Sommaire pour Twenty-Five: June/July 2021 de ROVA

“Why do you want to drive a stick?” I’ve lost count how many times that question has been aimed at me. My usual response is, “I like to control my driving, to feel the dialogue between my feet and hand. Hell, I can glide to a stop and start up again so smoothly as to not cause a single ripple in my open coffee mug, using my manual stick shift.” I learned to drive in a car that eventually became my college vehicle: a fourth-generation hand-me-down green Volkswagen bug, still popular and rolling on in the 1970s. A family friend, Bobby, taught me to feel the clutch like an elastic, to envision the slow release of the gears’ teeth to allow the glide to the next notch. He took me…

In 2004, Paramount Pictures released a lousy buddy comedy, Without a Paddle. In it, three estranged friends (greenhorn adventurers, all of them) canoe into the Oregon wilderness in search of D.B. Cooper’s long-lost treasure. On their journey, they find poop-slinging hippies, machine-gun-shooting pot farmers, and hermit Burt Reynolds, but the worst to befall them (falling over a waterfall, being preyed upon by wild animals) happens because they’re disastrously unprepared. Without a Paddle has a 14 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes, and while the film’s laughs are few and far between, it does contain one nugget of wisdom: when you go on the water, it sure helps if you have the right gear. So, what’s the right gear? What watercraft is best for road-trippers? And after you christen your vessel, where…

All my life, I’ve been anxious about things I can’t control. When I embarked on my first cross-country road trip the summer before my senior year of college, I worried about a plethora of things—extreme weather conditions, engine trouble, hitchhikers, and accidents—none of which actually eventuated. In the end, it was the frog legs that caused the most harm. Our route would take us from Austin, Texas, to Wilmington, Delaware, and our chariot was a trusty 1999 Honda Accord named Alaska, which belonged to my best friend and travel companion, Maddie. Alaska was a temperamental beast of burden with a sticky parking brake, a tape deck, and paper maps and guidebooks crammed into every possible alcove. Before we hit the road, we’d mapped out our route with a highlighter on…

Southern Nevada has Vegas and Northern Nevada has Tahoe, but there’s nothing like a road trip through Central Nevada. The road in question? Nevada State Route 376. This route takes travelers on a high-desert journey through the Big Smoky Valley, where the stars shine brighter, the mountains hold secret hot springs, and the ghost towns are just as captivating as the ones where people actually live. As you drive through the towering Toiyabe and Toquima mountains (what—you didn’t know that Nevada is the most mountainous state in the lower 48?), here’s where to stop along your journey. Spencer Hot Springs Move over, Idaho. Did you know there are more than 300 hot springs in Nevada? Taking a dip in a steamy pool in the middle of nowhere is a Silver…

Ernest Hemingway found solace and drink in Key West. For more than a decade, the novelist famously made his home in the southernmost place in the US. There, in a cramped writing studio in a carriage house, he wrote several short stories, as well as his 1937 novel To Have and Have Not—his only work set in Key West. It tells the story of a desperate fisherman who gets caught up in human smuggling and running contraband between Cuba and the US. Today, the Hemingway Home is a tourist hot spot. One of Key West’s top attractions, the residence and museum is equally famous for its furry, four-legged residents as it is for its noted scribe; the property is overrun with polydactyl cats. Legend says that a ship captain drinking…

Winner of “Where Should we Camp Next?” Seeing the April/May 2021 issue of ROVA in my clear plastic workplace mailbox has been the brightest ray of sunshine I’ve experienced today. I’m an avid night-sky photographer and the photo essay titled “Good Places to Die” by Mike Mercer caught me quicker than a moth hits a bug zapper in the south. My fiancé and I hope to see some beautiful scenes while we travel his professional wrestling circuit over the summer. We’re on the lookout for a pop-up camper now. Wish me luck as I set up my camera and tripod in the sticky Florida night, and do the impossible job of showcasing the Florida night sky. Patti B Mike Mercer’s “Good Places to Die” photo essay in Adventure Twenty-Four blew…

Sam, Brent, Molly and Indy Our love of national parks started early in our relationship, with trips to Joshua Tree, Glacier, and Yellowstone. Hooked instantly, we decided not to wait until retirement to start exploring. So, with lots of planning and plenty of fear, we took the leap and sold almost all of our belongings to move into an Airstream. We just celebrated our third year on the road, and we have no plans to stop anytime soon. Instagram: @ToasterOnWheels Daniel I’m a full-time traveling musician. I was living overseas when the pandemic started, so when I came back to the USA, van life was the best solution to keep traveling and playing music. You might find me in different cities on the west coast performing at a local bar…

Rooftop tents (RTTs) have exploded in popularity recently, with more models available every year. They provide a happy medium between a ground tent and an RV, and they create a comfortable sleeping space anywhere that your vehicle can go. Types of Rooftop Tents There are two main types of rooftop tents: hardshell and soft-shell. Predictably, hard-shell tents are encased in a two-piece solid skin, which becomes the floor and roof of the tent when it’s deployed. Hardshell RTTs generally have either a clamshell (hinged on one end) or a pop-top (the whole roof pops up evenly) design. Soft-shell tents usually have a PVC fabric cover and a foldout design, where the base platform is hinged and flips out, doubling the amount of floor space and deploying the tent in a…

