The phone call came while we were in California's impressively bleak Death Valley, which no matter how you look at it -- culturally, geographically or visually -- is about as alien and distant a region as two native North Carolinians could find themselves in on this continent.

Would we be willing to come home to North Carolina, the caller asked, park the rig and take up our normal lives again?

Tough call.

We thought about the 50,000 or so miles we had traveled side by side over the past year. We remembered the jaw-dropping sights that stirred our souls, the goofy roadside kitsch that made us laugh out loud and that twilight thunderstorm in Iowa last summer that sent us fleeing to safety.

We considered the 29 states we had visited, the 75 campgrounds we had called home for a day or week, and the more than 5,000 photographs HollyAnn has taken.

We knew we had not run out of new roads to ride. We knew we had not run out of curiosity about what lay around the next curve or over the next mountain. We knew we had not run out of dreams.

In the end it came down to this: HollyAnn was being offered a chance to make a difference.

The Biofuels Center of North Carolina, a new nonprofit group dedicated to developing a viable biofuels industry, wanted her to join the effort. We knew farmers, consumers, workers, businesses and the environment would all benefit if we can grow some of our own fuel right here at home rather than shipping it in from other states and countries.

We had known all along that the journey would end one day. What we didn't know was when or why. It didn't take long for us to realize that now was the time and helping the people of North Carolina was the why.

Our travels have taken us to remarkable places, but we knew in our hearts that North Carolina was the home to which we would inevitably return one day. And now we had a chance to give back something to the state that nurtured us and gave us the will, the courage and the resources to leave for a while.

So, we've come home. We're unpacking boxes and dusting off the few pieces of furniture we had stored. And we're introducing Gypsy to her new family.

You haven't met Gypsy, have you? Imagine 15 pounds of irrepressible energy on four stubby legs. Part pug, part dachshund and a sizable dollop of mystery mutt, Gypsy joined our wandering family in El Paso.

No adventure worth the name is without loss and pain. We faced our darkest days on the road in March when our beloved Puddin', who brightened our lives for more than 16 years, came to the end of her long journey.

She had been weakening for several weeks until simply living became a painful struggle. We held her in our arms and whispered our goodbyes as a wonderfully compassionate veterinarian in Las Cruces, N.M., eased her suffering. She was 20 years old.

Two days later, our emotions still as raw as the West Texas wind, we dropped by the Animal Rescue League of El Paso. Puddin' had been such a joyful part of our lives that we wanted another dog that no one else wanted.

I like to think that we chose Gypsy, but truth be told, she chose us. Coal black with a crooked grin, her chocolate brown eyes soothed our hurting hearts. She could tell we needed her. To save the life of another unwanted dog is the best tribute we could give Puddin'.

But she is most decidedly not a replacement for the old girl. That would be an impossible job to fill. I think of her as Puddin's assistant, come to finish the job our old friend performed with such humor, dignity and loyalty.

We don't leave the road with regret but with gratitude for the opportunity we had to see our country.

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