Travtasyfeedspostsdefault

A drive from the squeaky sand of the Panhandle to the shell beds of Sanibel, told beach by beach, through the people who fed me, danced with me and let me in on what their towns remember.

The waiting is its own kind of ritual. Two weeks before we flew, my partner started checking a bloom tracker on her phone every morning the way other people check the weather, muttering about a cold snap that might push the color back, or a warm week that might bring it early and ruin our timing entirely. I did not understand yet what she already knew from a lifetime of spr...

Overnight buses, cramped sleeper trains, and one too many overweight gate checks shaped every habit in this piece, one uncomfortable trip at a time.

I flew into Grand Rapids on a Tuesday afternoon, and Noah was already waiting outside baggage claim leaning against his truck, exactly the way he said he would be. We had met years earlier on an entirely different trip, and when I mentioned I was planning to drive the full Michigan shoreline he offered to come along for as much of it as his work schedule allowed, which tu...

I went looking for one good Oktoberfest story and ended up spending three Septembers driving a slow loop of the country, sleeping on couches I had no right to be offered, and writing most of this on the backs of beer coasters. Here is everything those nights taught me.

It began with a wrong turn near New Ulm, Minnesota, when I pulled into a gas station to check a m...