Visited the Indiana State Capitol in downtown Indianapolis yesterday. Toured the building, admired the blend of old-world architecture and modern function, and took time to photograph details like the grand staircase, the dome, and the murals. Also explored the grounds outside and watched the bustle of the city from the steps. A solid stop for history, architecture, and street photography.

A simple day detoured into the unexpected: After tweaking the suspension on my van for a smoother ride, I encountered a deer with superpowers (and another with three legs), a turtle crossing the road, and wine for sale at CVS—something I’d never seen before. Toss in a surprise tornado warning while riding the bike and you’ve got one of those days that starts off ordinary and ends up as a quirky chapter in vanlife.

A quiet, rainy day at remote Sundance Lake in Hoosier National Forest offered time to reset—birdsong filled the air, teenage fishermen stood silently in the rain, and a Grey Heron made a dramatic appearance at dusk. I caught up on work, wandered the area, found wild berries, and enjoyed the deep calm that comes when the rest of the world feels far away.

Stopped in Story, Indiana for a midday break between Madison and Indianapolis. Explored the grounds of the Story Inn, a restored 19th-century town turned bed and breakfast. The restaurant was closed, but I walked around the property, took in the quiet atmosphere, and chatted briefly with the musician setting up for a wedding before heading back on the road.

Spent the day in Madison, Indiana. Started with coffee and writing at the Red Rooster Café, then drove Hanging Rock Hill—one of the steepest roads in the region—with no trouble. Later, I hiked Trails 6 and 7 at Clifty Falls State Park. Trails were manageable but muddy from recent rain, with some rocky sections adding a bit of challenge.

Just outside Madison, Indiana, I passed the haunting remains of the Jefferson Proving Ground—once a vast Army munitions site, now part wildlife refuge, part time capsule. Around the corner, I stumbled on the Prop Walkers Model Boat Club mid-race, their high-speed boats carving arcs across a rain-soaked pond. By afternoon, I arrived in Madison—a town that defies expectations. With no parking meters, beautifully preserved buildings, and a relaxed, welcoming vibe, it felt more like a hidden gem on the West Coast or New England than a river town in Indiana.

Starting from a quiet suburban street near Dayton, I set out for what I thought would be a 36-mile bike ride from Yellow Springs to Dayton and back. After parking in the artsy, laid-back town of Yellow Springs, I got directions from a friendly local who pointed me through Xenia. The first part of the ride was peaceful and shaded, with a beautiful red bridge, scenic river crossings, and trails lined with dense greenery. Along the way, I stopped to help a fellow rider fix a flat tire—a good reminder to always carry the right tools. The path dipped into a long descent I knew I’d be climbing again later, but the ride was full of unexpected moments that made it worth every mile.

After a peaceful night at John Bryan State Park, I set out to explore two of Dayton’s most iconic museums. The Wright Brothers Museum offered a deep dive into the invention of powered flight, with exhibits on lift, drag, and early propeller design. Later, I spent the afternoon at the National Museum of the U.S. Air Force, wandering through massive hangars filled with historic aircraft, from early warplanes to experimental jets. It was a full day tracing the evolution of aviation—from bicycle shop to supersonic flight.

I spent the morning exploring Clifton Gorge, following shaded trails along the Little Miami River. The limestone cliffs were dramatic, and I stopped at the old Nixon-Hagar paper mill site—just stone remnants now, but once powered by the river to produce coarse paper in the mid-1800s. On the way back, something in the air irritated my lungs and eyes. I coughed, drank water, and eventually felt better. It was hot by the time I reached the van—over 90 degrees—so I made lunch and took a nap. Later, I headed to John Bryan State Park, where I got the last available campsite: a steep, tent-only site that the van managed just fine. After a hot shower and a light dinner, I settled in, closing the vents to keep out heavy campfire smoke. It was a quiet night, and I fell asleep around 11:30.

