Our alarm rang on the 15th day of our trip at 6:00am on Thursday May 2, 2024. We had spent the night at the Hampton Inn in Mooresville, North Carolina, and now it was time to begin the laborious journey north. But since we were 650 miles from our home, and with a couple of Presidential sites still left in Tom’s pocket, my photographer had planned on splitting the mileage in half. Technically, we were in no hurry to get home; except for the fact my photographer and his wife had promised their granddaughters they would be in attendance for the girls’ Opening Day Little League games on Saturday.
Vicki drove the Jeep out of the parking lot of our hotel at roughly 7:45am, and a little less than two hours later, we crossed the border into my favorite state – The Commonwealth of Virginia. When I saw the Welcome sign at the border, which featured a big heart and the ‘Virginia is for Lovers’ slogan, all I could do was smile and reminisce about some of the amazing people I’ve met in that state. And as far as Presidential birthplaces go, all other states come up short to the Old Dominion State as eight of our Presidents were born in Virginia, including four of the nation’s first five.
But a half-hour after we crossed the border, we made our first and only stop in the state of Virginia – and surprisingly, it wasn’t at one of the eight Presidential birthplaces. Instead, Tom and Vicki saw a place called the Old Fort Antique Mall, which was located just east of the town of Wytheville – which ironically was the town where First Lady Edith Bolling Wilson was born.
The three of us browsed around the large antique mall for about 45 minutes, and when Tom and I emerged from the store, my photographer had a vintage 1948 Scrabble game in his hands. And on my board, nothing spells fun like F-U-N, which was worth six points.
Back in the Jeep, the three of us were once again on the road north as we left Wytheville behind in the rearview mirror. A little over two hours later, we arrived in the capital city of West Virginia, and it was a city I had wanted to revisit for a long time. Well, at least for the past four years. In late July 2020, Tom had taken me to an area near the Mountain State’s Capitol Building, but when we arrived, the dome was surrounded by scaffolding and covered by a huge tarp. There was no way my photographer was about to settle for that type of eyesore, especially with a building that’s not terribly far from home. In my never-ending quest to visit State Capitols, I figured at some point we’d return to Charleston – and that moment came at a few minutes past two o’clock on that Thursday afternoon.
West Virginia became the 35th state in the Union on June 20, 1863 when the citizens in the western counties of Virginia voted to separate from the state. Wheeling was the first capital city, but by 1885, Charleston was chosen as the permanent seat of government. The Capitol Building I saw rising over the treetops from where Vicki had parked our Jeep was dedicated on June 20, 1932 – the 69th anniversary of statehood.
The three of us walked around to the plaza on the north side of the building. Although Tom had a difficult sun angle on the north side of the building, that was the side of the Capitol where John F. Kennedy had delivered a couple of speeches. His first address on the Capitol grounds came on April 11, 1960 when the Senator was campaigning for President. JFK’s second speech came just five months before his death when the President spoke from the Capitol steps on June 20, 1963 during West Virginia’s Centennial Celebration.
Even though it was a long hike for Tom, he carried me around the entire building to the South Plaza where I posed near a statue of our 16th President. The bronze likeness was called ‘Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight’ and represented Lincoln’s decision to grant West Virginia statehood during the Civil War.
To me, one of the most impressive aspects of the West Virginia State Capitol was its massive copper and gold leaf dome. At 292 feet tall, the Capitol was the seventh tallest in the country, and the dome was 4 1/2 feet taller than the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C.
We had spent roughly 30 minutes walking the grounds around the Capitol before the three of us headed inside the building for a self-guided tour. Once we made it through the ever-present security that we encounter at most State Capitol buildings, I posed for photos at our usual places – under the dome in the Rotunda, and near the governor’s office. But on that day, and it turned out to be a great moment, I posed on a table in Governor Jim Justice’s reception room, located just outside his office.
Tom, Vicki, and I had spent nearly 90 minutes as we walked the grounds and toured the interior of West Virginia’s State Capitol Building. When the three of us returned to the Jeep at roughly 3:30pm, I heard something I never thought I’d hear come from my photographer’s mouth. Out of nowhere, Tom said to his wife, “Would you like to visit the Amish sites area near Berlin, Ohio instead of doing the last two things I had on my agenda?” I was stunned. Tom had just voluntarily given up our visit to the Serpent Mound State Memorial near Peebles, Ohio, as well as a trip to a restaurant in Sidney, Ohio where George W. Bush once dined. While his wife enjoys hanging around the Amish community, where the women smell like wet horses and the men like used hockey equipment, I would rather spend our trip’s last day visiting a historic site or two. But instead, we were headed for the Berlin Grande Hotel where Vicki had made reservations only minutes after our itinerary had been altered. She was thrilled; I rolled my painted eyes.
