Buffalo, Bunkhouses, and the BEST Salt Water Taffy—Our Stay in Liberty, Utah

After chasing geysers, bison (unsuccessfully), and the perfect campground view, we rolled Mosey III into Liberty, Utah—home to our wonderful longtime friends, Maureen and Steve. Nestled in the mountains, their gorgeous hillside home is like a postcard but with better hospitality. Mosey cozied up for a few days in their roomy circular driveway, and we got to do the best thing ever: hang out with people we’ve known forever and eat food we didn’t have to cook ourselves.

Now, let’s talk dogs. Lots of dogs. Their pack includes a mix of beloved rescues and a rotating cast of pet-sitting guests, making their home feel like a canine version of summer camp. Each pup had its own personality, quirks, and mealtime drama—and we loved every second of it.

Our local adventures kicked off with a trip to Gardner Village, a charming little cluster of shops where we may or may not have sampled every flavor of salt water taffy. (Pro tip: the caramel one is life-changing. No notes.) The whole place looks like it was built specifically for wandering, window shopping, and saying things like “Should we get this? We should get this.”

Then came redemption: Antelope Island State Park. After our infamous bison-less trip to Yellowstone, the wildlife gods finally smiled upon us. Herds of bison? Check. Antelope prancing like they were auditioning for a nature documentary? Check. Coyotes giving us side-eye from a safe distance? Also check. It was like the animal kingdom threw us a makeup party.

While there, we explored Fielding Garr Ranch, a preserved mid-1800s ranch complete with a farmhouse, bunkhouse, vintage farm equipment, and animal corrals. Wandering the ranch felt like stepping into a time capsule—if the people back then had dust allergies and wore a lot of denim. Still, it was rustic, beautiful, and full of that “why does this smell like history?” charm.

But as fun as the outings were, the real highlight was sharing laughs, meals, and stories with Maureen and Steve. It’s not every day you get to catch up with people who knew you before your Airstream days and still agree to let you park in their driveway. ❤️

Yellowstone: Geysers, Ghost Bison & Horsing Around

There’s nothing quite like entering Yellowstone National Park and being greeted by the raw power of Old Faithful letting off some steam—literally. She put on a perfectly timed show, erupting like clockwork as tourists (us included) stood around nervously clutching cell phone cameras. Humans were amazed. Wildlife not so much. 🐿️

After the show, we wandered the nearby village, soaked in the scenery, and even bought an over-priced souvenir or two (because who doesn’t need huckleberry soda and a magnet shaped like a geyser?). We spent the entire day in the park marveling at its beauty, but somehow managed to pull off the impossible: not a single bison sighting. That’s right. Nada. Zero. Zilch. We began to question if they were all on a union break.

We did, however, see plenty of signs warning us about bison. Signs that said things like “Don’t approach the wildlife” and “Bison are not your friends”—which felt slightly rude considering we weren’t even given the chance to be rejected by one. But fear not, our bison (and bonus antelope) redemption came a few days later. Stay tuned for that plot twist.

For our stay, we were parked at Red Rock RV Resort, just 20 miles from Yellowstone’s west entrance. Tucked into a picturesque valley surrounded by mountains, this spot was a dream. Bonus points for having a special Airstream-only area with extra amenities. We didn’t stay in the Airstream portion of the park, but dropped by for a friendly hello.

And then there was the trail ride. Oh, the trail ride. We signed up for a 2-hour evening horseback adventure that turned out to be pure magic. Even Joel, who usually prefers his horsepower in vehicle form, saddled up! We were told that my horse and Joel’s horse were besties, which might explain why they stayed glued together like middle schoolers on a field trip. We rode through winding trails, splashy streams, and around a serene lake—pretending to be outdoorsy types while secretly just trying not to fall off or sacrifice a phone to the wilderness.

All in all, our Yellowstone adventure was everything we hoped for—minus, you know, the actual bison. But we like to think they were just playing hard to get.

Stay tuned, because the bison will make an appearance…eventually.

Mining Towns & Mozzarella: Our Journey from Seattle to Yellowstone

We packed up in Seattle with a freshly replenished supply of Rainier cherries—nature’s candy and now our favorite road trip essential. The weather was perfect, and the truck had just gotten a fresh tire rotation, oil and fluids change, ready to take on the Cascade Mountains with Mosey III’s big ol’ backside trailing faithfully behind.

