The cell phone erupted to life on the nightstand in the pitch-black bedroom. It was 9:30 a.m. in North Carolina. But, for my girlfriend, Sarah, and I, we were three hours behind in Las Vegas, Nevada. 

Every-so-often, my girlfriend, Sarah, and I will find ourselves with an open Monday evening. A wild, rollickin’ weekend in the rearview mirror. The first day of the work week now completed. How ‘bout we motor over to Asheville for some fine Italian food at Vinnie’s on Merrimon Avenue, eh? Sold. 

Hello from Room 202 at the Holiday Inn Express on the outskirts of the small town of Lake Wales, Florida.

Hello from the nearly empty bar counter of the Vail House Oyster Bar & Grille on the outskirts of downtown Goldsboro, North Carolina — a city seemingly forgotten by the sands of time and 21st century progress elsewhere. 

And so, we enter the whirlwind holiday season once again. Honestly, it feels like I was just in Knoxville, Tennessee, leaning against the bar on the second floor of the Preservation Pub in Market Square on New Year’s Eve when the clock struck midnight. 

Hello from Room 1029 in the Blue Valley Cottage at the Old Edwards Inn, situated near the intersection of U.S. 64 and Main Street in downtown Highlands. 

Hello from Room 6102 at the Sonder motel on the edge of Old Town Scottsdale, Arizona. It’s 80 degrees outside in the late morning, with the dry heat of the Southwest steadily rising like the hot sun above the high desert prairie surrounding this vast, metropolitan area. 

Whether you’re going for a short or long hike or on a day or multi-day road trip; planning on taking snacks with you can save money and also make it easier to fuel yourself and your family when you might not be close to your local Ingles store. 

Stepping outside the small log cabin, I took a moment to collect my thoughts. Vast farm fields and ancient dirt in the rural countryside outside of Goldsboro, the cool air of an impending fall was felt with a sense of relief in a place where heat and humidity reign supreme. 

The old man, hell he was probably my age, flagged me down after I passed his home and garden.

“Buen Camino,” he called, waving me back.