Columbus was more laid-back than I expected for a state capital. Sure, there was traffic and people in suits, but it didn’t feel rushed or overwhelming. I visited the Statehouse, which doesn’t have the big dome most capitol buildings do, and wandered around the well-kept grounds. A preacher was shouting scripture through loudspeakers while a choir backed him up—not something you see every day. Later, I stopped by the main library and was impressed by the architecture and artwork. It was an easy place to spend a few hours, and all in all, Columbus felt like a mix of big city energy and everyday moments.

A rainy day on the road meant shifting plans, a hearty bowl of 15-bean soup, and the steady rhythm of raindrops on the van roof. From a restless night behind a Cracker Barrel to a rejuvenating workout and a quiet evening in Millersburg, today was about adjusting, warming up, and settling in.

A quiet overnight in Girard gave way to a rainy, vibrant day in Cuyahoga Valley National Park. I waited out the downpour with espresso in the van before hiking a lush 4.1-mile loop from the Stanford Trail to Brandywine Falls. The forest was brilliantly green from days of rain, and the paths led past fields, streams, and a series of sturdy bridges. I met a few fellow hikers along the way—some in need of directions, all happy for the company. Brandywine Falls was the crown jewel, reached just as the rain picked up again, and I ended the day with a well-earned pint of ice cream from the park conservancy.

Rain, fog, and detours shaped a day that didn’t go to plan—no bike ride, no canyon photos—just slow roads, marsh stops, a marathon in motion, and quiet moments with a camera near Kinzua Dam. From Mail Pouch barns to a town named for a French philanthropist, the road west on Route 6 delivered more than I expected.

Winding north from my hometown of Hollidaysburg, I followed back roads through paper mill towns, foggy lakes, and scenic byways to Wellsboro, PA—gateway to the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon. Along the way, I found fish fries, fly-fishing lore, and a surprising small-town snake hunt. Wellsboro’s charm, gas lamps, and warm hospitality made it a memorable stop on the journey.

The drive to Brookmere Winery wound through a patchwork of golden fields, tidy farms, and gentle hills that seemed to slow time. As I approached, the road narrowed and dipped beside a clear, meandering stream—a perfect prelude to what lay ahead. The winery itself sat peacefully close to the fields, with a quiet charm that invited you to exhale. Catherine welcomed me with warmth and an easy grace that made the whole experience feel personal and unhurried. We chatted while I sampled a few of their wines, and I settled in for the night just steps from the babbling stream. The stillness, the scenery, and Catherine’s hospitality made this stop one of the most memorable yet.

After a quiet morning in Harrisburg, I made my way to Shippensburg and explored the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail, a scenic, flat path stretching through farmland and historic countryside between Shippensburg and Newville. The crushed-stone trail was peaceful and well-maintained, with friendly waves from passing cyclists—many of whom appeared to be Mennonites enjoying the afternoon.

Along the way, I met a Wake Forest runner recovering from injury, a geologist working on Pennsylvania wetlands, and a former marathoner riding an ElliptiGO. Each conversation added depth to the ride, reflecting how trails connect more than just places—they connect people. The day wrapped up with a spaghetti dinner in the van at my Harvest Host and a quiet night parked beside open fields—grateful for the ride, the stories, and the stillness.

A drive through Centralia, PA—where a fire that started in 1962 still burns underground. Once a thriving coal town, now a haunting blend of cracked sidewalks, crumbling foundations, and overgrown streets. Nature is slowly taking it back, but the cemeteries and church remain strikingly well-kept. A surreal reminder of how a town can vanish, yet never fully disappear.

Nestled in a narrow valley along the Lehigh River, Jim Thorpe is a charming blend of history and scenery. With steep streets, Victorian architecture, and mountain views, it feels frozen in time. Whether you're exploring the old jail, biking the Lehigh Gorge Trail, or just wandering past cafés and boutiques, this little town is a fun destination.

From espresso-fueled backroads to the rolling hills of Bethel, I traced the spirit of Woodstock—standing where legends once played, and ending the day under the stars at my first Harvest Hosts stay.