Our weekend stop in Coeur d’Alene was the perfect mid-journey reset. Picture sparkling lake views, forested backdrops, and a town so charming it made us seriously consider buying matching paddleboards and fully committing to a lifestyle of flannel, log furniture and Saturday kayaking. We didn’t (yet), but we did stretch our legs, breathe in that alpine air, and momentarily forget what day it was. 

Butte, Montana: We Dig It (Literally)

From there, we rolled into Butte, MT—home of the World Museum of Mining, and I am a bit surprised when I tell you it was better than we expected. Built on the site of a former copper mine, this museum is equal parts history, grit, and “what did they use THAT for?!” It has a massive old mine shaft, rusty mining equipment that looks like it belongs in a steampunk music video, and an impressively detailed Old West town that makes you feel like you’re in a Clint Eastwood movie… if Clint carried a selfie stick and a sensible sun hat.

We climbed to the top of the headframe (the giant mine elevator tower thingy) for a panoramic view. Worth it. Not just for the scenery, but for the bragging rights. We now refer to it as “that time we basically scaled a mountain, but with handrails.” 

Virginia City/Nevada City: Cowboys, Parking Perils, and Pizza Perfume

Next stop: Virginia City and Nevada City—real, living Old West towns where history and modern life shake hands over a good slice of pizza. We had just intended to walk through town and maybe grab a cold drink, but the smell of roasted garlic and hot, bubbly cheese hit us like a cartoon smoke cloud with arms. It literally pulled us off the boardwalk and into a saloon-style pizzeria where we made short work of a pizza pie and drooled over huckleberry ice cream floats.  While enjoying our meal we half expect someone to burst through swinging saloon doors yelling, “There’s gold in them thar hills!”

RV Life: Winding Roads and Parking Woes

Now let’s take a moment to talk about driving a 25-foot Airstream plus a tow vehicle through winding mountain roads. It’s kind of like playing slow-motion Grand Theft Auto while steering a parade float through a maze. Every curve—especially the ones where someone decides to pass on a blind corner—feels like a trust fall with gravity. And every successful parking attempt? A small but deeply satisfying triumph, like parallel parking a whale… in front of an audience.

Backing the Airstream into tight parking spots has become a couples’ sport—equal parts communication exercise and public performance art. There were hand signals. There was shouting. There may have been applause from casual observers when we nailed it on the third (or maybe fourth) try.

Next Destination: Red Rock RV Park—Just Outside Yellowstone

We’ve now landed at Red Rock RV Park, nestled in a beautiful valley just outside the west entrance of Yellowstone National Park. We’re surrounded by wildflowers, mountain air, and the gentle hum of other travelers trying to remember if they packed bear spray or just more granola bars.

Next up: Yellowstone, where geysers shoot sky-high, wildlife roams free, and we do our best to keep Millie from making friends with a bison. It’s going to be explosive—in the best way.

Until next time, keep following the Silver Lining—preferably with a decent cell signal, a GPS that doesn’t think gravel goat paths are scenic shortcuts, and someone patient enough to help you back into a campsite that was clearly designed for a tent.

Bears, Cherries & Fireworks – Oh My! A Rambling Ramble Up the West Coast

From salty sea breezes on the California coast to misty mornings beneath the evergreens of the Pacific Northwest, we’ve officially coasted our way into Washington. Our journey north has been scenic, snack-filled, and slightly feral (more on the wildlife warnings later).

We kicked things off with a scenic cruise up through Central Oregon, a place where the landscapes are vast, the people are kind, and—most importantly—the original Black Bear Diner still serves up mountainous portions that challenge both your appetite and your waistband. We feasted, we gazed lovingly at Mount Hood, and we wandered local shops hoping to find some tax-free treasures (did you know Oregon has no sales tax?!). Unfortunately, nothing screamed “take me home,” though I did come close to adopting a suspiciously cute bear statue. Probably for the best—it wouldn’t have fit in the Airstream anyway.

Then we rolled into Washington, where we nestled ourselves in the beautiful foothills near Seattle, specifically a charming little town called Fall City. It’s peaceful, green, and the kind of place where you half expect a moose to deliver your morning coffee.

But aside from the potential to become a bear’s afternoon snack, Fall City has been lovely. We ventured into Issaquah to explore the farmers market, where we promptly discovered the real danger: Rainier cherries. These little golden-red gems are Washington’s pride and our newest obsession. We bought a small bag. Then a large bag. Then we considered calling a farmer directly for a bulk discount. If there’s such a thing as cherry-induced bliss, we found it. If our trailer smells suspiciously fruity, don’t ask.

