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I just found the home gym we wanted!" my husband, Scott, yelled from his office. "It's on eBay."

"How much?"

"$799."

"You mean the one that sells for ten thousand?" I asked, impressed.

"Yep, never used. The guy bought it, then he and his wife moved to a smaller place and don't have the room for it."

"That's great!"

"There's only one thing," he said.

I knew this part was coming. It always comes when my husband surfs eBay. "Where is it?" I asked.

"Las Vegas."

Las Vegas. Seventeen hundred miles from our suburban Chicago home.

"Let me guess," I said. "It's local pickup only."

"Well, yes."

My husband has a "local pickup only" homing device hardwired into his brain. Almost every large item he bids on does not include shipping—and is located across the country. Literally.

We've purchased a motorcycle trailer from an Army sergeant in Richmond, Virginia. Looked at a motor home from a retired couple outside Los Angeles. Purchased a motor home from a race car driver in St. Louis (that was only a five-hour drive). Got a heater from a guy in Chattanooga. And now Las Vegas.

I could have said no every time. Life would have been much easier had I said no. Though we've saved a lot of money—even including travel expenses—we could have found the items closer to home. And it's not as though we have a ton of free time to take marathon drives.

But I discovered it's been about more than saving money. It's been about preserving the joy, fun, and adventure in my marriage.

It all started five years ago when, two weeks before we left for our vacation to Yellowstone National Park, Scott decided to trailer our motorcycle. Since we didn't have a trailer, I suggested he check into renting something. We live just outside Chicago—the third largest city in America. One would think we could find something there to rent or purchase cheaply. In typical Scott fashion, my beloved opted instead to go to eBay.

"Guess what?" he told me when I arrived home from work. "I found a great motorcycle trailer that's going for cheap."

"Excellent!"

"It's in Richmond," he said. "We have to pick it up."

"That's okay," I replied, thinking Richmond, Illinois, about 45 minutes from home.

When I stepped behind him to look at the photo of the trailer, I noticed a word that should not have been on our computer: Virginia.

He must have felt me stiffen because he said quickly, "How far is Virginia?"

I tried to sound calm as my voice rose. "Virginia is one, two"—I mentally calculated across the U.S. map—"thr—a whole lot of states, Scott! It's all the way across the country. Don't bid on it."

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