In Their Shoes

We take our shoes off before entering the Escaper. Not while we go in and out during the day, but when we’re in for the night.

It’s become a ritual: John stands in the doorway, scraping the heel of one foot with the toe of the other until his running shoes land outside. He pushes them underneath the camper a bit, but ever since we started experiencing sudden rainstorms, I’ve been pushing them under a little further along with mine so they don’t get wet.

The ritual is more of a courtesy. After months of wearing the same shoes pretty much every day, well, you can imagine that Lysol doesn’t work as well as it used to. Probably too much information, but that’s life on the road!

And so it went again, our shoes tucked in under the camper while we parked for another night at the Wal-Mart in Butte, Montana. We had spent the day with our parking lot neighbors and new friends, Mike and Jane, whom you will meet in one of our next videos.

It was their 25 year-old Toyota camper that caught John’s eye. There aren’t many of them around and we’re always on the lookout for the Escaper’s long lost twin. They have the New Horizon model. Not quite our twin, but close enough.

Mike and Jane recently moved out of their apartment and into their camper full-time because things are tough these days.

We enjoyed their company as they introduced us to the wonder of grilling out in a Wal-Mart parking lot. People would honk and wave at us as we sat around the mini-grill in folding chairs, eating our hamburgers and hot dogs. Mike and Jane have become regulars around the Wal-Mart.

When the sun set for the evening and the night air chilled, Mike and Jane helped us bring our chairs back to the Escaper. We said goodnight and agreed to see them in the morning before setting off for our next destination.

The parking lot was the fullest we’ve ever seen during one of our Wal-Mart stays. RVs and campers of all shapes, sizes and price ranges with license plates from Iowa, Washington, Louisiana, Texas and beyond. Ours fell somewhere in the middle. I thought we blended in pretty well.

Which was why I was caught completely off guard when I woke up this morning and quietly stepped outside. I reached down to get my sneakers and noticed that our shoes, normally tucked away in our separate pairs were alternated in a row. In one of John’s was a ripped piece of blue-lined loose-leaf paper with “God Bless Safe Travels” written in blue marker. In one of mine was a dollar bill.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Had we unwittingly stumbled upon some traveler’s code? Were we asking for help by leaving our shoes out for the night? Who was this mysterious donor and had they done this for everyone? When I told John, he wondered if maybe someone had mistaken our camper for Mike and Jane’s.

I felt guilty. There are more deserving people who should have received this thoughtful gift, not me.

Mike and Jane aren’t proud about it, but Jane sometimes stands on the side of the road holding a sign asking passers-by for a little help. They only ask when they really need it; they use the money to buy food and gas. We often assume the worst about those people standing there, avoiding eye contact at any cost. Jane doesn’t care if you don’t want to give her money, but she sure appreciates a friendly nod.

I wanted them to have the dollar, but there was no way of slipping it to our new friends without being insulting. I hoped the mysterious donor had left one for them, too. Every little bit helps. Mike and Jane want people to know that – even if all you can afford is a smile and a hello.

Which is why I took the dollar out of my pocket and tucked it in the glove compartment. I’m waiting to see someone standing on the side of the road “flying a sign.” I plan on rolling down the window, looking them in the eye and handing it over along with the handwritten note.

“God Bless Safe Travels.”

The Way It Is

Growing up a television junkie (I’m talking broadcast, we didn’t get cable until I was in high school), I found that limited programming made for a greater shared experience by us, the viewing audience. There were only so many Saturday morning cartoons to goof about at the cafeteria table; there was only one Fonz.

Even so, television offered us choices. But there was a time when even if you had the choice to change the channel, you still turned on CBS News to watch Walter Cronkite.

I’m young enough (barely) to not actually remember watching Cronkite anchor the nightly news. But as I grew interested in journalism, I found his presence was still felt by those in the business; his viewers still touched by how he covered the major events in their lives. I may have learned about the day President Kennedy was assassinated or when man landed on the moon in history class, but I see those events in my mind as reported by Walter Cronkite. Those images will forever flicker across the television screen as each anniversary passes.

The most trusted man in America is no longer with us, but I would say that 92 years is a darn good run. I think the melancholy I feel is that it truly is the end of an era. I looked up to Walter Cronkite and John Chancellor as what journalism could and should be. I was lucky enough to start my career at a time when those who worked above me had the same vision.

For every name and face you see bringing you the news, there are hundreds of others who help get them into your living room and onto your computer or iPhone. While it was exciting to work the days when Peter Jennings came to Washington, DC to anchor the ABC News broadcast, I got more excited when a producer gave me a phone number to call or handed me video to review.

These were the people who took the time to help a kid in the trenches climb her way upward. Without them and countless others, I believe I would not be the journalist I am today. They are not known to most of you, but you have seen their work – trust me. There are just a few I would like to stop and remember.

Rebecca Lipkin, Leroy Sievers, Leo Meidlinger. My colleagues, mentors and friends. All gone too soon.

