The 2026 Adventure, Part I: Savannah, via Baltimore

With the school year over comes the gift of time, at last. Unfortunately, by the time the school year is over, you barely have the ability to rub two brain cells together, let alone plan some kind of adventure. It doesn’t help that I like to do as much as I can during May and the first weeks of June, before things really get flooded with vacationers.

This year, though, I had an event that forced my hand. The NS Savannah Association, which is working toward preservation of the pioneering (and beautiful) atomic-powered merchant ship, was holding a members-only open-ship day on May 16. While there are semi-regular open-ship days through the year, this one would have extra fun just for members. I’m a member in good standing, and Savannah is an old friend from way back when I’d visit her at Patriots Point, and I’d really wanted to go back aboard. I submitted my RSVP and booked plans for Baltimore for that weekend. 

Then I got to thinking. Baltimore is my jumping-off point for the train to New York City. My pals at ABC were wanting me to come back up. If I’m that close, why not? Some messages flew back and forth and next thing I knew, that was set up. For a while I thought about going really big, with a drive to Buffalo (to visit a friend and see the Naval Park before some ships get moved for maintenance) and Jamestown (to visit the National Comedy Center and to find a few Maniacs-related sites) after my return to Baltimore. If I were 30 years younger, I’d have gone for it. But now, I’m thinking about what a chore all that driving would be. Buffalo’s a trip for another time. The route I was going to drive is enough of an ordeal, and it’s one I know too well by now.

The night before departure, our oldest cat saw me getting out my bags. He knows what that means, and he commences to mope. Which, of course, makes me sad and haunts me through the night. I carry a certain degree of anxiety in the run-up to any trip, thinking about all the ways it could go sideways: car trouble, illness, reservations that could get crossed-up, a work or family emergency unfolding while I’m far away. Somehow, though, the worst thing is my little guy getting sad. Once I was done packing, I spent some time with my little mountain lion guy, reassuring him that I would be back and to look after the others while I was away. That night, I slept…okay, I suppose, when I could get myself not to think about the absurdity of me driving for so long and being that far away by that time tomorrow.

Comes the morning and I’m up early, take care of last chores, get dressed, bid everyone farewell, throw the bags in the car and slowly head off. I’ve taken this route so much the last three years that by now the car knows the way. Well, almost. This year my normal route to I-77 was blocked by road construction and I saw the “Detour” sign too late to make the turn, so I had to double back. No big deal. Podcasts keep me company: an interview with my kitchen and spiritual guru, Vivian Howard; Marc Maron’s long conversation with Lorne Michaels from a decade back; and then TCM’s epic about the making of Cleopatra. One episode has a commercial break with a guy talking about how he loves to snuggle with his cat but it activates his allergies, and there’s the sound of a cat meowing; it makes me think of my little mountain lion guy waiting at home, and for a moment I come close to losing it. 

Supercar and I thread our way through Charlotte (which seems to become a longer, more drawn-out snarl by the year) and up North Carolina to Virginia. Soon 77 gives way to the long, long stretch of I-81, the part of any journey north that I most dread. It’s not a difficult road, mind you; it’s just that it goes on forever. My primary duties become watching out for other drivers and trying to keep from being bored out of my skull. Caffeine from the soda bottles I’ve packed in an ice chest, and a bag full of different snacks I bought a few days before, keeps me going; my only stops are for fuel and facilities. The moving map guides me to Frederick, from there to Baltimore, and then to my hotel in scenic Linthicum Heights. At last I unpack the car, claim my room, have a more substantial bite while I catch up on e-mail and world events, take a bath, and prepare for whatever sleep I can get that night. My bedtime reading is The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius, which I brought along in hopes of helping me stave off anxiety. It helps a lot.

The next morning comes. I do the math on how much time I have before the ship opens and what time I should leave (I have a good bit of time, it turns out), and so I eat a little something and do some reading, then determine what I’ll need for New York (and can fit in my messenger bag) and what can stay behind in my duffel. All that sorted, the time comes to head off to my friend the nuclear ship. It’s not a long drive from the hotel to the pier, but you have to know where you’re going. The moving map mostly helps, though I made the last turn one early and ended up inside a small fenced area. Oops. Back out we go, then one more gate over. Sure enough, there’s my old friend, looking resplendent.

