Thursday, April 17, 2025
Well, the Disney magic had come to an end—no more time travel, galactic spaceships, high-speed roller coasters, or bursts of imagination around every corner. Now, it was back to reality, powered not by magic but by diesel fuel propelling our RV along the well-worn lanes of the U.S. Interstate system—specifically, I-4 East merging onto I-95 North.
—— Goodbye Fort Wilderness ——
Despite the usual traffic, we made good time leaving Orlando and cruised along until our motorhome needed a fuel stop just before hitting I-95 in Daytona. From there, we maintained a steady pace near the 70 mph speed limit—until traffic, construction, and a few frustrating reroutes in Jacksonville brought us back to Earth.
We crossed into Georgia around 1:30 p.m. and pulled into the Welcome Center to stretch our legs and enjoy a light lunch in the RV. Afterward, Jane took the wheel, and we made good time until turning off the interstate just south of Savannah for our overnight stop. The final 25 miles of our 300-mile journey wound through congested commercial and residential areas, tacking on nearly an extra hour to our travel time.
—— Entering Georgia ——
We arrived at Skidaway Island State Park around 3:45 p.m. The park’s roads were lined with stately live oaks, their branches draped in long, trailing Spanish moss—a signature of the Lowcountry landscape. We had stayed here once before, about five years ago, when we were towing our car and had booked a two-night stay. Back then, we had time to explore the park’s trails and even drove into Savannah to stroll along the waterfront and enjoy a seafood dinner.
But this visit was different. We checked in and we made our way to our secluded campsite. After setting up camp, we simply relaxed—ate a light dinner, caught up on the news, did a bit of reading, and turned in early, ready to complete the final leg of our journey home tomorrow.
—— Skidaway Island State Park ——
Friday, April 18, 2025
We departed Skidaway Island State Park around 9:30 a.m., offering a quiet plea to the travel gods for a smooth final leg home. The drive from the park to the interstate was quicker than it had been the day before, and soon we were cruising north on I-95. We crossed into South Carolina in no time and made steady progress through the state. By the time we reached the North Carolina Welcome Center, it was the perfect spot for a break and a light, snacky lunch.
Back on the road in North Carolina, though, things slowed down. Just like on our outbound journey, we ran into numerous construction zones that stifled our progress. Finally, near Dunn—close to where we planned to exit onto I-40 West toward Raleigh—the road opened up. The construction was finished, and traffic flowed freely over four freshly paved lanes. That is, until… brake lights flared ahead. An accident brought everything to a halt.
Ugh!
Co-pilot Jane did a quick search and recommended we exit at the next opportunity. But by the time we reached the ramp, plenty of other drivers had the same idea. We crept along slowly after exiting but eventually escaped the congestion. Following GPS directions, we made good time winding through the scenic, rural landscapes of the Piedmont region. Eventually, we merged onto the Triangle Expressway (NC-540), and before long, we were pulling into our driveway—home at last.
As we unpacked and settled in, there was a quiet satisfaction in returning to familiar surroundings—the comfort of our own space, the stillness of home after days on the road, the vastness of our house compared to the motorhome. Although some of the azaleas and other spring blooms had begun to fade and brown in our absence, others were still vibrant, standing as cheerful reminders that the season hadn’t fully passed us by. The yard felt like a soft welcome back, touched by nature’s slower, steadier rhythm.
Now, back home, the glorious memories of our adventures—standing in awe at the Kennedy Space Center, feeling the wonder of space exploration; smiling and strolling through the lands of Disney World, where imagination knows no bounds—drifted through our minds like cherished souvenirs. These moments, etched into our hearts, will no doubt linger long after the bags are stored and the laundry is done.
And when the days start to blend into routine once again, we know those memories will spark something—perhaps a smile, perhaps a yearning. Because travel doesn’t end at the driveway; it lives on in stories, in photos, and in the subtle pull we feel when the road calls once more. The magic may be behind us for now, but it won’t be long before the travel gods whisper again—and we’ll be ready to answer.