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<\/a><\/p>\nI got hitched up and ready to roll. According to the overly optimistic directions in Google Maps, the trip from there to Joyce’s house in Pennsylvania should have taken a little more than nine hours. I knew it was going to take longer than that, so I made arrangements to spend\u00a0the night at an RV park in Burnt Cabins, Pennsylvania.<\/p>\n
I rolled along, with Flo right in my rearview mirror. It took all day, but I eventually got to the campground – Ye Olde Mill Campground .<\/p>\n I am sure you are curious about the name of the community. “Burnt Cabins” is not exactly a name you would pick to attract people to settle down. According to my preferred source<\/a>, the land was owned by Native American tribes until 1758. By 1750, a small village known as Sidneyville had grown to 11 squatters’ cabins. These cabins were burned by order of the provincial government to maintain peace and to demonstrate to Native Americans that their ownership would be respected.<\/p>\n We all know how that turned out.<\/p>\n That large white building is Ye Olde Mill. A tour of it was included in my campground fee, but I decided that I’d seen enough mills in my travels. I settled in for the night and spent my last night in a rather unglamorous spot – but it had water and electricity and I don’t think I could have driven any further.<\/p>\n I timed things out great, in terms of food.<\/p>\n I used my last two slices of bread and scraped the peanut butter and jelly jars to make a sandwich for lunch along the way. The crumbs in the bottom of the potato chip bag were the perfect accompaniment.<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n