Highway 60, Virginia Beach, Virginia

Dear Henry,

Some years ago, my youngest sister gave me a scratch-off map of the U.S. —you know, the kind where you reveal the places you've been by scraping away thin foil. It has been a fun, visual way to track our travels, and Fish (my partner in adventure and life) and I began scratching off the states we'd lived in or journeyed together through.

We didn't realize then how linear our path would be, moving in a near-perfect line from Salt Lake City to Virginia Beach, over 27 years.

We met and got married in Salt Lake City. Then came Portland, briefly. We stayed just long enough to decide we weren't cut out for life under a near-constant rain and grey skies, although we enjoyed the drive to Seaside, Oregon, to feed the seals. We returned to the Salt Lake area, disappointed.

Next up: Denver, then a curveball to northwest Arkansas, followed by a stint in Tulsa, and let me just say that Tulsa's wind deserves its own spot on the weather channel. It's relentless.) Eventually, we settled in Roanoke County, Virginia, which finally felt like home. We spent the first few years putting down roots, renovating our house, and working on community projects. But there was still one unscratched spot on our semilinear journey across that map: the easternmost edge of Virginia.

So, one day, we pointed the car eastward and made our way to Virginia Beach.

The goal was simple: see the sun rise over the Atlantic, visit Cape Henry Lighthouse, and stand on the site of the first English landing in 1607. Spoiler alert: We didn't plan quite as well as we thought.

First surprise? The hotel. We thought we'd booked something beachside. Instead, we found ourselves 20 minutes inland—but in hindsight, it was a blessing. The beachfront hotels sit right under the flight path of Naval Station Oceana. And let me tell you, fighter jets at full throttle are not sleep-friendly white noise.

Dinner was at the Nautilus Restaurant, where I enjoyed some fantastic fried oysters and fish and chips. Fish, a lifelong pescaphobe, naturally went for the chicken fingers. We ended the night with a peaceful walk along the beach, grateful for the salt air and the noise of the jets flying off over the Atlantic, and then traveled the 20 miles to our hotel.

I'm loyal to my Hilton properties, but I'd be lying if I didn't mention that the Hampton Inn Norfolk/Virginia Beach had a unique smell I still can't quite place.

We overslept a bit the next morning and ended up racing down I-264 in the half-light of dawn. But we made it, just in time to see the sun lift itself out of the ocean (prints are available here). It was everything I'd hoped for. We strolled along the beach, watched surfers cut through the waves, and visited the Naval Aviation Monument Park—an understated but moving tribute to naval aviators.

We tried to visit Cape Henry Lighthouse, but it sits on Fort Story, which appears to limit public access. Still, it felt like we'd seen what we came for, and now it was time to head to Norfolk.

That trip to Virginia Beach was more than just another destination—it was the final scratch on a journey nearly three decades in the making.

Maps are fun, but this one told a story—not just of where we've been but also of how long it took to find the place we'd stay. And even though that scratch-off is complete, are travels most certainly aren't.

 Some journeys just don't end with a final scratch.

xoxo a.d. elliott

P.S. Don't forget to check out my YouTube video here: https://youtu.be/guSz1DmIqks

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a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller living in Salem, Virginia. 

In addition to her travel writings at www.takethebackroads.com, you can also read her book reviews at www.riteoffancy.com and US military biographies at www.everydaypatriot.com

Her online photography gallery can be found at shop.takethebackroads.com

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