Alex Mercer 
There’s a moment on the Cabot Trail, somewhere between the 40th and 50th lookoff of the day, when you stop reaching for your camera. Not because the views get worse — because your arms give out. This is the road Nova Scotians have been quietly bragging about for a century, a 185-mile loop around the … Read more
There is a particular kind of Florida that doesn’t make the brochures anymore. It lives on the thin ribbon of land between the Atlantic and the Indian River Lagoon, where the speed limit is 35, the radio comes in half-static, and every few miles a beach access road tempts you into stopping before you meant … Read more
There is a specific moment on every long trip when the romance of van life quietly renegotiates its terms. For me it was a Tuesday evening outside Bishop, California, five days into a boondocking stretch, when I turned my faucet handle and got a sad gurgle, a splutter, and nothing. No shower. No pasta water. … Read more
The text arrived at 11:47 on a Tuesday night, while I was standing in an airport hotel lobby in Philadelphia wearing the same shirt I’d flown in that morning: “Your bag was seen in Cleveland.” Not Philadelphia, where I was. Cleveland. Where I was not, and where no part of my itinerary went anywhere near. … Read more
Three weddings in six weeks, two of them out of state, and one groom who explicitly asked the wedding party to “look sharp, my grandmother will be inspecting.” That was the summer that broke my relationship with the standard rolling suitcase. The first trip, I checked a bag containing my suit and prayed. The second … Read more
There is a moment, halfway across the bridge that leaves Jupiter and angles toward the barrier island, when the mainland noise simply stops. The Intracoastal opens up beneath you, the water goes from channel-deep green to the impossible turquoise of the shallows, and ahead stands a thin green ribbon of land that most Floridians have … Read more
There’s a moment on the last Monday of August when Grand Teton National Park audibly changes gears. I’ve now been there for it twice — once from a campsite at Colter Bay, once from a rented cabin outside Kelly — and both times it felt like watching a theater clear out after the matinee. The … Read more
It’s 11:47 p.m. somewhere over Indiana, and the man in 23C has been asleep since the cabin doors closed. Meanwhile, you’ve counted the ceiling panels twice, eaten your pretzels with philosophical resignation, and watched the seat map on the screen in front of you like it owes you money. If that sounds familiar, this one’s … Read more
The alarm went off at 4:45 a.m. and I almost talked myself out of it. That’s the first thing nobody tells you about the Albuquerque International Balloon Fiesta: the whole thing runs on a schedule that feels punitive until you’re standing in a field watching 500 balloons stand up at once. Then you understand. The … Read more
There’s a specific moment in Great Smoky Mountains National Park when you realize the season has turned. It happens somewhere along the Roaring Fork Motor Nature Trail, usually in the last week of August, when the light slants through the hardwood canopy at a slightly lower angle and the air carries a crispness that wasn’t … Read more