Camping near Front Royal, Virginia, we set out for the Seven Pools trail in Shenandoah State Park. The trailhead greeted us with sunshine, decent footing, and enough humidity to make us look like we’d already gone for a swim. The air was thick, the mud was plentiful, but manageable—just enough to make things interesting. We pressed on, weaving through a green canopy that whispered promises of adventure… and mosquitoes. Lots of them. Still, the forest was beautiful, the birds were in full chorus, and it felt good to be moving. Service Dog Charlie has become quite the trail expert. He led the way like a four-legged guide, sniffing out the driest edges and plotting a course that somehow danced around the worst of the muck.
After 1.5 miles of sweat, laughs, and a mild game of “don’t lose a boot,” we turned back—no pools this time, but the joy was in the journey. July hiking in Shenandoah? Hot and buggy, yes. But with a smart dog and a good sense of humor, totally worth it. Back at Low Water Bridge Campground, we settled in and let the quiet do its work. We love that it’s not polished or fancy, it’s just a stretch of land by the river, with enough trees for shade and space to breathe and nature to behold. Mornings start with coffee by the river, and evenings end with the gentle sound of the river’s flow. The owners, Kendra and Alan, have put real care into the place, and it shows. There’s a simple honesty to it all—the kind of campground that feels less like a weekend stop and more like a place you return to without needing a reason.
Then came the highlight of our afternoon: the scooter ride. After that hike, anything with a breeze was a welcome upgrade. We hopped on and took to the backroads on yet another one of our adventures—the only destination being the experience. Let me tell you—Shenandoah from a scooter is a whole new level of freedom. We cruised through shady “hollers,” passed weathered cabins tucked into the woods, and rolled by porches full of rocking chairs and pastures of cattle and horses. There were long stretches of road where the trees arched overhead like green cathedrals. Every turn looked like it came out of a postcard, even where the road signs signaled trouble ahead. We hit one bridge with a mater-of-fact sign that read, “Do not cross bridge when underwater.”
Naturally, that’s where we took a photo—with the creek behind us, still below the bridge but clearly planning its next move. Around here, weather and rivers don’t ask permission. Earlier, we’d visited Dusty’s store for chocolate, honey and old-fashioned stories—this time about a rogue bull in the backyard. Then we popped into Ole Timers Antiques, where Chris picked up yet another teapot (we may need shelving permits soon) and a set of zebra-striped salt and pepper shakers. Because? why not? Like, everybody needs another antique teapot, right? But the real memory this trip? Laughing like kids while riding through the hills on that scooter, no destination—just discovery. It was like Shenandoah gave us a little wink and said, “Yeah, I’m still wild. Hope you brought your sense of humor.” We did. And we’ll be back.
