45. Cascade Concrete and Farewell US

45. Cascade Concrete and Farewell US

Skiing tbc - Moab Intermezzo - Boise - Leavenworth - Stevens Pass (WA) - back to Canada

The finish line shimmered, a mirage of home after a year of wandering. Our final month, a scatter of moments stitched together like a well-worn travel blanket, began with a sun-drenched interlude in Moab. We traded snow for slickrock, our mountain bikes humming a familiar tune as we carved through the red desert. A final tune-up at REI, a bittersweet ritual, as we prepped our trusty steeds for their next adventurers. Salt Lake City offered a brief, luxurious thaw—a cosy hotel room where my frost-bitten toes finally surrendered to warmth, and a chance to check on apartment listings and job applications, the practicalities of re-entry to Switzerland nipping at our heels.

Boise, a brief flash of green and amber, beckoned with the promise of a traditional pub, its warm glow a welcome contrast to the miles we'd covered. We'd heard whispers of its vibrant Basque community, a hidden gem nestled in the American West, but the tavernas, their doors closed by ten, remained a tantalizing mystery. A nineteen-hour haul, a blur of asphalt and fading light, delivered us to Leavenworth.

Leavenworth, a curious confection of Bavarian charm, felt less like a town and more like a stage set. Its shops, a carefully curated collection of European replicas, catered to the tourist throngs, yet still held a certain undeniable appeal. We'd come for the snow, for a final, glorious descent before crossing the border, and Stevens Pass awaited.

But the mountains, usually grand and welcoming, greeted us with a veil of fog and a persistent drizzle that morphed into a wet, clinging snow. They called it "Cascade Concrete," a heavy, waterlogged blanket that clung to our skis and sapped our energy. It wasn't the triumphant ski finale we'd envisioned, but it was a fittingly messy, unpredictable end to our American chapter.

Two days of battling the elements, of navigating the whiteout and the slush, and then, it was time. Time to say goodbye to the sprawling landscapes, the wide-open roads, and the endless possibilities of America. Time to trade "Ms. American Pie" for the promise of new adventures north of the border. "The maple leaf beckoned," we whispered, a mix of anticipation and nostalgia swirling in the crisp mountain air. Czytaj więcej