GypsyCare, Part I: Healthcare coverage for full-time RVers

Whatever the adventure, whether it's retiring early and running off to Central America or roaming the roads of North America in a recreational vehicle, the “gating” factor that determines what we can (or cannot) do will always be the ability to access health care without jeopardizing our financial future. I thought it might be helpful to those of you out there who are thinking about full-time RV living to devote the next two blog posts to explaining the patchwork system Leonard and I have set up to assure that we can get the medical and dental care we need when we need it. I call it “GypsyCare.”

[Part I focuses on how GypsyCare pays for services. Part II will address where and how we find medical and dental GC providers. Anyone wanting to skip to the end to see pics of our current doings, please feel free to do so now. Otherwise, read on...]

Those of you who know us know that Leonard and I are not wealthy. Rather, we are dedicated savers who invest and spend conservatively. We've managed to squirrel away enough money over the years to afford a certain amount of out-of-pocket medical expenses should the need arise. This includes premiums for enough medical and long-term care insurance to keep us out of bankruptcy should one of us need treatment for some debilitating condition, like cancer or coronary artery disease.

Because of the age difference between us, we've had to follow two different tracks to obtain coverage since our April return to the U.S.

Leonard, being the older (and, I might add, better-looking) of the two of us, will join the ranks of Medicare recipients in November. Consequently, we just needed to work out a way to bridge the coverage gap to his Medicare start date. As it happens, we were able to use an international travel policy we acquired as legal residents of Costa Rica for that purpose. The only question remaining now concerning his coverage is which Medicare supplement(s) make sense. Once in place, he'll be able to get care regardless of our locale.

My situation is more complex. I won't be Medicare-eligible for another 10 years so needed to get private insurance. I'm in good health, and lots of insurers were willing to issue me a policy. However, once they discovered I was going to travel full time in an RV, well, let's just say their enthusiasm dimmed considerably. The fact is that most insurance companies refuse to write health policies for folks like us.

My options were further limited by our decision to domicile in South Dakota. (One reason we did so was that medical insurance premiums for people with SD zip codes are significantly lower than for other popular RV domicile states, like Texas and Florida.) When all was said and done, only two companies would offer me coverage. Fortunately, both plans met my needs with respect to cost and coverage. I joined the ranks of the insured as soon as we returned to the U.S.

For the curious among you, I have what is known in insurance circles as a “high-deductible policy.” In return for paying what is by U.S. standards a relatively low monthly premium of $205, I could pay as much as $5,000 annually for deductible and co-payments. What's more, that annual cap is for in-network services, meaning that unless I want to pay the annual out-of-network limit of $12,000, I will have to haul my behind to South Dakota to avoid the higher expenses.

Given the amount of diesel fuel we can buy with $7,000, it just might be worth it to make that journey. (If we do, let's just hope it's not in the middle of winter!)

As has always been the case for us, we pay out of pocket for oral care (dental cleanings, exams, fillings, etc.) and eye care (ophthalmologist exams and glasses).

I don't know about you, but reading through all of this is about as much excitement as I care to experience in one day. GypsyCare, Part II will have to wait until next week.

Built in 1914, Green Cove Station is the last remaining original station on the

Virginia Creeper line. We started volunteering there on Aug. 1 and will

stay through the end of October.

The station housed a small general store where locals could find essential food items, medicines, hardware and clothing. When the store closed in 1977, shortly after the railroad ceased its operations, the owner donated the store's contents to the U.S. Forest Service. Too bad nobody bought those jeans. They would have been stylin'!

In addition to the passenger depot and general store, Green Cove Station also featured a telegraph office and notary public. These services make the station a kind of community center where locals came to catch up on the latest gossip and warm themselves by the wood-burning stove. Note the worn floor boards by the bench (left). A lot of feet have rubbed that wood over the last century.

The stationmaster's daughter donated the U.S. flag shown here. It belonged to her husband who was help captive in a Japanese prison camp after his capture during WWII.

Residents of Green Cove came to the station to get their mail. The post office

closed when the U.S. Postal Service initiated rural free delivery in 1963.

A day at Grayson Highlands State Park

Climb 1,000 feet over 2.5 miles of boulder-ridden trail? Wild horses couldn't drag me out for a hike like that! Wild ponies? Well, that's another matter entirely!

As soon as we settled in at Mt. Rogers, people began giving Leonard and me advice on “must see” places in the region. Near the top of everyone's list was Grayson Highlands State Park.

GHSP is renown for two things. One is the magnificent vistas and rock formations similar to those found in parts of the western United States. Hiking at the park brought back many good memories of my days exploring southern Arizona (and a life I secretly long to return to someday).

Wild ponies were introduced to Grayson Highlands

State Park to prevent reforestation of the park's balds.

Another reason visitors go to this particular park is that herds of free-roaming ponies make it their home.

The ponies were introduced to the park in 1974 to prevent reforestation of the highland balds. Annual roundups and subsequent sales of the animals help to assure the health and long-term stability of the herds.

Because so many people seek out the ponies, these wild animals have become quite accustomed to being around humans (though they are known to kick and bite when threatened). The ponies calmly go about their business as onlookers approach to snap photos and marvel at the gentle equines.



Sprocket just didn't know what to make of his would-be friend's

advances. Is there anything sadder than unrequited affection?

Not even Sprocket's presence seemed to bother them. In fact, one curious young filly expressed a keen interest in getting to know her distant canine cousin. She tried several times to stand next to Sprocket who, not knowing quite what to make of this unexpected advance, wanted nothing to do with her. The incident served as a great source of amusement.

