As is the advice many of us try to adhere to, the old adage goes," Never stop learning." Well for me, that includes vacation. Last week, I was able to take some time away and visit an aunt and uncle in Catawba Island, Ohio, a small town tucked away on the tip of a peninsula on Lake Erie. Most of my days were filled with recreational activities, ones in which not a whole lot of thought were required.

But even so, along the way, I learned new lessons that can be kept in the back of my mind until someday when they might be needed. And for those of you who might be interested in these random, sporadic pieces of information, I'd like to share them.

On my drive out, a 10-hour, 570-mile journey, I realized one thing: That cup of change that sits on your dresser that you (I) thought would be enough to get you to and from Ohio isn't even close to adequate. Let me explain. I was cruising along at a steady pace through Wiscon-sin, past the Dells, past Madison, past Beloit, and then into Illinois, which is where the problem started.

If you've ever driven through Illinois, then you'll know that if you're on a major highway, you're going to have to stop and pay to use their less-than-impressive roads at toll booths. My family and I went to Ohio years ago, so I remember coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the interstate, just to throw 35 cents in a bucket, then be on our way. Apparently, inflation has caught up to the toll booths, too.

Not five miles over the state line, I had to pull in and pay $1. OK, no big deal. Four quarters. Easy enough. What seemed like only 10 miles later, the state wanted another 80 cents. No problem, except it was a lot more difficult digging for three quarters and a nickel, instead of a quarter and a dime. But I managed. A few miles later, another 80 cents. Fine, whatever. Then finally, before I reached the Indiana state line, I had to pay $1.60 to leave the state. I wasn't going to dig that much out of a change cup going 65 m.p.h. through Chicago, so I dipped into my wallet, something I hadn't planned on doing.

But then Indiana wants its piece of the pie. So I took a ticket to get on the tollway, and by the time I had crossed that state, it cost me $7. Needless to say, I wasn't going to collect 28 quarters with five cars behind me waiting. Then Ohio wants its share, which was about $4.60 for the distance I went. Of course, the situation was the same on the way back, where leaving Indiana and entering Chicago cost me $4.60 to go literally five miles. So if you think your spare change is sufficient to get you through, you're wrong.

During my stay, I made two trips into Cleveland, about an hour from Catawba Island. The first was on a Sunday afternoon for a Twins/Indians game at Progressive Field. I was decked out in my Twins jersey and hat, and expected to be treated rudely by the home team fans. Quite the opposite.

As the course of the game went, my relatives and I got to talking about where we wanted to eat dinner. We had a place in mind, but didn't know how to get there. Some folks from Cleve-land were sitting behind us (obviously) and heard our discussion, so one girl took out her Blackberry, punched in the address of the restaurant, and told us exactly how to get there. In no time after the game, we were there sitting on the boardwalk eating Cajun food.

And during that conversation with the Indians fans, they found out I was from Minnesota visiting (I'm thinking the 'Minnesota' on my jersey blew my cover). Anyway, on the way out, after the Twins had beaten the Tribe in heart-breaking fashion (to them), one Indians fan wished me an enjoyable rest-of-my-stay in Cleveland. I never expected that after he watched his last-place team drop another game in the Central Division.

I had a similar experience the next day when my aunt and I were eating lunch in a park along the lake. We were trying to find the W. 25th St. market, but weren't sure of the exit off the highway. We asked a lady, who was looking after her three kids while also having lunch. She told us she'd just come from there, and traced us directions back. She asked where we were from, and I said 'Minnesota,' out to visit my relatives. She, too, in almost the same words, wished me a nice time during the rest of my visit to Cleveland.

I learned here that, despite possible notions about people in big cities being rude or generally non-caring, I met some very nice Clevelanders, and yes, I did have a good time in your town. You aren't "The Mistake on the Lake" to me.

And finally, I learned about the damage that can be caused by putting the wrong fluids in the wrong place on a jet-ski. One morning, my uncle decided we'd try our hand at some wave-runners. He's the general manager of two marinas on the lake, so he hooked us up with a couple with a couple vessels his members own.

The one I rode was actually a machine he and a technician at the marina rebuilt after the previous owner put gas in the oil reservoir and blew the engine out through the bottom of the boat. It was 10 years old, but built back perfectly and it drove like it was brand new, which it almost was after the overhaul.

We rode around the bay for almost a couple hours, which was great, out on the big open sheet of water. Some of the waves were pretty big, and since I was a little heavy on the throttle, I hit some of them pretty hard, so I was a bit sore, to say the least, the next morning. But it was worth it. After we were done, we had to fill the tanks back up for when the owners returned to use them. After I pulled up to the pump, the dock girl handed me to nozzle and I opened the cap nearest, most convenient to where I was sitting and started filling up.

Now my uncle claims this was his fault, that he told me where to pump this gas, but I was negligent as anyone for not looking close at the oil symbol on top of that cap, the one painted bright yellow so as to remind one never put gas in that opening again. Regardless of whose blunder it really was, we realized our error before we started the engine, thankfully. Doing so would've put that jet-ski through the same pain it had already once endured. So we towed it back to the dock, and the members got a good laugh after hearing about the incident. We left that jet-ski in the shop, and I’m not sure how the situation turned out, though we were assured it'd be corrected.

That's what I learned on my vacation. None of it is extremely useful, unless you're traveling the turnpike with the change you found in the sofa, or if you have a jet-ski, yet aren't sure where to put the gas. But in all honesty, Ohio is a great place to visit. The people are friendly, its big cities and rolling country hills are mesmerizing, the peaches are the best you'll find anywhere in the country, and you can't beat enjoying dinner on the island, watching the sun disappear into Lake Erie.