It was a rainy Monday, just after 7 a.m., when I pulled into the parking lot at Keeneland, one of the nation's most venerable thoroughbred racetracks. I had read that watching the horses morning workout was one of the best free things to do in Lexington, Kentucky, but on a dreary, wet day, I figured the horses would probably be lounging in their stables, nibbling on carrots or catching up on their sleep.

But before I even made my way into the beautiful, old track, which is a National Historic Landmark, I could see the horses gracefully galloping through the mud, impervious to the rain. I walked up into the track past rows of wet, empty benches and positioned myself against the rail. There were about a dozen horses and jockeys out on the track working out. I looked around the empty grandstands and realized that I was the only spectator.

What kind of accommodation do you expect for $49 a night? Are you visualizing a place with 800-thread-count sheets, a memory foam mattress and free Perrier and gourmet coffee? Or for $49 bucks, would you expect a place where they rent by the hour, where you might be mingling with junkies and prostitutes and want to wear latex gloves before you touch anything?

If you're a skeptic like me, you might have a hard time believing that it's possible to rent a luxury apartment for $49 in Charlottesville, home of the University of Virginia, Thomas Jefferson's Monticello and a host of upper-crust types who have dogs worth more than my car, and horses worth more than my home. But I found out this week that it is indeed possible to stay in style in CVille for less than fifty bucks a night.

Five years ago, when my wife and I had our first child, our lives as travelers changed. We still hit the road just as often as before, but now we find ourselves seeking out zoos and playgrounds and children's museums and a host of other kid friendly attractions that we never would have visited during our childless years. Most of the time, I acquiesce to the child-centric activities more or less kicking and screaming, and although I enjoy watching my kids have fun, 3- and 5-year-old boys aren't exactly well known for showing gratitude and appreciation, so I sometimes wonder if the kid stuff is worth it.

Over the Memorial Day weekend, we treated our boys to the one kid-focused activity we've never tried before: a circus. These days, many of the larger traveling circuses perform in large arenas, which hold little appeal for me. I wanted to bring my kids to an old-school circus performed under a big top, and I found what I was looking for at Circus World, in Baraboo, Wisconsin, about three hours northwest of Chicago, and just 10 minutes from the tourist trap insanity of the Wisconsin Dells.

Click here to read part one of this story. In recent weeks, U.S. and Canadian officials have been fighting over a development issue at the Peace Bridge, but when I drove over the bridge, built to commemorate 100 years of peaceful relations between U.S. and Canada, one warm day late last summer, I had much older hostilities in mind. Two months before, I had taken a bike ride from Niagara Falls to Niagara-on-the-Lake. This time, I returned to cycle the Fort Erie to Niagara Falls section of the trail, with the goal of learning a bit more about the War of 1812, and to approach Niagara Falls from a direction I'd never seen before.

I ditched my car in Fort Erie, a town on the Canadian side of the border where the U.S. army withstood a six month long siege during that forgotten war. On the New York side of the border, Fort Erie is known more for its proliferation of gentleman's clubs, know as the "Canadian ballet" in these parts. Ontario's drinking age is 19 and Americans have long flocked to Fort Erie's strip joints, which offer full bars and nude women, a combination that isn't legal in New York.

I must have been absent from school the day we learned about the War of 1812. Growing up, history was my favorite subject, but as I sat in an office interviewing Paul Dyster, the mayor of Niagara Falls, New York, who mentioned upcoming events to commemorate the bicentennial of the conflict, I couldn't for the life of me recall who won the war (it was a stalemate) or even why it was fought. (Unresolved trade issues, the impressment of U.S. sailors into the British Navy and British efforts to halt America's westward expansion.)

I grew up about 20 minutes away from Niagara Falls, and my father and grandfather lived and worked in the city for many years. Growing up, we visited the Falls often, usually when friends or relatives from out of town came to visit, but occasionally just to get out of the house.

But despite the fact that I've been to the Falls probably more than 100 times, I've never thought to ride a bike near this iconic natural wonder until I saw some cyclists on an organized bike tour in Niagara-on-the-Lake (NOTL) Ontario, a distinctive, historic town 18 miles north of the Falls, last summer.

