The first day of December began like most of the other days on our trip when Tom’s alarm rang at precisely 6:00am at the Reid Ridge Lodge in Blue Ridge, Georgia. For most of that early morning, as my photographer got ready to take on the day, I heard him complain about how much his hips and shoulders ached because of the extremely hard mattress he tried to sleep on. During the night, I knew Tom had struggled to get comfortable because I heard him toss and turn a lot, and it wasn’t due to the same paranormal activity we had encountered at the Windsor Hotel in Americus. That would’ve been a whole lot more fun.
Since that Monday was scheduled to be a day filled with endless miles as we headed North towards our home state of Michigan, my photographer put on a search for antique malls along our route. Not only did Tom figure those stops would make his wife happy, but he also wanted to break up the mind-numbing ride through Tennessee and Kentucky. Truth be told, Tom enjoys antiquing as well; and is always on the lookout for vinyl albums, sports memorabilia, or historical artifacts to add to his ever-growing collection of junk.
When he had finished scouring the internet for viable options, Tom found three places that appeared worthy of a visit – none of them, however, were in the Volunteer State. The first two Tom had penciled into the itinerary were 250 miles away near the town of Berea, Kentucky; while the third and final stop was slated for an antique mall in Georgetown, Kentucky. Since that “historic” town was roughly 300 miles away, my photographer told his wife we would likely find a place to spend the night in Georgetown instead of trying to get into Ohio and through Cincinnati before sunset. One potential ‘wrench in the spokes’ was the forecast of snowstorm that was predicted to hit Northern Kentucky and Ohio during the night
Vicki usually eats a quick breakfast at the hotel before we depart each morning, but that wasn’t going to be an option at the Reid Ridge Lodge – at least for my photographer’s wife. Oh, that ‘S&F’ motel had a simple continental breakfast set up for their guests, which was us, but there was no way on God’s Green Earth that Vicki would throw caution to the wind and eat the stuff they had. The dining area in the lodge looked dirty and the last thing anyone needed was a scorching case of food poisoning – especially without a bucket in the Jeep for emergencies.
At a few minutes before eight o’clock, we were on the road. The weather was in the low 30s, but the sky was mostly clear at the outset of our long 250-mile-drive to our first destination.
It was a bittersweet moment for me when we crossed the border into the state of Tennessee at 8:20am. We had spent three full days in Georgia where I was finally able to pay my personal tribute to President Jimmy Carter who had died nearly one year earlier. Carter is one of my favorite Presidents and it’s always tough leaving the simple, small-town ambiance that we’ve come to enjoy in and around Jimmy’s hometown of Plains.
The drive through Tennessee went by fast, and some of that was due to the impressive scenery we saw as Vicki navigated a narrow two-lane road that followed the winding Ocoee River. At one point during the scenic drive, my photographer’s wife said to her husband, “That’s something we should do next year – go hiking and white-water rafting on the Ocoee River. Look how beautiful this area is. The grandkids would love it, and I think it would be fun, too.”
I saw Tom roll his eyes just before he replied in a somewhat sarcastic tone, “Oh, that would be a lot of fun! I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than sit my fat ass in a small, inflatable raft as we bounced along a rock-filled river. While we’re at it, maybe we could we sleep on the ground and eat bugs to stay alive, too!”
It took roughly two-a-half hours to traverse the entire state of Tennessee, and by 1:40pm, we had arrived at our first site of the day – Todd’s Antique & Vendor Mall, which was located just West of downtown Berea, Kentucky. That town of roughly 15,000 people was once home to Naomi and Wynonna Judd, who lived briefly in Berea. During the half hour or so Tom and I walked the aisles of the antique mall, I wondered if the Judd’s had ever shopped there as well.
Even though my cheap photographer saw some collectibles he would’ve loved to have brought home, the two of us returned to the Jeep emptyhanded – which is usually the case during most of our treasure hunts. Once Vicki joined the two of us ten minutes later, we began the short journey to the second antique mall; one that was located two miles to the East in downtown Berea.