Others have ably told Savannah’s story, and this is as good a jumping off point as any for the many resources out there. My own memories are of when the ship was at Patriots Point in the 1980s and early 1990s. The museum had designs on being large back then, and as opportunities came along the museum took them. Savannah was one such opportunity. There were ambitions for parts of the ship to become hotel and recreation space, exhibit space and so forth. For more reasons than I care to go into here, that never happened. Savannah was also a white elephant in a collection of fighting ships, and who’s going to be interested in a big merchant ship when there’s a larger ship next door with airplanes parked on top, right? I remember being aboard Savannah and having the ship pretty much to myself, which was eerie and kind of sad. The ship never got the TLC she needed, which is a shame because hers is a huge, historic story. But, for the kids (big and small) who made up most of the museum’s clientele, Savannah was a plate of broccoli while Yorktown and that collection of zoomy airplanes was a king-sized Happy Meal.

There was yet another wrinkle: Savannah still had a nuclear reactor on board, and that obligated the museum to a carefully-regulated regimen of inspections and other requirements. (I have copies of all that paperwork, so…yeah, it wasn’t small.) When you realize that ships of any size are maintenance hogs as it is and that museums only have so much budget to go around…you sort of understand why, when Savannah was due for drydocking and hull inspection in 1994, the museum gave the ship back. The Maritime Administration did what needed doing, and then Savannah was sent to slumber in the James River Reserve Fleet. They couldn’t just sell Savannah for surplus, not with the reactor and all. To make a long story short, Savannah ended up in Baltimore for upkeep, the reactor was pulled out a couple years ago, and now last details are being worked out so that the project can formally end this December. After that, MarAd can dispose of the ship like any other surplus hull.

The preferred outcome of all this would be that Savannah is preserved as a museum. A lot of interior and exterior work has been done throughout this process that would make it a turnkey project. The reactor is gone, of course, but the ship feels like a living thing again, right down to the ship’s music system being back in working order, playing music the passengers would have heard back in the day. Modifications have been made in machinery and reactor spaces that make them the perfect setting for science exhibits (you can walk through the containment vessel!). Not to mention, there’s so much furniture and art still aboard. The ship’s a time capsule in all the best ways. It’s the polar opposite of what happened with poor old United States, where so much was just gone (and butchered) and the ship was a shell. Savannah‘s ready to go, thanks to a lot of work and a lot of people who have cared.

That’s the most-wanted outcome. Savannah, Georgia wants the ship and seemed like a lock until a wrinkle came up that may or may not be resolved by December. There’s interest in keeping the ship in Baltimore but a permanent berth there will be a couple years in the making. And, unfortunately, the owner of the current pier wants the ship gone in December. Some things need to happen fast to get Savannah an interim berth. Otherwise, it’s entirely possible the ship goes back to the James River Reserve Fleet, a lot of loving work goes to ruin, and the ship ends up sold for scrap or reefed. The Association has a video in which Jim Delgado spells out the stakes, and when Jim Delgado speaks, it’s worth listening. This is important enough that I’ll let you watch it before we continue.

All of this means that all of us have a lot on our minds, including the possibility of the unthinkable…and while I’ve got too many memories of what happened to the Big U for me to not not worry, today is a chance to see the ship again, be amazed by what’s been done, and have a grand time in the company of folks who love this ship as much as I do.

Once you’re aboard, you’ve stepped into another era. Someone once described the ship as a cross between Star Trek and Mad Men, and it’s apt. This ship is alive in a way I’ve never seen before, and members of the Association and people involved in the decommissioning are on hand, telling stories and sharing information. One gentleman is telling stories of his days in the nuclear Navy. When he talks about his own interview by Admiral Rickover, I immediately stop and listen in. This gentleman’s interrogation by the Kindly Old Gentleman wasn’t the wringer that others went through (and there’s tons of Rickover stories here), but no way was I going to miss a firsthand account. 