If you've ever approached a good-looking stranger on a train, or kicked yourself for not doing so, you probably love Richard Linklater's trilogy of films - "Before Sunrise," "Before Sunset" and "Before Midnight" – about a pair of travelers who met on a train bound for Vienna in 1995, rekindled their romance in Paris in 2004, and then re-emerge as lovers on holiday in Greece in 2013. I saw "Before Midnight" on Friday, and while I didn't enjoy it as much as the first two films, I still believe that anyone who is passionate about travel has to see these films.

In the first film, Jesse, a jilted young American backpacker played by Ethan Hawke, convinces Celine, a Frenchwoman who is on her way back to Paris, played by Julie Delpy, to get off the train with him in Vienna. The pair fall in love while walking the streets of Vienna, but rather than exchange contact information when they part, they resolve to meet again in six months. (We learn in the next film that that meeting never happened.)

When it comes to giant California redwoods, size matters. Or at least that was my premise when I committed to a long detour that would take me through the state and national Redwood parks of Northern California in early May. A friend had suggested that I could visit Muir Woods, just over the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco, to get my redwoods fix, but when I read that the biggest redwoods were up near the Oregon border, suddenly the moderately huge redwoods of Muir Woods simply wouldn't do.

The desire to see the world's biggest trees led me into a knee-deep thicket of ferns alongside the Smith River in Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park, my first stop on an early May redwood road trip with my wife and two little boys. I was looking for a tree called the Del Norte Titan, one of the world's largest (by cubic feed of wood) at 74 feet in circumference, or the equivalent of 108 cans of coke, and a grove called the Grove of Titans, but I had just a vague set of instructions pulled off the Internet.

There must be someone in Bend, Oregon, who drinks Coors or Bud Light. But I imagine that this mythical, mass produced beer loving android keeps a very low profile so as not to be shunned, like an alcoholic Amish swinger, in what must be America's best craft beer town. Bend is blessed with an abundance of natural beauty and some 250 days of sunshine a year. There are so many opportunities to hike, kayak, go trail running, white water rafting, skiing or snowboarding that one doesn't have to feel too guilty about throwing back a few craft beers at one of Bend's 13 breweries.

With a population of just under 80,000, Bend apparently has the most per capita breweries in the nation. Inside the city limits, there are 10 brewpubs and three breweries (Boneyard has a tasting room open to the public, Below Grade Brewing isn't open to the public and the Ale Apothecary is by appointment only). There are two more brewpubs in the neighboring towns of Sunriver and Sisters, and I'm told there is one more brewpub set to open later this summer called Riverside and another brewery called Rathole about to open any time now. Bend also has a Cycle Pub that gives drinkers and bike enthusiasts to combine their two favorite pastimes.

Travel is a beautiful escape from reality. There is no finer way to remove oneself from life's dirty, mundane realities than to plan a trip. Hate your job? Have a broken heart? Bored with your lot in life? Step right up and book a ticket to just about anywhere. The trip might change your life – or maybe it won't. The travel industry would like you to believe that a vacation can make you happier. But coming home can be a bitch.

Travel represents freedom, a taste of the good life. It's easy to visit a beautiful place and think, "I want to live here." Seize the temptation to bottle up that little whiff of travel euphoria and make it last by not going home. Removing oneself from the daily routine inspires reflection, and travelers often make major life decisions on or right after a trip. But when they return from a trip, especially a very good one, they aren't quite in a rational frame of mind.

I'm a sucker for brochures. It makes no sense to plan one's vacation itinerary, even in part, based on what you see in the flyers and brochures you pick up in your hotel lobby or at a visitor's information office, but sometimes I do just that, and I suspect I'm not alone. By the end of a trip, I might have dozens of papers, maps and brochures strewn about my rental car and most of the time, they provide little if any useful information. And sometimes they are downright misleading. But I still keep picking the damn things up. Why?

On a recent trip to visit the Redwood parks in Northern California I stayed in a well-known national chain hotel in Arcata. As is my custom, I perused the collection of brochures in the lobby. I found brochures for four different casinos, one outlet mall, a golf course, two safari parks, two amusement parks, Jet Ski rental, a paintball park, "Bigfoot Rafting," whatever the hell that is, and a cheese factory, among other tourist traps. The hotel is located just minutes away from Redwood National Park and a host of magnificent state parks that have some of the biggest and oldest trees in the world, but there were no maps or useful information on any of them.