And speaking of wildlife—within five minutes of arrival, a ranger cheerfully warned us about recent bear and cougar sightings. Just a casual, “Watch out for apex predators!” welcome. I nodded and smiled while mentally assessing how fast I can run compared to Joel. (Spoiler: not very.)

The highlight of the week? A fantastic Fourth of July barbecue with Joel’s family. It was a full house—siblings, spouses, and stories flying across the patio as fast as the burgers flipped on the grill. The real show, however, came when Emiel busted out the private fireworks display. He might not be an official pyrotechnician, but he certainly had enough spark to light up the sky (and our nerves). Thankfully, all fingers and toes survived. Only a few lawn chairs and possibly a patch of grass paid the price for freedom.

Now, as we sip coffee beneath towering pines and listen to the occasional rustle in the woods (please be squirrels), we’re feeling grateful. For family. For cherries. For our still-intact limbs. And for the ever-surprising adventure of life on the road.

Until next time—keep it rolling and watch out for bears. 🐻

Bugs, Buddies & Barnyard Shenanigans – Mosey Hits SoCal!

After 2,500 miles, a few near-storms, tire-melting 110 degree weather, and an endless loop of “are we there yet?” (mostly from the humans), we officially rolled into Southern California! First stop: Lake Elsinore, where the skies are blue, the tacos are tasty, and our dear friends Linda and Thurman greeted us with open arms, restaurant reservations, and stories like we never missed a beat

We shared travel stories, belly laughs, and a few amazing meals—including a pilgrimage to one of our restaurant faves: 1909, where the drinks are cold and the food has no business being that good. It felt so good to catch up with fellow Airstreamers and swap tales of the road—plus a few tire tips, which turned out to be prophetic.

Because, naturally, once we stopped moving for more than 12 hours, our driver-side trailer tire decided it was time for a little drama. Slowly deflating like it was trying to leave town without drawing attention. Sneaky. Very sneaky.

Before hitting the road again, we treated Mosey to her first bath since leaving Charleston. There were bugs on her nose, bugs in her fender, bugs in places we didn’t even know could collect bugs. She emerged from the wash bay sparkling, slightly smug, and approximately 300 pounds lighter.

Then it was tire patchin’ time, and on to our next destination: San Diego, land of ocean breezes, flip-flops, and (drumroll please)…the San Diego County Fair!

Thanks to a few Rover visits for the pups, we met up with our longtime pal Beth, who was brave enough to spend an entire day at the fair with us—no small feat. We ate our weight in fair food (don’t ask what the cinnamon rolls are made of; just eat them and ascend), wandered vendor booths, communed with barnyard animals, and caught a magician show that may or may not have hypnotized us into buying hot out of the oven chocolate chip cookies capping off our calorie fest. We didn’t stand a chance.

This year’s fair theme was “Pets”—a celebration of all things furry, feathered, and occasionally scaly. We encountered bunnies cuter than Instagram influencers, guinea pigs, parrots, bearded dragons, and a cat that looked at me like I was the problem (technically true—thanks, allergies).

SoCal is already delivering sunshine, good vibes, and just enough mechanical drama to keep us humble. We’re here for 10 days, grateful for friends, cinnamon rolls, and trailer tires that (currently) hold air.

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Airstream vs. Hailstorm: Guess Who Won

You know how some evenings are so uneventful you can hear the cicadas yawning? That’s what we thought we were getting into in Big Spring, Texas.

We’d just wrapped a long day of driving through the scorched and sunbaked stretches of West Texas, with temperatures brushing 100 degrees and not a cloud in sight. The Airstream was parked. The jacks were down. I was in my pajamas, debating whether or not to make popcorn or just collapse. Life was good. Or so we thought.

Then… BZZZZZ BZZZZZ — our phones lit up like slot machines in Vegas.

Supercell Storm Alert. Extreme Winds. Torrential Rain. Tornado Watch. Giant hail up to 4 inches likely.

I blinked at the screen. Four inch-sized hail?! That’s not hail, that’s something between a golf ball and a small dinosaur egg. And suddenly I was no longer thinking about popcorn—I was having terrifying flashbacks to that storm in New Mexico four years ago. You know, the one that left our old Airstream looking like it lost a bar fight with a bag of marbles? Yeah. That one.

We looked at each other. Joel, ever the optimist, said, “Maybe it’ll miss us.”

I, ever the realist (read: professional worrier), said, “I’m not risking it, we’re leaving.”

