up I attended church three days a week. But the real religion I inherited from my father was travel.
His philosophy was simple: travel whenever you can, for as long as you can, with whatever funds you have. He was a college professor with summers off and he used every one of them. Weeks-long camping trips through national parks out West. Up the East Coast to Connecticut. Christmas breaks at state parks in the South — Fountainebleau State Park in Louisiana and Fort Pickens in Florida. He even took my brother on a 6+ week camping trip from Louisiana to the end of the Alaska Highway when it was just dirt roads. In a Volkswagen Bug! I was left at home.😡
On these trips we stayed in motels only a handful of times and I remember each one distinctly because they were so rare. A Howard Johnson outside Philadelphia. A “sleepy bear inn” in Childress, Texas. They had swimming pools. It felt like luxury.
Daddy planned daily itineraries, mapped out routes (before many of the interstates were finished)and built a custom bear-proof wooden food box for our supplies. Vienna sausages. Deviled ham sandwiches. Canned everything. Not exactly fine dining. On cold mornings he would get up before the rest of us and build a fire so we all could face the day.
When I was 11, he was killed in a car accident. The camping trips ended. The wanderlust did not.
In college I kept going. Spring break in Pensacola. Smoky Mountain National Park with my brother. Canoeing the Buffalo River in Arkansas. I even tried backpacking once — for exactly one night. Carrying a full pack back UP the South Rim Trail of the Grand Canyon cured me of that permanently. I have never looked back.
When I had a family of my own I became the trip planner. We evolved from tent camping to a pop-up camper to a travel trailer. We visited national parks, historic sites and spent stretches of the summer in the Rockies.
I also did the classic driving-and-motels version — booking one room with double beds and a rollaway for two adults and three boys to make the budget work. In Avignon, France the hotel staff lined up in the hallway with what I can only describe as horrified expressions as they watched five of us drag luggage up to one bedroom. We were not their usual guests.
My husband Jerry came to travel from a different direction. Two-week summer backpacking trips. Skiing in Austria and somehow ending up in a completely different town. When we met he was spending weekends managing his parents’ ranch in the Texas Hill Country. We were a good match.
Trash bag rain gear
Now we’re both retired in Colorado, leaning hard into the concept of seeing the world. Slower travel. Usually a rental car. Trips that run three to five weeks because we’ve learned that’s when travel stops feeling like vacation and starts feeling like life.
So why this blog?
Because I love talking about travel with people. Because after decades of planning trips — with kids, on a budget, across four continents, through broken-down rental cars and missed connections and one very eventful Istanbul cab ride — I’ve learned a few things worth sharing.
There’s plenty of travel content out there for backpackers, young families and influencers chasing perfect photos. There isn’t nearly enough for people over 60 who are independent, experienced and ready to go deeper. That’s who this is for.
We’d love to have you along. Subscribe, follow, and please leave your own thoughts in the comments — we genuinely love new ideas and strategies, and the best travel advice often comes from other travelers.
One more thing. Recently my youngest son was planning a trip with his roommate to West Texas and Big Bend National Park. He borrowed my hiking books. Before he left he showed me the itinerary he’d put together.
I was so proud.
He had inherited the travel religion.