Leonard shepherds Sprocket along after the dog's somewhat

hostile encounter with this calf.

Not so amusing was a later encounter we had with a calf who was grazing among a herd of longhorn cattle that spend their summer in the meadows of Grayson Highlands. As soon as he spotted our dog, the young bull seemed determined to make it clear to Sprocket just who was boss in these parts. Sprocket got the message right away, and so did Leonard and I. We speedily moved on, leaving that calf behind to rejoin his kin.

I managed to capture a few decent photos of the day and have posted those below. Enjoy!

So many trails, so little time.

Wild raspberries abound in the Virginia highlands.

Wild blueberries draw locals and tourists to the area this time of year.

A herd of longhorn cattle enjoys a sunny mid-summer day.

Hikers take a break on the rocks.



Just one of many unforgettable scenes from our Virginia wanderings.

Grin and bear it!

Where are they? We'd started to wonder why, after several weeks at Mt. Rogers, we'd heard nothing about bears in the area. After all, we are in the woods, and where you have woods you have bears. Right?

American black bear (Ursus americanus)

Then, hosts at our campground began receiving reports of Smokey (or one of his amigos) prowling the area. Trash strewn around the campground's dumpsters and other evidence supported those claims. Eventually, a couple of hosts spotted a bear weighing something in the neighborhood of 400 pounds.

My curiosity now piqued, I took to walking the grounds around the time when most sightings were occurring. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. It was downright discouraging. Then, just as I was ready to give up, it happened - my first close encounter with a live, wild Ursus americanus.

Leonard, Sprocket and I had ventured out for a post-dinner stroll. We decided to stop by the campground's office to chat with the hosts on duty. As we neared the office, a voice came over the radio. It was the camp manager, calling from her trailer just a few yards away.

“A bear's headed your way!” she announced.

American black bears use their claws to dig for grubs and

other tasty delights.

We did an about-face, moving slowly in the direction of the camp's dumpsters (the bear's probable destination). Our vigilance was rewarded when we first heard then saw a black bear run onto the road. It stopped, gave our crew of two humans and one slightly curious canine a quick glance, then trotted on down the hill.

Consensus is the critter we encountered is, in fact, not the larger one from earlier sightings. Others have turned up since.

I'm not worried about coming to any harm. The American black bear generally lacks the ferocity of its larger, more aggressive cousin the grizzly. It likes to avoid human contact when possible. However, when hungry it has been known to attack
people so should be given a wide berth.

Perhaps measures being taken by our camp hosts and Forest Service personnel to discourage continued bear activity will prompt these animals to move on to uninhabited grounds. Wild berries are coming into season and may also draw them away from camp. Time will tell.

With our assignment at Mt. Rogers running through October, odds are that this first encounter of the bear kind won't be our last. I'm keeping my camera handy, just in case.

Discarded scraps attract tenacious bears, as evidenced by

teeth marks on this dumpster lid at Grindstone Campground.

 

Trail mix







Lawrence Dye (left) on a break
at Green Cove Station.

Lawrence Dye took to riding the Virginia Creeper Trail on a regular basis at the age of 62. Now, 20 years later, he has logged more than 177,000 miles on his bike making the 68-mile round trip an average of five times a week. Lawrence Dye is a VCT legend.

Knowing someone in his 80's who can pedal his way up and down Virginia's hills motivates me to keep active. Staying in a place where trails abound lets Leonard and me do just that. This week, we filled our water packs, laced up our hiking boots and headed out to tackle a segment that most legendary of all North American paths, the Appalachian Trail.

The A.T. access point at Elk Gardens

The “A.T.” (as it is known in the hiking world) passes through Mt. Rogers at several points. We scouted out a segment that looked suitable for our ability levels - that is to say, something that would challenge us without requiring emergency evacuation by helicopter. Our 1,500 foot ascent lead us into open meadows, through dense mixed-vegetation forest and along bubbling streams. The 5.3-mile loop left us feeling we'd accomplished something (and glad we hadn't tried to push ourselves further).

 

A good time was had by all, especially Sprocket (“the wonder dog”) who seemed to shed a bit of age with every mile. Our little hound dog was truly in his element.

 

Where else would you go to learn how

they made salt in the 19^th Century?

Earlier in the week, we followed a different kind of pathway, driving to the village of Saltville, Virginia. This quiet little community's once thriving salt production industry made it the “Salt capital of the Confederacy.” We visited the nice little park memorializing Saltville's role in the Civil War.

 

It's the kind of experience most people pass up on their way towards some bigger, more exciting attraction...and yet another reminder of how lucky we are to be able to explore life's trails and the possibilities they offer. Very lucky, indeed!

 

 

[Below: More photos from this week's travels]

White blazes mark the main A.T., blue

its side trails.



Great day for a hike!

Vistas like this can refresh even the weariest of walkers.

Flip flops won't do for a walk in these woods. You need good, sturdy hiking boots.

The A.T. intersects other trails at various

spots. We returned to our starting point

by following the orange blazes of the

Virginia Highlands Horse Trail.

Horses aren't allowed on the A.T. Riders take the Virginia Highlands Horse Trail.

Kettles at Saltville, VA. Salt's importance to the Confederacy arises from its use in preserving food. (Troops tend to get cranky if all they get to eat is rotten meat.)

 

Slowly boiling away water drawn from ponds like those shown here yielded the sought-after prize: salt. As other food preservatives replaced salt, the industry's importance diminished along with the towns it supported.