As I pulled out of Pittsburgh, I found myself drifting toward a place that’s woven into years of my family’s travel history: the New River Gorge in West Virginia. Back when we lived in Pittsburgh, the quickest route to Tennessee ran straight down US‑19, which meant crossing the New River Gorge Bridge more times than I can count. We’d often stop to admire the view, snap photos, and stretch our legs — long before the area became a national park.

So, in the spirit of honoring my national parks bucket list, I made a proper stop this time. I grabbed my NPS stamp, took the obligatory entrance‑sign photo, and soaked in the nostalgia. I also needed a halfway point between Pittsburgh and Fayetteville, North Carolina, because hauling the trailer the whole way in one day was more than I wanted to tackle. 

In addition to the longest Arch Bridge, this area is also a great white water river that I have always wanted to run but alas have not. There is a dam on the river that uses some of the most advanced engineering that was available at the time of construction.

Summersville, West Virginia fit the bill perfectly. I spent a couple of quiet days there, holed up and recovering from the whirlwind of Pittsburgh before the next round of family time.  Of course, I couldn’t be that close to the Gorge without visiting. Some places just call you back.

On my way out of the state, I had to get pepperoni rolls, because you can’t be in West Virginia and not eat a pepperoni roll. The bread is sweet, the pepperoni is spicy, and the combination is delicious. I don’t know why they’re just available in West Virginia.

Then it was on down the road to my twin boy’s mountain in Fayetteville, North Carolina. I couldn’t help but take a picture of the Princeton-West Virginia sign as I passed it. I was offered a job there one day, years ago, and when they asked me for my salary and contract demands, I told them, and they decided that they could hire a man for as much as they would have to pay me, so they withdrew their offer and hired a man from Georgia instead. Those were the days. Thank goodness, they’re mostly gone.

My next stop was Sanford, North Carolina — familiar territory, but this time I was especially looking forward to seeing my twin boys. Justin lives just outside Sanford, and Jeremy is in Fayetteville. One of my twins had been stationed at Fort Drum, and the other had left the Navy and California behind to be closer to family. So this area has become a little hub for us.

Justin’s neighbor, Cal, deserves a medal. He let me run a long extension cord to his 30‑amp outlet, which meant I had air conditioning through those muggy Carolina nights. I could have survived without it, but I’m not too proud to say it was great not to have to do so. Justin and Cal also poked around the trailer and handled a few minor repairs — the kind of help that means more than people realize when you’re traveling solo with a home on wheels.

On Saturday, Justin and I drove to Fayetteville to see Jeremy’s new house. He had moved since my last visit, and I hadn’t been down to see the new place. It’s perfectly sized for him and his dog, Maya — though he insists it’s Maya’s house and he just pays the mortgage.

By Saturday night, Hoggin and Nicoletta had made it down from Pennsylvania with the littles, Rhu and Seraphina. We had just parted ways, but they wanted to see the uncles before our beach trip. I never complain about bonus grandkid time.

On the Sunday before Labor Day, we visited the Airborne & Special Operations Museum in Fayetteville. I had been before, but the exhibits had changed enough that it felt new again. Justin served in Special Ops at Fort Bragg, so walking through the museum with him is always meaningful. The kids loved the interactive displays, and Justin shared stories that only surface when you’re surrounded by the gear, the history, and the memories that shaped you.

After the museum, we headed to a Fayetteville Woodpeckers minor league game. It was the littles’ first baseball game, and thanks to Jeremy, we had fantastic seats. The Woodpeckers won, the boys wore their “Go Peckers Go” shirts proudly.

Labor Day itself was blissfully simple — just family, dogs, a pool, and good food. Sometimes the best days are the ones where nothing big happens.

That Wednesday, Hoggin’s crew, Jeremy, and I packed up and headed for the Outer Banks. Justin and his wife, Shannon, had to stay behind for work, so it was a smaller caravan than usual.

The drive was long and, frankly, monotonous — miles of marshland and flat stretches that blur together. But the bridges made up for it. The one leading onto Cape Hatteras Island was especially stunning. I tried to capture it in photos, but the perfect shot is always the one you see a split second before you pass it. And backing up on a bridge isn’t exactly an option. So, the great shot remains in my memory instead of my camera roll.