It was late October; a gentle, early-season snow was falling outside our window when my girlfriend, Alyssa, and I made the split decision to head to the Sierras. Fall had come to pass quickly here in Canada, and we weren’t quite ready to let it go. We’d made a pact to be more spontaneous this year, and with a last-minute opening in our schedules, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to put our idea into practice. With our bags hurriedly packed, flights booked, and a vague idea of where we were headed, we caught a flight to Las Vegas. Time wasn’t on our side for this trip, so we made a decision to rent a camper van. This would allow us to spend as much time as possible exploring the…

As I pulled off the I-35 in New Braunfels, Texas, I could see the glinting point of an old silver water tower. Bold, black letters on the tank, whose steel legs disappeared beneath a canopy of twisting cypress trees, spelled out the word “GRUENE.” It was a spring afternoon, and I was headed to visit a historic district of New Braunfels, located on bluffs overlooking the Guadalupe River. That district, as you might have guessed, was Gruene. I had made the two-hour drive through Hill Country countless times, the water tower a familiar sign that I was halfway to my destination. The scenic drive between Austin and San Antonio is a pleasant one, and I visit both cities often to see family. Gruene (pronounced “green”), usually referred to as a…

The coronavirus made tourism tricky—even lethal. Museums and other indoor attractions shuttered. Flying seemed risky. Like many Americans, I quickly contracted a debilitating travel bug. How could I cure a crippling case of wanderlust yet avoid contracting a lethal contagion? I live in Washington, D.C., where the National Mall offers safe outdoor opportunities to tour the city’s postcard-worthy monuments and statues. Trouble is, like most locals, I have seen them all, many times over. To slip the homebound shackles of Zoom calls and Netflix binges, I knew I needed to get out of the city. Then it hit me: few parts of the United States offer as many pandemic-safe attractions as you can find within a 90-mile orbit of our nation’s capital; namely, the area’s constellation of Civil War monuments…

Seven million years ago, give or take, the Hominidae (great apes) began walking upright, tottering around on their two back feet. Somewhere around that time, the first human beings appeared—likely as the apes began to walk as a habit, rather than sporadically. Since then, we’ve been striding it out all over the place, herding animals, carrying tools and children, searching out sustenance, and performing rituals. We have progressed as a species largely because of our bipedalism, and it has always been a fundamental part of our daily lives. Most of us know that walking is good for us. Due to a focus on healthier lifestyles and a surge of interest in outdoor activities, more people than ever are regularly taking walks. Those engaging in walking are losing weight, enjoying better…

You’re tired. More tired than you’ve been in days, with the exhaustion burrowed deep within you. And you’re dirty. There’s a line of grayed grime lingering beneath your fingernails; your face itches. You’ve been driving for too long. Where the bright day once glistened around you, nighttime has wrapped itself around everything in a dark, blotted black. Like smashed-up berries. Maybe you’re headed to see a friend—one you haven’t seen in a while. Or maybe you’re traveling for the sake of simply gathering distance, a way to clear your head of the noise the city has left inside it. Either way, everything is bleary, the scenery slurring past your head. Mile-wide fields pass by, their grass glowing a milky, moonlit blue. Lights overhead glaze your face with a sleazy, heavy…

After a long stretch on Oklahoma’s I-40, we backtracked west from Okemah, hopped on Highway 48 towards Bristow, and merged onto the I-44 heading into Missouri. I had started the day feeling strong, driving the RV with a renewed sense of purpose. My wife, Shannon, my one-year-old daughter, Frankie, and I planned to spend the night in the guesthouse of my former roommate. We were on ourninth day of a month-long excursion criss-crossing the US, and the thought of a night in a proper bed brought out the lead foot in me. As the hours rolled by and the sun in my rearview mirror set, I caught myself veering a few times onto the growling treads on the side of the freeway. We’d been on the road for a good…

The dog knows first. She takes my trail shoe (always the left one) and carries it around the house until I put on and lace the right one. Then she returns the left shoe—slightly damp—and waits. Cadence is 10 years old, but believes, like any good Labrador retriever, that she is much younger. She climbs into the car and settles onto the blanket I use to cover the passenger seat, and we’re off to our favorite trail at the San Joaquin River Gorge. The Gorge is about an hour north of Fresno in California’s Central Valley—far enough away to require a drive but close enough to feel like local land; like your own backyard. Featuring nearly endless trail options, gorgeous views, and challenging terrain, the land offers something for every…

There is nowhere like southwestern Wisconsin when it comes to wonder. After miles of flat farmland, rivers carve through a suddenly rocky landscape, dense with forests. While glacial movement scraped most of the Midwest flat, the Driftless Area remained unscathed. Untouched exposed bedrock, eroded plateaus, steep cliffs and narrow gorges define the region. Bursting with caves, streams, valleys, rivers and lakes, western Wisconsin is unmatched in natural beauty. While you admire the karst topography, you’ll undoubtedly notice dozens of signs for the House on the Rock. The vague name is accurate, yet wildly understated. As it’s grown, The House has developed into something of near-mythical proportions. For something as iconic as The House, it’s surprisingly hard to find, making the plentiful signage a necessity. On arrival, as you meander through…