We’ve been hitting it pretty hard for the last month or so. By “it,” I mean the gas pedal. Our last stay of more than 3 consecutive nights was 39 days and 8 states ago. Unrestrained wanderlust and an overly ambitious itinerary get at least some of the credit, but whatever the reason; on the night before our planned entrance into Canada I was reflecting wistfully on languid week-long visits in the Southwest.

With the morning’s departure on my mind, I dug my passport out of its hiding spot and fanned through, just for fun. That was the moment when I noticed it had expired. In March. Feel free to laugh, friends who know me as an obsessive and meticulous planner. I deserve it.

But you know, sometimes fate is a better guide than intellect, so we decided to go with it—embracing the opportunity to set a more leisurely pace. With fewer miles to cover, we reasoned, more time could be spent at the remaining destinations.

We arrived at Umbagog Lake State Park, a remote outpost near New Hampshire’s White Mountains, with no plans, and as it turned out, no cell reception. Our mid-week, early season check-in meant that we were two of less than a half dozen people at the campground. We got to know our fellow campers through random brief encounters—which is, now that I think of it, how most of our transient relationships are built. And why the characters that populate road stories are always so idiosyncratic.

Our most recent neighbors, however, were a breed apart. We could barely tear ourselves away from the tinted windows of our vehicle during their remarkably drawn out arrival and set up. We watched, transfixed, as they sized up the site options—she with her arms crossed and foot tapping, he running back and forth to the office. Twice he came back with paperwork in hand, just in time to turn around and make new arrangements. Four bundles of wood were delivered to the site below us, then picked up and moved to the site above us.

The duo eventually (but not without drama) maneuvered their apparently new Airstream into place and began setting up camp. He unpacked cowboy boots, chairs, tables, a 16’ rug and something we thought might be an automatic ice maker. She changed outfits, covered the picnic table with a tablecloth and tablecloth cover, then changed outfits again. This is the stuff that passes for high entertainment in a campground. We’re all about checking out your skills and stuff. We’ve literally got nothing better to do.

We did finally chat for a few minutes and learned that:

Yes, the Airstream was new, but not their first.
The solar panels were also new, but a good addition because they do a lot of “dry camping” around New York.
They prefer our state parks to their own (Canadian) parks.
They camp nearly 100 days each year.
He’s a competitive bicycle racer.
Tomorrow he will ride 100 miles to Conway.

Indeed, the next morning we see him stomping around camp in bike shorts and cowboy boots, prepping for his big ride. We are agreed that THIS is our reward for slowing down and being “in the moment.”

Stay: Umbagog Lake State Park offers nearly 30 “base camp” sites on the edge of a stunning mountain lake, plus another 33 sites at remote locations that the staff will ferry you to for a fee. It’s a northwoods fantasy island for paddlers.

Eat: This is a foodie state. The lush hills of the Green Mountains nurture a thriving agricultural scene supported by appreciative locals and a steady stream of visitors from New York and Montreal. Too many great places to list.

Explore: Perched on the banks of the Winooski River, Montpelier is the smallest state capital when measured by population. It’s tiny, but chock-full of historical charm and hippie chill. Stowe’s retail and dining options reflect its status as one of the east’s most popular and pricey ski resorts, but the town’s farmer's market and trails were free and fantastic. Burlington has its own fabulous bike trail which connects the city campground at North Park Beach to a lively pedestrian mall. Three wonderfully accessible towns, each worth a visit.