After a little bit, we’re summoned into the ship’s lounge for a presentation about the ship’s status and future, and then there’s a few moments for some Association business. We get to see the video that I linked above. There’s a moment when a lady whose father served aboard Savannah donated a plaque she found in his collection, commemorating the ship’s port call in South Korea. And then it’s time for lunch in the veranda bar. There’s deli sandwiches, boxes of pizza, what looks like spaghetti or lasagna in big aluminum pans. It’s a really generous spread. I help myself to a big slice of cheese pizza and a can of root beer, then plop down at a table. I never thought I’d have a meal aboard this ship; yet here I am, and life is good. After that, I roam around the deck just aft, then come inside and buy a few things from the souvenir shop, do a little more exploring and take some pictures.

Out aft of the bar, one of the docents is talking with someone and I join the conversation, sharing recollections of the Patriots Point days and how much better things look now. Off in the distance, we can see what’s left of the Francis Scott Key Bridge, and after all I’d seen and read from far away, the reality was chilling to see in person. 

The docent and I head down one deck, and we happen into a former crewman who’s helping out today. One thing leads to another, and this gentleman gives me a private tour of the ship. We spend probably the next 90 minutes going anywhere and everywhere, from former cabins and dining areas and the kitchen spaces, to the reactor spaces (including a walk through the reactor containment vessel) and engineering spaces.

There’s also a visit to the control room, where they will let you touch one button, and it’s a lot of fun to mash:

Along the way, my guide’s telling me stories and sharing anecdotes, at one point proudly pointing out a bracket he was told to make and that’s still there. We have the best time going through everything, and I’m listening and asking questions and cracking the occasional joke, and knowing the ship as well as he does, I get to see some things the average visitor doesn’t. It just couldn’t have gone better.

We end up back in the purser’s lounge, resting after more of a workout than we realized, but it was so worth it. After talking for a little bit, it’s time for me to depart. I give him profuse thanks for the tour, then head toward the gangway. As I leave the ship, I pat her on the side and tell her to keep her courage. I seriously want to go aboard the Liberty ship John W. Brown, moored across the pier, but time’s not on my side right now. I’ve got to get to the train station for the next leg of the journey, and after shotgunning a bag of M&Ms and a Coke Zero, I set off.

Back through the tunnel, toward the airport, to the train station from which I departed last June. I park the car, grab my messenger bag, and head trackside. I park myself on a bench and get caught up on messages. A little wren flits around near my feet, scavenging for little bits of stray food. I talk to the little one for a moment; it’s nice to have a friend while I’m so far from home. A northbound train pulls up, and most of the people waiting trackside board it. A few moments later comes my ride. When I booked this trip, I decided to live a little and try out the next-generation Acela, and here we are.

As it turns out, I don’t have a seatmate on this ride, and so I can sort of relax. We’re slow leaving Baltimore, but out on open stretches we get to going pretty fast, and between that and the pretty nice seats it’s a pleasant ride. There aren’t as many stops with the Acela, and between that and the faster speed you do notice it’s a shorter trip time-wise. Not mind-bendingly fast, of course, but the ride is less of a time sink.

Along the way I write in my travel journal and listen to some music. I hadn’t much been in the mood to listen to music on this trip, but now that some pressure was off, I felt like it. Since it’s a train trip, I had to start with “Driver 8,” and followed it with “Can’t Ignore The Train” – realizing that I’d heard the train and couldn’t resist its call to a wider world, and here I am speeding toward the big city. Then the recently-reissued 10,000 Maniacs Unplugged album took me the rest of the way, and not having listened to it in forever, I’d forgotten how good that record is. Natalie and the guys made my heart full, serenaded me the trip long, until we disappeared into the tunnel leading to Penn Station. From there, guided by muscle memory, I threaded my way to the subway station and a ride to my hotel downtown.

More to come….