The Backstory on CancerRoadTrip
An Award Winning Travel Blog
CancerRoadTrip started when I sold my house to travel. Since then, I’ve been through 4 continents, 10 countries and numerous states, numerous times. I’ve also been through 3 rounds of chemo, radiation and surgery. And so much more!
For me, travel heals. As the miles unfolded, it occurred to me: “If I could have a CancerRoadTrip to heal, why can’t others?”
And the idea of CancerRoadTrip was born.
This blog follows my travels, my expeditions to look for future healing retreats, interviews and whatever else may be of interest. You can also read more in the About Section.
Also be sure to check out the gallery for photos and more posts about my travels.
Starting in 2020, with Covid-19 restricting travel, I’ve added a podcast Bump In The Road that looks at how we all navigate the ups and downs, and twists and turns in this road trip called life. The episodes are below and I hope you’ll subscribe to the weekly show.
Sign up on our mailing list to get an email as each episode is released.
If I could put my finger on a time when things were good, it would have been the days in Connecticut, at Yale, when we were young and all powerful, out untested futures unlimited in our limited eccentric minds.
I am grateful for the freedom to pick up and go.
I am a bit of a history buff, and World War II, a war my father flew in, has always piqued my interest.
Always remember that you are unique, just like everyone else.
The year unfolded. My classes were wonderful.
I saw no outlet but a naive hope for some better future.
I have that sense that things are amiss. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think I need to concentrate on perceiving lift.
Moving from the decadent abandon of New Orleans and Mardi Gras to this germanic mid-Atlantic culture where Fat Tuesday was Fasnacht Day was an unbearable contrast for my gastronomic soul.
One rotation. Two. Another. Green earth beneath my feet. The sight is mesmerizing, pulling me down with it. The altimeter spins down.
I just want to go back, I want to land, but to go back I have to keep going forward.
And so it was, by way of New Haven, New Orleans, Hershey PA and all the other events my misdirected life, that I happened to stumble upon this sport called soaring.
What I recall most about that long Labor Day weekend was the restoration of a sense of wonder.