Vicki got lucky and found a parking spot directly in front of Something Olde Antiques and Collectibles. Before the three of us headed inside for another scavenger hunt to find some over-priced treasures, I didn’t have a great feeling about the place – even though I noticed some vinyl albums behind the large plate glass window near the entrance.
When it comes to record albums in an antique shop, Tom usually will not bother to stop and look at them if the LPs are not separated by artists in alphabetical order. Some of the artists he has his sights set on are KISS, Meat Loaf, Alice Cooper, Elton John, and of course, the late great Buddy Holly.
With no huge expectations, even though he saw the same box of albums I saw through the window, the two of us followed Vicki into the large antique shop where Tom immediately headed to the LPs. As we got closer, I knew my photographer wouldn’t take the time to search for an album because they weren’t segregated by artists.
But, Oh Boy, was I wrong, which is something that doesn’t happen Everyday. The first album we saw in a box marked ‘New Arrivals’ was called The Best of Buddy Holly, which was a gently used double album with a price tag of only $14.00. I laughed to myself because my camera guy couldn’t get that album into his hands fast enough – and for the first time in a long time, the two of us walked out of an antique shop with a coveted prize in tow.
Would I describe our visit to the Something Olde Antique and Collectibles shop in downtown Berea a success? Maybe Baby! It’s So Easy to miss a hidden treasure inside a huge store that’s crammed to the rafters with thousands of old goodies, but on that Blue Monday afternoon in Kentucky, there would be no more Crying, Waiting, Hoping for my photographer and me. And quite frankly, It Doesn’t Matter Anymore if the two of us aren’t able to find gold at our next stop in Georgetown, because Tom hit solid gold with Buddy Holly in Berea.
Back on Interstate 75 and once again headed North, the time suddenly became an issue when my photographer realized the final stop of the day, which was the Georgetown Antique Mall, closed its doors at five o’clock. While Georgetown was fifty miles North of Berea, Vicki’s lead foot on the Jeep’s gas pedal came in handy when we rolled into the “historic” town at a few minutes past four o’clock. I figured an hour was plenty of time for Tom and me to wander around; and it was likely enough time for my photographer’s wife as well.
Vicki was still shopping when Tom and I returned to the Jeep, which had been parked in a designated lot behind the antique mall. With no definite place to spend the night yet arranged, my photographer went to work in search of a decent hotel at a very decent price. Suddenly, an idea popped into Tom’s head; and it was a scheme the two of us knew his wife would thoroughly support. My camera guy found a haunted hotel in Georgetown, and he figured that place would be the perfect way to end a great trip. After all, there’s nothing better than rubbing elbows with the paranormal – unless, of course, someone I know is trying to pee at three o’clock in the morning when his elbows get rubbed.
When my photographer’s wife returned to the Jeep about fifteen minutes after we did, Tom couldn’t wait to tell Vicki about his discovery. “I just found the perfect place for us to stay tonight. It’s called the Georgetown Hotel and Saloon, and it was built in 1852. While the outside of the place may not look great in the pictures, it doesn’t matter because the hotel is allegedly haunted. We should try to get one of the haunted rooms, which is either Room One, Ten, or Eleven.”
Not wanting to be a buzz kill, Vicki searched the hotel apps on her phone to find the best price for the hotel Tom found in Georgetown, Kentucky. But when nothing came up, she went to the hotel’s website to check out the reviews. And wouldn’t ya know it, that was the end of that! As soon as Vicki saw the Georgetown Hotel and Saloon had a rating of 6 out of 10, and scored less than that for cleanliness, she turned to her husband and said, “I’m putting my foot down – I’m not spending the night there. Ghosts or no ghosts, that place is filthy and rundown. We’ll find something else in town.”
I nearly laughed out loud because Tom didn’t put up any type of argument whatsoever in his defense. I thought he could’ve done a better job of changing his wife’s mind; especially since Vicki has said in the past Tom could talk his way into anything. But not this time.
