We woke up in the truck stop, the light and low hum of the world outside already working its way into the bus. It’s a strange sort of peace that truck stops bring. The world buzzing on around you—buses, trucks, and cars on every side, the smell of diesel and hot coffee hanging in the air. There’s also a stillness in the little spaces we carve for ourselves. The sun was just rising, and we shuffled around inside the bus. The warmth of the stove pushed back against the cool morning air. The truck stop itself was an odd mix of the mundane and the adventurous. Strangers coming and going. We stood witness to the quiet routines of people who live on the road. A part of me wonders if they look at us, our skoolie parked among the massive trucks, and think the same thing.
Before we even hit the highway, Charlie insisted we make a stop at Waffle House: a rite of passage for any road trip. I’d never been before, and something about the yellow sign glowing against the morning light felt oddly comforting. Inside, the place was buzzing with the clatter of plates, the sizziling of eggs and hashbrowns on the stove, and the hum of low conversation. We slid into a booth, ordered hashbrowns, grits, and waffles with chocolate chips. It was greasy, fast, and somehow perfect. I get it now. Waffle House isn’t just a meal, it’s an experience full of comfort.
Next, we chased the horizon toward Cuyahoga Valley National Park. It’s one of those places that doesn’t stand out on social media, photos on google searches, nor on a map. It will often be on lists labeled “worst national parks”. However, there’s a quiet beauty to it. One you only realize when you slow down enough to take it in and open your mind to see how remarkable its existence even is. It will never compare to the geysers of Yellowstone, the red rocks of Zion, nor the sculpted peaks of Glacier. However, it’s forests being alive with otters and flowers and turtles is a miracle in itself.
It’s tucked into the middle of industrial Ohio and its creation feels like a second chance. The Cuyahoga River, once a symbol of pollution and neglect, had sparked a whole movement of preservation, water treatment, and environmentalism. The fire on the river that burned in the ’60s wasn’t just a wake-up call for Cleveland, but it sent ripples across the entire country, pushing people to realize that there’s importance in preserving the wild places we have left for the well-being of communities and future generations.
Driving to Cuyahoga Valley National Park, there is very little indication that you are approaching a national park. With not even signs pointing the way, we drove through residential areas until all of a sudden we were at the visitor center parking along a highway next to a ski resort. This was the Boston Mills Visitor Center. A ranger took our photo with the sign and handed us a free 50 year celebration sticker. From there, we decided to hike the Stanford Trail, a four-mile loop that would eventually lead us to Brandywine Falls. The day had that gray, in-between spring and summer quality to it, but it was perfect for hiking.
The trail wasn’t difficult or complicated, but it wove through so many different layers of the park’s landscape that it felt like each turn revealed something new. We passed a historic house faded with age.. Then we meandered along a marsh where turtles rested lazily on logs soaking in whatever sunshine dared to peek through the clouds. We saw a muskrat, its tiny body just visible above the water, paddling with a purpose I couldn’t quite understand. Little glimpses of life that feel important even if you don’t have all the context. It’s like seeing someone in motion and feeling the pull to know their story, even when there’s no time to ask.
The trees, still mostly bare, stood around us. Their branches stretching high above, reaching for a sky that couldn’t decide what color it wanted to be. The brown leaves still clung to the ground, matted and damp, but every once in a while, the trail would brighten with a patch of green and bright yellow or violet wildflowers. An early sprout of life pushing through the soil, testing the waters of spring.
We crossed wooden bridges that creaked underfoot, and I imagined the years of hikers, the thousands of boots and shoes that had passed over those same boards. There’s something oddly comforting about walking on trails that have already been well-worn. It’s like the land has been tested, tried, and proven to be strong and resilient.
The falls were the centerpiece of our hike. Brandywine Falls was a beautiful spot to relax and listen to the sounds of nature. The sound of the water rushing over the edge grew louder and louder and grounded us in the current moment. The falls themselves weren’t the biggest I’d ever seen, but they cascaded down the jagged rockface in a steady strength. The water fell over the dark, layered rock with such grace, each drop catching the light in a different way. I could spend a lifetime just listening to that sound. The way the water crashes, and then swirls away, never stopping, always moving forward. It’s a kind of reminder that life doesn’t wait for you to be ready. The water doesn’t ask permission, it just keeps going. Onto the next place.
We took a few moments to just sit there, letting the rush of the falls clear out the noise in our heads. Then, slowly, we made our way back along the trail, the soft thudding of our footsteps on the damp earth blending with the fading sounds of the water. The afternoon light was starting to soften, painting everything in a golden hue that seemed to make even the dull gray of winter feel warm.
Back at the bus, we took off to visit an old coworker of Charlie’s. We deeply enjoy these random meetings on the road. Catching up with a bit of home while you’re far from it. Afterward, we headed out again to find our home for the night.
We ended up pulling into another truck stop for the night. Ohio has some of the best truck stops. Newly renovated, they offer RV specific parking (which we didn’t use as we don’t need the hookups), dump stations, water fill-ups, free trucker showers, etc. These places are a kind of refuge for us now. We filled our water tank and settled in for the night, the truck stop’s chaotic rhythm around us. But inside the bus, it was just us, quiet and warm. The sound of tires rolling by and engines turning over faintly in the background. Tomorrow, we would set out again. Looking for the next place to explore, the next little patch of the world to call our own, if only for a day.
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