Where was our favorite place so far?

Where our Travels Have Taken Us So Far

It’s the question we get asked the most and honestly the hardest question of all. As of this writing, we’ve visited 36 states—starting from our home state of Pennsylvania and slowly unraveling the map from there.

Our journey into full-time RV life began with a southern swing down to North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina to spend time with my parents and to work out all of the beginner bugs and kinks with our new RV. We'd driven and flown there many times, but spending 2.5 months with them doing everyday things, gave us a whole new appreciation for the opportunity to actually live there. That’s when it started to feel like more than just a stop—it became our southern home.

From there, we coasted down through peachy Savannah, Georgia and orangey Jackson, Florida. While we expected a lot, and got some of that sun-kissed winter warmth, they didn’t quite steal our hearts the way we imagined, so we left early. We had our GPS pointed to jazzy New Orleans, and being a long stretch of travel, we needed a stop along the way. We rolled the dice on a hidden gem on a little slice of the Gulf of America - Gulf Shores, Alabama. Well friends, this is the kind of paradise you discover when you have the flexibility to turn on a dime. Aqua-blue waters, sugar-white sand, coastal dunes swaying with sea grass, and—best of all—a preserved stretch of shoreline mostly free from towering high-rises. We originally stopped for a quick break and ended up staying a month. We've been back since and plan to winter there again. It’s magic, so shhh don’t make a scene, ya feel me?

Back on the road, we finally made it to New Orleans, Louisiana, a city that Kelli and I had both visited separately in our younger years. We carried such fond memories of music, history, and energy. But this time? It felt…meh. Still full of rich history, culture, and beautiful architecture, but the soulful soundtrack we remembered had been drowned out by the unfortunate aroma of overindulging tourists, and party rock in the house of the rising sun tonight. A lot of Cajun Country felt a little forgotten and lost its shine.

So—we headed north with a quick overnight near Elvis-land in Memphis, Tennessee (never again), then east to Nashville, where the rolling hills, shimmering lakes, and acoustic and steel guitars brought us right back to center. There’s a warmth and charm in Tennessee that still sticks with us and calls us back. We won’t send that call to voicemail. We’ll go back. 

From there, it was north to New Castle, Indiana for some RV warranty work (shout out to I-70, the unofficial Shake-Down Highway), and then back home to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania for the summer.  

After a summer visit back home with family and friends, we pointed our rig toward Erie, PA, the New York Finger Lakes and then to New England for some early fall color and family time in Foxboro, Massachusetts. And then—Kennebunkport and Boothbay, Maine. The rugged coastline and lighthouses, the rich history, the lobster rolls, the ever-present charm, even the rain and fog felt cozy. Some places fade from memory almost before we leave them, but Maine stuck, taking up residence in our bones.

From there, we headed back south to North Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, then west again to Gulf Shores, Alabama, before setting our sights on the western half of the U.S.

First up: Texas Hill Country. Another month of local living. We watched couples dance on dusty wood floors in Luckenbach, spent Christmas eating schnitzel in Fredericksburg and visited the Missions in San Antonio. The land. The architecture. The wide-open spaces. Thank you, Fredericksburg—you left your mark. After that, we crossed the other half of Texas—flat, dry, and endless land and oil rigs. So. Many. Windmills. 

Then: hello Alamogordo, New Mexico. This was a shorter stop, but a sweet one. We wandered through the stunning White Sands National Park (not the kind of sand that comes with an ocean) and explored the lower Rockies. As a lifelong fan of Billy the Kid, getting to walk through the town of Lincoln was unforgettable. Eerily quiet and untouched, these hills where outlaws once unloaded rounds of bullets were nostalgic and calming in a way that we didn’t expect. Another soul-mark experience.

Next came Arizona—after a quick overnight in a snowstorm! Yes sirs and madams, us northerners didn’t know it snowed in New Mexico and Arizona! But we got to experience it, first hand, on the side of the road in sub-freezing temps and white-out snow squalls. All while only 15 miles away from our first stop in Springerville, Arizona!  The polar opposite of a warm welcome. But once we thawed out, we were greeted by towering red rocks and a whole army of cacti waving hello. We spent a month in Cottonwood, Arizona, exploring Sedona, Phoenix and the historic, haunted town of Jerome, like locals. The highlight was an amazing train ride through Verde Valley Canyon—a red rock wonderland that took our breath away.