But suddenly, the entire incident became even funnier when my photographer said he wanted his wife to drive to the hotel so he could see it in person. Tom also mentioned that they could have a beer in the saloon and maybe the spirit of Myrna would show up. I thought it was a good ploy because perhaps the place wouldn’t be as filthy as the reviews had stated. But when Tom punched the address into his Siri phone app, I thought my chunky ghost hunter would fall over from laughter when he said to his wife, “Oh my God, that haunted hotel is 2,282 miles away. I don’t believe this – it’s in Georgetown, California, not Georgetown, Kentucky. Can I get any dumber?” I wanted to yell out, “Nope, you’ve just hit the bottom of the stupidity barrel”, but I was laughing too hard to say a word.
As soon as the laughter had died down in the Jeep and Vicki had stopped shaking her head in wonderment, she found a good rate for a room at the nearby Comfort Suites, which was situated about a mile from the antique mall and was very close to the expressway. That hotel may not have been haunted, but it did have very good reviews. But then again, so did the Reid Ridge Lodge where we had stayed the previous night.
During our short drive to the hotel, Tom and his wife decided to have dinner at the local Cracker Barrel, which was located very close to the Comfort Suites. At the restaurant, my photographer’s wife ordered soup and a large salad, while her husband put the hurtin’ on some chicken strips and a bowl of peach cobbler with vanilla ice cream.
After we arrived at the hotel at a few minutes before six o’clock, Tom unloaded the luggage onto a cart while his wife registered in the hotel’s lobby. When we finally made it to our room, it was a sight for sore eyes and a breath of fresh air. Compared to our previous night’s room at the Reid Ridge Lodge, the Comfort Suites was like a scene from Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. The television and remote worked properly; the room appeared clean; and the toilet lid remained in place when it was lifted.
For the next two hours, I stood near the TV set while Tom and I watched Ancient Aliens on the History Channel. In my opinion, there’s nothing better than watching a show about alien abductions just before bedtime. When my photographer extinguished the lights in the room around 8:20pm, I stood alone in the darkness where I envisioned a big-eyed extraterrestrial creature taking me on board its spacecraft. Were we headed for a distance world? Was E.T. planning to invade Uranus? I chuckled and thought that was better than an invasion of Myanus!
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Tuesday December 2, 2025, the last scheduled day of our trip, began an hour later than usual, and that was partially due to the weather forecast for the greater Lexington area. As soon as my photographer’s alarm rang at 7:00am in our hotel room in Georgetown, Kentucky, Tom turned on the television to watch the latest weather bulletin as a dangerous “wintery mix” had been predicted to hit during the night. And for once, the meteorologists were right. Three inches of snow had fallen on top of a sheet of ice caused by freezing rain, and according to the folks on TV, locals were advised to stay off the roads unless it was necessary to travel. I wondered to myself, “Was it necessary for us to travel?” The quick answer was ‘yes’, if we wanted to get back home to Michigan before Spring.
With only one site penciled into on our agenda for the entire day, and since we were only six hours from home, my photographer felt it would be safer if we left a bit later than usual to allow the road crews a chance to clear the expressway. After all, the last thing we needed was to bring back a smashed Jeep as a souvenir of our trip.
After my companions had cleared the three inches of wet, slushy snow from the windows of the Jeep, we were on I-75 and headed North by 9:15am. Surprisingly, the expressway was completely void of ice and snow, which was a credit to the dedicated work of the road crew in Kentucky’s Scott County.
Throughout the 70-mile drive from Georgetown to the bridge that crossed the Ohio River into Cincinnati, we noticed a small handful of abandoned vehicles alongside the E-way. I laughed to myself when Vicki exclaimed, “They get a little snow down here and suddenly the hillbillies don’t know how to drive.”
My photographer, who has a softer heart and more compassion for Southern folks, replied, “Give ’em a break – it was the first heavy snow of the year for these folks. And who knows, maybe it was dinnertime and the driver intentionally swerved to hit a possum for dinner when they lost control of their vee-hickle.”
