Day 18: To Crooked River State Park

We spent the morning getting organized -- repacking clean laundry and clearing out the van, which had become a wasteland of sand, colored pencils and stickers -- so it feels like a fresh start as we hit the road again.

There were a few things that wouldn't fit in the van because they usually belong inside the Teardrop when we're on the road. When we arrived at the house a few days ago, we took the Teardrop cooler inside the house so we could clean it out and refrigerate its contents. But now ... where to put it? We ended up filling it with some other items that won't be needed for the rest of the trip -- souvenirs from North Carolina and guide books on Georgia, for example -- stopping at a UPS Store and shipping it home.

We took one last stroll around Savannah, this time walking the riverfront, which is just a scuzzy collection of bars and t-shirt shops. But amidst the grunge we managed to find a really elegant restaurant -- Vic's, overlooking the river -- where I logged another memorable BLT -- this one with fried green tomatoes, goat cheese and sun dried tomato pesto on the most perfectly toasted sourdough I've ever experienced.

There's a camping store on trendy Broughton Street, so we ducked in there to see if we could pick up any gear that we might need for the rest of the trip, if by "gear" you mean a $1,600 paddleboard, a sporty new Patagonia dress or rad-looking surfing booties. Unfortunately, we have neither room nor need for any of that. But it was fun to browse.

We had parked the van right across from a unremarkable storefront marked "Savannah's Candy Kitchen," and had promised the kids that we would make that our last stop before getting in the car and hitting the road. I wasn't expecting much, but I walked inside and my eyes popped out of my head. The enormous space was packed with every color of candy imaginable. In one corner was an ice cream soda fountain. In another, three men made fresh saltwater taffy. And in another, there was a glass case packed with truffles, turtles, pralines and fudge. We allowed the kids to fill a small bag with their choice of candy, and Keith and I split a soft, buttery praline. It was the sweet ending to a bittersweet stay in Savannah.





We reluctantly pulled out of town -- as if the act of leaving meant we were leaving the Teardrop behind for good. As if we were giving up hope of ever finding it. But our presence in Savannah doesn't help anyone find the Teardrop any faster. We have to move on with our trip. Rolling down I-95, the load was lighter, but our hearts were heavy. We miss the familiar weight at the back of the van, the chains on the hitch jangling, the cute curve of its aluminum roof bobbing in the rearview mirror.

Thankfully, Keith's buddies are helping us to stay positive by brainstorming a few up-sides to our situation: 1.) We're going to get much better gas mileage for the rest of our trip. 2.) Parallel parking is soooooo much easier now. 3.) The second set of keys that Keith lost sometime before the trip? No need to worry about that anymore. 4.) When we get home, we won't have to detail the trailer and clean out the mountains of sand that have blown into every little nook for the last two and half weeks. Now, some other shlub has to do that. And 5.) Helloooo, insurance check. Helloooo, Class-A RV.  (Ha. Just kidding about that last one.)

We rolled into the village of St. Marys, GA, in the middle of the afternoon, in time to checkout a little museum about the history of Cumberland Island -- where we're headed tomorrow -- and to lose ourselves for a while in a tiny bookstore down the street. Keith allowed Natalie to buy a Stephen King novel -- and I won't even tell you which one, because this episode is now a dark, dark stain on our career as parents. I had never read the book, nor had I seen the movie, so I had no grounds to either endorse or oppose the purchase. But Natalie consumed the volume in about 4 hours and now I think she's a little stunned. Her poor young mind cannot unread those words or unimagine that story.

We're staying just outside of town, in a two-bedroom cabin at Crooked River State Park, a serenely beautiful spot overlooking a wide expanse of the Crooked River and the salt marsh that flanks it. We are apparently smack in the middle of a family reunion. Guests from several cottages on either side of us are gathering next door, where they have an awning set up, and a sound system blasting R&B and Super Soul Hits of the '70s. And here we are in the midst of it, the five of us cooking up brown rice and veggies for dinner playing Vampire Weekend on our little bluetooth speaker. It's like an easy round of One of These Things Is Not Like The Other.