My dad loved to travel; it didn’t matter where. ‘Gone’ was his favorite word, whether that
meant Florida in the winter, camping beside a babbling creek, fishing from his Boston Whaler,
heading down a road he’d not explored, or driving three-plus hours to Buffalo or Cleveland for
lunch – often! He relished time in the outdoors, exploring museums and historical sites … and
eating out. Mom didn’t enjoy it quite as much, but went anyway – except fishing. (Well,
actually, she liked the ‘ea…