Roughly one hour after we had left the Comfort Suites in Georgetown behind, Vicki drove the Jeep across the Ohio River and into Cincinnati. While traffic is usually slow or at a standstill in that section of I-75, my photographer’s wife never took her foot off the gas pedal during the entire drive over the river and past the Queen City. The sky was still overcast, and it looked as though we’d run into a snow squall or two at some point during our journey through the heart of Ohio. Luckily for us, that never happened.
While Ohio is not Tom’s favorite state in the Union, the Michigan-born cameraman can’t argue the fact that it’s a Presidential hotbed filled with a countless number of sites the two of us had already visited numerous times over the past decade. A total of seven Presidents were born in Ohio – they were McKinley, Taft, Grant, Hayes, Garfield, Harding, and Benjamin Harrison. And when it comes to Presidential gravesites, five Chief Executives were laid to rest in the Buckeye State – William Henry Harrison, Hayes, Garfield, McKinley, and Harding.
But there was one Presidential site that has been on our radar for well over a year, and it was located in downtown Sidney, Ohio. On August 28, 2004, President George W. Bush arrived in that town while on his campaign re-election bus tour and had lunch at a place called The Spot. The 43rd President was in the middle of two scheduled rallies in the Ohio cities of Troy and Lima when he stopped in Sidney. While at the small diner, Bush greeted surprised customers and posed for pictures with staff members. In a true moment of Americana, the 43rd President also had an All-American lunch, which included a hamburger and a slice of pie – albeit pecan instead of apple.
We rolled into snow-covered Sidney at 11:45am, which was perfect timing for lunch. Although Tom’s goal was for the two of us to walk in the footsteps of George W at The Spot, I was confident my chunky photographer would make sure some of those Presidential footsteps led to food.
Once we arrived at the small diner, Tom carried me through the slush and snow to the front of The Spot where I posed for a handful of photos. Using the images my photographer found from Bush’s visit, the exterior of the diner had not changed much at all – except there was no snow on the ground during the President’s August 2004 stop.
The interior of the diner was a completely different story. When the three of us walked inside, Tom wanted me to pose exactly where President Bush was photographed over 21 years earlier. But there was one problem – it appeared the decor had been renovated over the past two decades.
After I posed in several locations around the interior, which raised the eyebrows of several curious staff members, Tom saw a sign near the cash register that read, ‘George W. Bush Burger $5.95’. That’s exactly what the doctor ordered, and so did my photographer – although Tom passed on the dessert the President had eaten in 2004 as he doesn’t care for pecan pie.
While Tom and Vicki sat at a booth and ate their lunch, I looked around the diner and envisioned the scene that likely unfolded during President Bush’s visit in 2004. Although Bush was surrounded by his Secret Service detail that ensured the President’s time at The Spot was safe, he conducted himself as a down-to-Earth guy who likes to eat burgers and pie. For a few precious moments, the President of the United States rubbed elbows with staff members and surprised customers inside a small diner in middle America. While all Presidential candidates seem to put on a show and “pretend” to care about the citizens they cross paths with on the campaign trail, it’s the votes that are always their top priority.
While I believe the votes were important to George W as well, I truly think he enjoyed interacting with the public in off-the-cuff places. Common clay Americans are a lot like Bush himself, and that’s what I liked most about our 43rd President. He made gaffes during his speeches; he laughed at comedians who poked fun at him; and he came across as a regular guy who wanted to make a positive difference in our country. Bush had a great sense of humor while in office, and he never lost that incredible trait when he left the White House.
When I stop and think about the five current surviving Presidents, which are Clinton, Obama, Bush, Biden, and Trump, there’s one that’s at the top of my list of someone I would love to meet in person. That’s right – it’s George W. Bush. I think Bush would find my travel stories amusing and he could relate to some of my mishaps in a most humorous way. I’d also want to meet his wife, Laura Bush, as she’s one of my favorite First Ladies.