After our month was up, we stopped overnight in dusty and windy Yuma, Arizona before heading over huge-ass boulder mountains into southern California. At this stop, we felt more like tourists—and that’s okay. San Diego, California was delicious, and we even rented a convertible for a drive up the coast that reminded us why the Pacific breeze is worth chasing for some people. We watched seals and sea lions nap, heard the jets and our brave military protecting our border overhead, and saw those iconic palm trees dancing in the breeze. But it wasn’t until the northern part of the state—specifically Jackson, California and the land of the great Sequoias—that the tears came. Literal tears. Those towering giants humbled us in the best way.

From there, it was on to the Pacific Coast—Coos Bay, Oregon. Friends, this place left us speechless. Our site was steps from the water. Every night, with the windows closed, we could still hear the waves crashing against the cliffs. The locals, the nearby town of Bandon, all reminded us of Maine. Tall rock formations, bald eagles overhead, misty mornings, salty air. A slower pace. A softer world.

We kept going—up to Seattle, Washington for a short stop that ended up being one of our most surprising highlights. We only planned to stop for a couple of weeks to wait out the snowfall in those great big Rocky Mountains and to feed our Gen-X grungy souls, which we most-certainly did! We had a couple of beers at the infamous Central Saloon, where Nirvana, Jimi Hendrix and Alice in Chains became the artists synonymous with our generation. We walked the streets that once moaned with low grunge guitar tones, fueled up at the original Starbucks and found some eclectic treasures at Pike Place Market. But what really wowed us was the grandeur of the dormant volcanic mountains that can be seen for miles, the endless and massive evergreens, and the shimmering water of the Puget sound rising up to Mt. Rainer as we took the ferry from Bainbridge to Seattle.  

Onward we went to Idaho where we spent a couple of weeks just past the Cascade Mountains in Coeur d’Alene, and finally we headed to West Glacier, Montana. Well hello there Glacier National Park with all of your unbelievable grandeur, crisp glacier melt, sky-piercing peaks and forests for miles. It was like driving through a postcard—one that kept unfolding. We explored Livingston and Paradise Valley, drove through Lamar Valley at dawn to catch the wildlife waking up with scenes straight out of a nature documentary— we saw herds of bison, a grizzly bear, elk, and steam rising from the earth itself. Yellowstone National Park was exactly what its name promises: legendary.

With the Cascades and Rockies behind us (and my nerves finally recovering from towing through them), we made our way to the Black Hills of South Dakota. We thought all of the awe-inspiring beauty had been left in the rearview mirror, but we were wrong. From Devil’s Tower with playful prairie dogs and bald eagles circling above, to the towering rock formations of Needles Highway and the cliffs of Spearfish Canyon, this place left a mark on us. We saw buffalo still roaming the land with pride and power, and even hand-fed some of the fluffy cows (tatanka) from a truck window. But, today’s Deadwood felt like a Disney attraction and left us disappointed, while Sturgis was off-season and a ghost town, offering just a few blocks of bars and t-shirt shops. 

So what is the one place where we have been that is our favorite?

Well… it might be the stretch of sugar-white sand in Gulf Shores where the sea grass waved like they knew us. Or maybe it’s the sequoia redwoods in northern California that made us feel tiny in the best possible way. Could be the foggy Maine coastline that smelled like salt and old stories. Or the hill country of Texas where couples two-stepped at Luckenbach like nobody was watching. Maybe it’s where the mountains scraped the sky in Glacier or where the silence was so big it echoed in Yellowstone. Or just maybe it was the stretch of road where the playlist hit just right and the Bennie was sound asleep in the back seat. Honestly, our favorite place is probably the one where the tires stopped rolling, the wine tasted like freedom and we looked at each other and said, Are we really doing this?