COOPERSTOWN, NY TO BELFAST, MAINE

We have arrived in Belfast, Maine having said a fond goodbye to the rolling hills of New York state. It was moving to have been bid a somewhat haunting farewell, as we set off, from an Amish washing line of empty frocks and pants, waving gently as we drove past. We surmised that the usual occupants of these disembodied fashions had probably headed for the nearby forest hills for a special edition of Naked and Afraid and Amish.

There was a packed schedule on the road to Massachusetts, where our destination was a long overdue family reunion. We had a couple of nights in a beautiful site in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest civilization being distant Cooperstown, NY. They put us in the perfect site on the edge of a field of 10ft sweetcorn, ripe and ready for harvest, that stretched out to the horizon. Sitting by the log fire under the canopy of stars was the stuff of clichés.

Our journey to our next stop was interrupted (for 20 minutes) only by a herd of 700 cattle who crossed the narrow road in front of the bus, moving from one field to another, each beast giving it and us a bemused glare as the parade went slowly by.

One place we went to had always been on our list - Newport, Rhode Island - what a great town. Dominated by the yachting, the seas were packed with a bunting of sails, shining brightly in the sun. The town itself is just picture perfect, with narrow streets lined with 19th century houses rising up from the harbor edge. We found a great restaurant on the seafront that reminded us of Port Grimaud and St Tropez (where we once had a house) for a Sunday lunchtime lobster roll. RV life can be tough.

We went on to a pilgrimage to the Old North Bridge in Concord, the very spot where the first shot of the Revolution was fired (and fatally hit a luckless British Redcoat). It was indeed 'the shot heard around the world' according to Ralph Waldo Emerson in his 1837 poem.