I nearly met Bill and Hillary Clinton in 2019 at the Fox Theater in Detroit, but the Secret Service thought I was a security risk and they kept me away from the former President and First Lady. And from what I saw and heard during their lecture that followed the Meet and Greet, the Clinton’s came across as celebrities who think they’re better than the average bobble head.
While it would be cool to meet Barack Obama, our first and only Black President, I’m not sure how he’d react to a bobble head who honors the legacy of a former slave owner. Although I thought Obama did a decent job during his first term, he fell extremely short during his second go-around in the White House, and I believe it was all due to the President’s increased focus on race. Did Barack Obama play the race card as President? No, he played the whole damned deck!
When it comes to President Biden – I think Amtrak Joe might be a really nice guy, but he’d likely confuse me with George Jefferson from the TV show The Jeffersons. I can imagine Biden saying, “Here’s the deal, I loved you on that show with Archie Bunker. I mean it; it’s no joke. Were you the Meatball? I mean Meathead? C’mon, man, I mean it, you were really good on that show. I’m not joking around!”
And then there’s Trump. While I’ve seen President Donald Trump in person twice – the first time at a rally in 2018 and again at the White House a year later – I don’t think I would enjoy meeting him in person. To me, he doesn’t come across as a people person, unless that person is Donald J. Trump. Although I might vomit the moment he mentioned the damned so-called rigged election in 2020, my biggest beef with Trump is the insurrection at the United States Capitol on January 6, 2021. As a bobble head who loves the history of our country and has stood on the very spot where the first peaceful transfer of power in the United States occurred on March 4, 1797, I will never forget that day in 2021 nor forgive him for putting our sacred Republic in jeopardy. It was his fault; and his fault solely; but he wants others to take the blame.
Roughly forty minutes after Tom, Vicki, and I first arrived at The Spot, we were back in the Jeep for our long journey home. The sky had cleared a bit, and the weather was a non-issue all the way through Ohio, except for a brief snow squall we hit just North of Findlay. At precisely 1:53pm, we saw the huge blue sign over Interstate 75 that read ‘Welcome to Pure Michigan’. That’s the moment I realized we were Homeward Bound – and I couldn’t help but think of Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel.
“Every day was an endless dream, of sites with a history theme. And each town looked the same to me, the Presidents and their First Ladies. And every stranger’s face I see, reminds me that I long to be Homeward Bound. I’m glad to be, Homeward Bound. Home, where my thought’s escapin’. Home, where my trips take shape in. Home, where my friends stand waitin’ silently for me.”
Traffic was steady and mostly light from the Michigan-Ohio border all the way into the construction-filled Motor City. But as soon as we got to the area near Comerica Park and Ford Field, we became embroiled in a massive traffic jam, even though we were early and should have beaten the normal rush hour in Detroit.
But with the perseverance of a champion, Vicki was able to keep her road rage under control until we were safely through Motown. Just as I thought there would be no more surprises, however, Vicki said something that I knew would send my photographer into his own rage on the road, “I’m hungry and I want to have a spaghetti dinner at Olive Garden.”
It’s no secret that Tom hates Olive Garden with every fiber of his being and I waited for the fireworks to erupt in the front seat. There was a pause, likely for my photographer to collect his thoughts, and then he replied, “Since you drove the entire trip and never complained at one Presidential site we visited, we can stop for dinner at Olive Garden. I’m sure I’ll be able to find something edible on their menu; something that won’t make me sick to my stomach. I’ll be okay as long as I don’t get a whiff of that rotten cheese that smells like stinkin’ feet.”
I was convinced my cameraman would change his tune once we got to the parking lot of the nearest Olive Garden, which was located in Chersterfield Township, some 20 miles from home. But surprisingly, Tom’s tune remained the same – and unfortunately, it sounded nothing like Dominique.