Rebecca passed away Sunday after fighting a brave battle against breast cancer. Always honest, always spirited, her poignant video diaries can be seen on YouTube should you want to meet the woman so many of us are lucky to have known.

It’s been almost a year since Leroy Sievers died of colon cancer. I knew Leroy when he worked at “Nightline.” He also bravely shared his experiences battling brain tumors and cancer in the hope that it would inform and bring solace to others who may be touched by something similar. His story was part of a Ted Koppel documentary, and Leroy created a forum on National Public Radio and at NPR.org called “My Cancer.” His work continues: as of January, the forum is now called “Our Cancer.”

And Leo. He didn’t have time to do such things, but there was not one person who walked through the doors of ABC News that did not know Leo. He was old school and we, especially the younger folk, loved him for it. To know Leo, all you have to do is turn on some Otis Redding, set yourself up with a double Cutty Sark, and laugh until there is no more air in your lungs.

Leo reminded me a lot of another one of those nameless, faceless guys found behind the camera. But to me, he loomed larger than life: my Uncle Ed.

Had it not been for Ed Dyas, I would not have known that this love I had for pictures and words could actually be channeled into a career. He worked at NBC News, and when I was no more than eight years old, he took my family on a tour of the studios at 30 Rock in New York City. I never realized before then that behind all those tubes and wires in that box, there were people who put those shows together. I got to sit on the Today Show news set and we bumped into anchorman John Chancellor in one of the control rooms. I was hooked.

Uncle Ed was my first mentor and my champion. We always talked shop – and Eric Clapton. There’s no need to count the years he’s been gone because I still think of him every day.

I would love to hear his sermon about the state of the news biz today, with all these cable and Internet outlets. And I wonder what he would think of this adventure I now find myself on. My Aunt and cousins tell me he would be proud, and I admit that still makes me misty-eyed. I think it’s because I realize how lucky I am that I found something I love to do and that I still believe in.

I am grateful to all those who helped me along the way. They are gone but certainly not forgotten.

And yes, that’s the way it is…

Waking Up at Wal-Mart

“We have a reservation,” I said as I hung up the phone.

Julie laughed. Kinda hard.

It was funny because I’d just been on the line with the manager of a Wal-Mart Supercenter outside of St. Louis, asking if they would allow us to park overnight in their parking lot. We’d be sleeping outside “Wallyworld.” Read more…

From Here to Kingdom Come

One month and three gas caps later, John and I have literally driven from Kingdom Come to Promised Land.

Granted, those are State parks in Kentucky and Pennsylvania, respectively, but in just the few weeks that we’ve been on the road in our rusty, trusty RV we affectionately refer to as the Escaper (because that’s what Toyota called it some twenty years ago as evidenced by the paint job – and it’s absolutely appropriate), I feel like we’ve covered a lot of ground in many ways. Read more…

Mustard with Jazz Hands

John gets full credit for the title of this blog even though he doesn’t remember uttering the phrase “jazz hands.” It was an observation made over a week ago about an enthusiastic waitress at a Chinese-Thai restaurant outside of Berea, Kentucky who delivered the squeeze bottle of hot mustard with flair.

I almost did a spit take with my Pad Thai. Read more…

Free Cookies and WiFi

The last time I wrote here I was at home in Jonesville, Virginia and was thinking about the ease and comfort of being in a place you know. That’s changed.

We hit the road less than a week ago but we’ve already been deep into unfamiliar territory. I’ve been to these parts of eastern Kentucky before, but never like this. We’re seeing the places and the people I would usually zoom by at 70 miles per hour. And we’ve become again the faceless, forgettable people who “aren’t from here.” Everybody’s a stranger and every turn is undiscovered country. As much as I enjoyed being home and rooted, life on the road ain’t bad either. Read more…

Until the Storm Passes

The rain keeps falling but it has not kept the birds outside my window from their early morning revelry. As I sit safe and dry, listening to the drops pound against the roof, I wonder what exactly these little creatures have to sing about while stuck in the treetops, their flights delayed? Read more…

Among Ghosts

You may have noticed from the map box over there on the right side of the page that we haven’t moved around much in the last week or so. It’s because we’re at my Mom’s house as the family deals with a few things that have come up. Julie’s been wonderfully understanding of the situation and we hope to be back on the road by the end of this week. Read more…

A Walk in the Woods

I’ll fess up: I used to laugh every time I heard the word “staycation” on the news. It was the overuse of the word these past few years that amused me, not the concept. I actually think we all need to look around our backyards more and appreciate just where we call home. Too many times did I realize while living in Washington, DC that I only ventured out to see monuments and museums (most free to boot!) when I needed to play tour guide to visiting friends and family. Read more…

Beginnings

Look with favor upon a bold beginning.
-Virgil

I don’t suppose ol’ Virgil was thinking about taking off cross-country with a some video cameras, a couple of laptops and an old RV. But his point is taken.

Beginnings for me are twisted up in anxiety and boundless excitement. Six years ago I began an international backpacking trip on a ferry bound for a dusty Mexican port. Read more…