For the next three hours, I watched from an opening in the camera case as the endless miles of countryside flashed past us. Just before we crossed the Ohio River and into the Buckeye State, however, I noticed we were very close to Parkersburg, West Virginia where John F. Kennedy once stayed after a campaign speech. Even though the three of us had visited that historic town in 2020, I thought it would’ve been nice to revisit the JFK sites. But with Vicki behind the wheel, there was no way she was letting off the gas until we reached our destination in the heart of Ohio Amish country – that is until she found a Buffalo Wild Wings restaurant near the town of Cambridge, which was where my two companions had dinner.
According to my photographer’s wife, who is a self-proclaimed expert on the Amish culture in central Ohio, there were three communities that piqued her interest. Those small communities included Berlin, which was in the center of the three towns, and was also where our hotel was located. The other two communities were Sugar Creek to the East of Berlin, and Millersburg to the West. The only saving grace for Tom and I was the fact there were plenty of antique shops in the area that would keep the two of us busy while Vicki hob-knobbed with the smelly buggy-riders. In my resin mind, there’s a reason a lot of the Amish people have the surname Yoder. It bodes well with the first names of Body, Foot, Underarm, Butt, and Hooha. Those folks are famous for making their own homemade soap, which doesn’t work extremely well. Perhaps the Amish scientists should try to invent some sort of homemade deodorant as well.
The clock was ticking down towards eight o’clock when we arrived at the Berlin Grande Hotel in Berlin, Ohio. While Vicki registered, Tom unpacked the Jeep for the final time on the trip – at least until we reached home. Once in our room, my photographer placed me in my usual position alongside the TV set where we watched the classic Steven Spielberg movie ‘Close Encounters of the Third Kind’.
Vicki fell asleep shortly after we arrived at our room – I think she was building up her stamina for the next day’s shopping spree. As for Tom and me, the movie brought back a ton of memories from our visit to Devils Tower the previous September. When my photographer extinguished the lights at roughly nine o’clock, I stood alone in the darkness where I thought about extraterrestrial life and whether or not the aliens have ever visited Earth. And if they were walking amongst us in Amish country, cloaked as humans, would we be able to tell? Maybe not, especially if they smelled like wet horses or a bag of used hockey equipment.
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When my photographer’s alarm rang at 6:00am on Friday May 3, 2024, it marked the beginning of the final day of our 16-day trip. As I watched from my perch alongside the TV set and saw my companions as they packed up their belongings one last time, it was a bittersweet moment for me. While I had seen and visited a plethora of Presidential and historic sites in the past two weeks, I knew we were only four hours from home with no Presidential sites on the docket. I figured once Vicki had her fill of shopping and it was time to head home, we’d make the 240-mile drive and maybe stop along the way for dinner. I needed my Presidential fix for that day – and I had only one option up my sleeve. Or should I say, in my throat!
At 8:30am, just as Tom carried me out of the hotel and towards the Jeep, I stood near the exterior of the Berlin Grande Hotel and proudly shouted at the top of my resin lungs, “Ich bin ein Berliner.” That’s right, I felt like John F. Kennedy in 1963 when he proudly exclaimed in Berlin, Germany, ‘I am a Berliner.’ I figured if I couldn’t beat ’em, I may as well join ’em – just as long as I didn’t have to smell like ’em.
For the next three-plus hours, the three of us combed the countryside between the three Amish communities where we visited a large handful of antique shops and specialty stores. Vicki was having the time of her life, while Tom and I spent most of our time sitting and watching the horse-drawn buggies go past. My photographer did make a score inside the Berlin Antique Mall, however, where he rolled the dice and came up with ‘Yahtzee’.
The hands of the clock pointed to high noon when Vicki finally had her fill of shopping in Amish country – at least for the time being. As we began the westward journey across the state of Ohio, the sky grew darker, and the threat of rain was very prevalent. As a matter of fact, my companions heard a weather forecast which indicated we might drive into some severe storms on the way home.
Since we were in the vicinity of two Presidential homes and gravesites, I thought perhaps my photographer would divert our route a bit south to Marion where Harding was buried, or north to Fremont where Hayes was laid to rest. But instead, Vicki held course and we went in between the two. In my mind, I knew that was my only chance to visit one last Presidential site on the trip. Or was it?
Just as we reached I-75 near Findley, Ohio and began our journey north, I heard Tom tell his wife there was one Presidential site he’s been wanting to visit and hasn’t yet for a variety of reasons. If it wasn’t raining by the time we got near Toledo, and since we had the time, Tom said he wanted to take me to historic Fort Meigs in Perrysburg, Ohio.