But Tom’s pleasant demeanor quickly changed as soon as my companion’s “Salad for Two” arrived at the table. When the server axed Vicki if she wanted shredded cheese grated onto the entire large bowl of salad, she said “Oh yes, I love that cheese.” At the same time, my photographer yelled, “Nooooo, that cheese smells like rotten feet and will ruin the entire salad.” Needless to say, the cheese was scraped onto the salad; Vicki informed her husband he could scrape it off; and Tom was left mumbling obscenities under his breath when his salad smelled like a pair of six-month-old socks worn by a homeless guy.
After Vicki finished her meal of spaghetti and my photographer devoured his plate of Shrimp Fritto Misto, the three of us returned to the Jeep for the final leg of the trip.
At precisely five o’clock in the afternoon on December 2, 2025, our final trip of the year came to an end. We had traveled 1,952 miles over six days down to Georgia and back, which gave me a grand total of 87,503 miles since I began my Presidential quest in July 2013.
Tom and Vicki unpacked the Jeep and brought all of their stuff into our house. Moments later, I was placed alongside some of my bobble head friends where I’ll likely stand until our next adventure. This past year had been a year filled with amazing Presidential and historical sites, but was also one filled with personal tragedy and sadness for my photographer.
On August 18, 2025, Tom lost his only brother to lung cancer, and then he learned his good friend, Tom McGrew, passed away unexpectedly at the age of 53 on that same day. The three of us stayed at McGrew’s house in Melbourne, Florida on April 27, 2024, which was the last time we saw him. Tom McGrew met me a few times over the years and enjoyed hearing stories about my travels. During our final visit, McGrew posed with me poolside at his home where he held me close to his heart. “Rhino” was one of the nicest, funniest, and most generous men I had ever met, and his passing has left a devasting effect on Tom, Vicki, and me. One thing’s for certain; the world lost two great men on August 18, 2025.
It’s impossible to predict what the new year of 2026 will bring. My photographer has already planned an April trip to the Indianapolis area to watch his grandson Bo play in a baseball tournament, and I’m anxious as well because that’s also Benjamin Harrison country.
There’s also been some discussion with Bob Moldenhauer about making a historic pilgrimage to Washington D.C. where the three of us hope to see the Declaration of Independence on its 250th birthday on July 4th. It would be an amazing reunion with the document for Tom and Bob as the pair celebrated the Bicentennial in 1976 with a visit to the National Archives on the D of I’s 200th birthday. I’m definitely hoping my two friends will be able to make that trip a reality.
As far as the “Big Trip” with Vicki in 2026? I’ve heard my photographer has wanted to make one final cross country road trip that would take us into Arizona – a state I’ve never stepped foot in. But as far as I know right now, that trip is still up in the air.
Roughly two weeks after we had returned from Georgia, and as I watched Vicki prepare for the Christmas season, I had an incredible thought. In my vision, I was taken to visit Santa Claus where I asked the fat elf for something he could bring me on Christmas morning – even though the gift was one he couldn’t wrap and put under the tree.
I asked that Earl McCartney, who is in a courageous battle with cancer, will find peace and happiness with his family during the Christmas holiday. Earl is another amazing friend of ours who has enjoyed videos of our trips over the past five years or so and he claims to be my number one fan – a statement Tom and I have found to be exaggerated. McCartney is also a huge MAGA supporter of our current President, and to be honest, I’ve enjoyed the banter between Earl and my photographer during Trump’s first term and one year into his second. While McCartney claims the 45th and 47th President belongs on Mount Rushmore, Tom doesn’t hesitate to remind his friend about the January 6th insurrection at the Capitol in 2020, as well as all of the other controversial crap he’s done and said in the five years he’s been in office. On the other hand, my photographer also lets Earl know he supports and agrees with some of Trump’s policies, such as the crackdown on illegal immigrants, his war on drugs and crime, and Trump’s efforts to end the woke movement in our country.
As my dream continued, I found myself in the right hand of Santa. When I looked up, however, the jolly old elf smiled and said, “I’m changing the name of Christmas to ‘Trumpmas’. Then he sprang to his limo, to his team gave a whistle. And away they all went, like a Tomahawk missile. But I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Happy Trumpmas to all, and to all a good night.”