Within 15 minutes, we were packed up, hitched, and rolling out—me still in my PJs, probably looking like a crazed escapee from a campground asylum, barking directions like a storm chaser’s sidekick on Red Bull.

The storm was coming in from the west, and we were booking it south like our aluminum lives depended on it. The sky lit up with forked lightning, and we could see the rain (and possibly hail?) streaking down in the distance like nature’s own version of a horror movie.

I kept yelling, “Go, go, go!” like Joel was in a Fast & Furious sequel: Airstream Drift.

It was a full-blown showdown: us vs. Mother Nature.

And miraculously, we won.

We ended up driving 120 miles (yes, at night, in the dark, through West Texas emptiness) until we reached a tiny town with a KOA campground—closed, of course. At that point it was pushing midnight, still hotter than a baked potato under a heat lamp, and we parked by the roadside, no hookups, no A/C, just two exhausted humans, two confused dogs, and a very sweaty, but safe trailer.

We didn’t sleep much. But we also didn’t have to explain to our insurance company why our roof looked like a sieve.

The next morning we pointed our scorched wheels toward New Mexico and Arizona, where the storms gave way to…wait for it…110-degree sunshine. Because Mother Nature apparently thinks we want to live on the sun.

But that’s life on the road, right? One night you’re peacefully watching Netflix in your pajamas, and the next you’re in a high-speed escape from hail the size of grapefruits.

At least we’ve got a good story—and an intact roof.

5 responses to “Airstream vs. Hailstorm: Guess Who Won”

  1. Michael Hirst Avatar
    Michael Hirst

    OMG! I would’ve sprinted out of there, too. And been crazy worried the entire night. Make that times 2 for Sally. Phew. I’m glad you guys are safe now – even if uncomfortably hot. But that’s better than 4 inch hail!!

    Michael

    Michael A. Hirst
    Hirst Law Group, P.C.
    200 B Street
    Davis, California 95616
    P: (530) 756-7700
    F: (530) 756-7707
    michael.hirst@hirstlawgroup.com

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    1. Sharon Ginger Avatar
      Sharon Ginger

      Not a fun experience and one I don’t hope to repeat anytime soon!

      Like

  2. Helen. Potts Avatar
    Helen. Potts

    hi you two its Helen Potts! What an adventure you are having, wow love how you write its like being there!!

    happy trails

    Like

    1. Sharon Ginger Avatar
      Sharon Ginger

      It’s great to hear from you again Helen, I hope you are well.

      Like

  3. Helen Avatar
    Helen

    Hi, you two!It looks like you are still enjoying your Airstre

    Like

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Keeping our Cool in Blue Hole Springs

A (Mostly) Brave Adventure to Blue Hole Springs

Ah, Blue Hole Springs — a little slice of Florida tucked inside Florida Caverns State Park, where the water is always cool and the sun is always shining (at least on our visit).

It was a warm, sunny day, the kind that practically begs you to cannonball into a spring-fed swimming hole. Surrounded by towering old oaks dripping with Spanish moss, Blue Hole Springs looked like something out of a postcard. A few kids were already splashing around, parents were camped out in the shade, and the whole scene had “summer fun” written all over it.

But then… someone mentioned the gator.

Now, let’s be clear — this wasn’t an actual gator sighting, more like a local legend. Apparently, Blue Hole is occasionally visited by a curious alligator. You know, just to check in on the humans and make sure everyone’s behaving.

Well, that was enough for Joel. He took one look at that serene, sparkling water and said, “Nope, not today, nature.” He appointed himself Chief Towel Holder and stationed himself on dry land with the cooler like it was a lifeguard post — minus the whistle and the desire to get wet.

Meanwhile, the rest of us decided to risk it all for a refreshing dip. And let me tell you — that water is cold. The kind of cold that makes your soul briefly leave your body before returning with a shriek. But it felt amazing on a hot afternoon. There’s something about swimming in a spring surrounded by mossy oaks and birdsong that makes you forget about gators (well, almost).

In the end, Joel may not have gotten wet, but he did heroically guard our flip-flops, provide running commentary, and issue false gator alarms every few minutes, just to keep us on our toes.

If you’re heading to Florida Caverns State Park, do yourself a favor and visit Blue Hole Springs. It’s beautiful, it’s bracing, and if you’re lucky, Joel might be there to save you from imaginary reptiles.

10/10, would jump in again (after checking for eyeballs floating by first).

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