Fort Meigs was built in 1813 along the Maumee River and was under the command of General William Henry Harrison, who later went on to become our ninth President. The fort was intended to be a staging area and supply depot for the U.S. military for operations in Canada during the War of 1812. When Fort Meigs was completed, it was the largest wooden fortification in North America. Although the weeklong Siege of Fort Meigs was the fort’s biggest claim to fame, which featured British troops and Native Americans attacking the 1,200 Kentucky militiamen inside the fortification along the Maumee River, another significant moment came when the Treaty of Fort Meigs was signed there in 1817. When the treaty was signed on September 29, 1817, the United States government had purchased 4.6 million acres of land from the chiefs of seven Native American tribes, and today, that land makes up one-sixth of the entire state of Ohio.
By the time we reached the ‘Go” or “No Go” point of the drive, the storm clouds over the area had moved off to the east of Toledo. And that meant only one thing – I was headed to historic Fort Meigs; which was the third fort on the trip following our visits to Fort Jefferson in the Dry Tortugas and Castillo de San Marcos in St. Augustine.
I wasn’t surprised when my photographer’s wife decided to take a nap in the Jeep while Tom and I visited the fort. I think part of her decision was made when Tom told her the plan was to get a couple of photos of the fort’s interior and then leave. As a matter of fact, I heard him say we’d be back at the Jeep in about twenty minutes or so.
Even though all of the original timber for the exterior fortification walls had been replaced over the years, I was very excited to stand in the footsteps of William Henry Harrison after my cameraman carried me through the Sallyport. At roughly 42 acres in size, the interior of the fort was massive, and I saw numerous buildings scattered throughout the grounds. Perhaps the most noticeable site was the 82-foot-tall Fort Meigs Monument, which was dedicated on September 1, 1908. The impressive obelisk honors the 160 soldiers who were killed during the weeklong siege of the fort in May 1813.
As Tom carried me along the pathway inside the fort, there was a stench of sewage permeating in the slight breeze. At first, I thought there might be an Amish family visiting the fort, but it turned out the ground had been saturated by the recent storm that blew through.
Please sit back, hold your nose, and take a look at the photos Tom captured during our visit to Fort Meigs Historic Site. Although my photographer had told his wife we’d be inside the fort for roughly twenty minutes, we were gone for over 45 minutes.
It was roughly 3:40pm when Tom and I returned to the Jeep, which was parked outside of the Visitor Center. I had to laugh when my photographer opened the vehicle’s door, which startled his sleeping wife. She said to Tom, as drool rolled down her chin, “Are you back already? It seemed like you were gone for only a few minutes.”
On the road again, we crossed from Ohio into our home state of Michigan at precisely 4:10pm. As we passed under the blue ‘Pure Michigan’ sign on I-75, I once again had Alice Cooper’s song ‘Going Home’ running rampant inside my mind.
“I wonder if anyone missed me? Or have I been gone so long they thought that I died? How many said, “I wonder what happened to TJ?” How many shrugged or laughed? How many cried? But I don’t give a damn. ‘Cause I’m goin’ home. I’m goin’ home. To my own room, to all the mess, to all the dirty laundry. It looks so good, I don’t care. I’m just so glad to be back home, sweet home.”
Traffic moved well through Detroit on that late Friday afternoon, and it was obvious we had missed the bulk of rush-hour. Throughout the drive from the Motor City all the way into St. Clair, we once again faced the threat of a huge storm; and once again, we never encountered one drop of rain.
Hungry, and with no food in Mother Hubbard’s cupboard or refrigerator at home, Tom and Vicki stopped at the St. Clair River Lanes Sports Bar in our hometown for dinner. We were within a mile of home, but we were also 45 minutes from getting there as well because I was forced to watch my photographer gorge himself on nachos with all the fixin’s.
At exactly 7:38pm, our trip officially came to an end when we pulled into our driveway. In the 16 days we were on the road, we racked-up a total of 3, 941 miles – and that included the 140 miles we traveled by boat to and from the Dry Tortugas. For my illustrious eleven-year career of visiting Presidential and historical sites, I’ve gone 74, 805 miles by car, truck, boat, subway, and airplane. That’s the equivalent of traveling from New York City to Los Angeles over 30 times; or going around the entire Earth at the equator three times. It seemed good to be back in one piece, even though I had two surgeries to repair my broken right arm. Tom placed me alongside my dozens of bobble head friends where I’ll wait until my next adventure – which will come on July 20, 2024. That’ll be one small step for me; one giant leap for the legend known as Donald J. Trump.
“I’m going home. There I am in my bedroom; I’m safe and snug and snoring, and so glad to be there. I’m going home. None of this ever happened. But God, I really did it; still nothing has changed. I’m just so glad to be back, home sweet home. And thank you all for going along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed the adventure.”
