A Routine.... More or Less
10 september, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 84 °F
Apparently I have once again reached the point where I say “things have finally slowed down” immediately before my calendar fills up again.
The good news is that the truly urgent medical things have mostly settled down. The less urgent things have apparently been waiting patiently in the queue.
I’ve finally gotten established with a PCP who is looking into some of the more chronic issues I’ve been dealing with, which has led to a growing collection of follow-up appointments and specialist visits. A lot of the current focus has been on physical therapy and the chronic pain I’ve had in various combinations of my ankles, knees, hips, shoulders, and lower back. There’s also a pretty strong suspicion of some sort of hypermobility disorder, and auto immune disorder which is still being evaluated.
PT has been interesting, and by interesting, I mean that I absolutely love my physical therapist and have no intention of ever seeing anyone else, despite the fact that I have become increasingly convinced she was a dentist in a previous life.
She is definitely a little bit of a sadist. In the healthiest and most beneficial way possible, of course. She enjoys pushing me through increasingly creative ways of making my muscles question the decisions that led them here, and I think she’s having an especially good time because I may be one of the stronger patients she’s worked with. She’s also the first person in my life who has ever looked at me and apparently thought, “Yes, this is an athlete.” So naturally, her response has been to torture me. I think we understand each other.
Outside of the medical world, I’ve also been making a little more progress on the whole actually meeting people and building a life here thing.
A couple of days after my last update, I met up with a new friend and we drove out to Rooster Rock State Park, about half an hour outside Portland. It’s a really beautiful area with several riverfront beaches and plenty of places to walk the dogs. It also has a designated nudist beach.
Neither of us participated in that particular activity, but it was still an interesting choice of location for a first meetup.
At one point I mentioned that it seemed a little silly to have a dedicated nudist beach in Portland when public nudity is basically legal throughout the city anyway. She paused for a moment, then admitted that I had a point.
We spent the afternoon mostly chatting, snacking, and getting in the water, which seemed like a much better idea when it was one of the last 90+ degree days of summer. Apparently my body has decided that 90-degree air temperature does not actually make 60-something-degree water warm. The sunset, however, was absolutely gorgeous and made the entire trip worthwhile.
I’ve also gotten to spend more time with some of the people I met while volunteering with Portland’s Healing House.
EJ, the founder, was kind enough to host a dinner for the volunteers as a thank-you for helping with their fundraiser. He cooked everything himself, and it was genuinely fantastic. I also finally got to see the Healing House itself, where people recovering from surgery can stay when they don’t have a local support system to help them through recovery.
It’s a really beautiful property, and I think what EJ is building there is something pretty special. I’m hoping to find a way to get involved more regularly.
Although I may have a slight problem when it comes to volunteering. Apparently I inherited this from my father. The moment I walked around the property, I immediately noticed approximately eight things that needed doing.
“Oh, that gutter is leaking. That definitely needs to be cleaned.”
Walks toward shed.
“Oh good, there’s a ladder.”
Looks around.
“And there’s a bucket.”
At which point I had to remind myself that I was a guest at a dinner specifically being held to thank me for volunteering, not a maintenance contractor who had just arrived for a work order.
Even offering to help with dishes or carry things out to the table was met with a very polite but increasingly firm version of, “Thank you, but today is for you to sit down and let us thank you.” Apparently I am bad at being thanked.
I did, however, get to talk more with one of the friends I made there about dancing. After my previous attempt at country line dancing ended with me discovering that my knee and jumping apparently remain enemies, I told them about another option: contra dancing.
There’s a big event coming up on the 20th that combines traditional contra dancing with more modern music, and assuming my knee continues behaving itself, I’m planning to make that my return to more impact-heavy activity.
I’m hoping it goes well enough that I can eventually make both contra dancing and country line dancing regular parts of my time here.
My friend seemed pretty excited about the idea too, so there’s a reasonable chance I’ll have someone to embarrass myself alongside.
I’ve also officially started working as a substitute paraeducator and I absolutely love it.
Most of the jobs I’ve been picking up are with Portland Public Schools and involve working in special education programs. It’s actually been a really interesting combination of things I’ve done in the past.
I spent time tutoring, and teaching English when I was younger, and I also previously worked with intellectually disabled adults, so I’m getting to pull pieces from both of those experiences and apply them to a completely new group of people.
So far, I’m really enjoying it. The only downside is that I apparently work with a demographic that occasionally licks people.
Which brings me to my latest medical development.
A few days ago my throat started hurting, which isn’t particularly unusual for me. I’ve been getting occasional throat irritation lately, especially if I’ve been talking or singing a lot.
Then yesterday, after I got home from teaching, swallowing started becoming uncomfortable. I took a look at my throat and found some rather suspicious white patches.
I’d also been wondering for the past couple of days why I was so ridiculously exhausted. So I went to get tested. I have strep. Again.
Apparently five months was enough time for my immune system to forget the previous experience and decide it was worth trying again.
Fortunately, I caught it pretty early, so I started antibiotics before it reached the truly miserable stage I experienced last time. Unfortunately, that meant cancelling a classroom job I was supposed to work today so I don’t spend the day generously distributing bacteria to elementary school students.
It’s an occupational hazard, I suppose. Especially when the children are licking me.
I’ve also finally started getting back onto the hiking trails. I’m still being pretty cautious with my knee, so I’ve been sticking to hikes around five or six miles with roughly 1,000–1,500 feet of elevation gain rather than immediately going back to the kind of hike that resulted in the fracture in the first place.
My knee is probably about 91% healed at this point. That is not a medically calculated number. It’s just how healed my physical therapist tells me it feels.
There are still a few very specific movements and impacts that make it complain, but otherwise it’s been fantastic to be back out exploring again. I’d gotten pretty tired of repeatedly visiting the same handful of nearby parks because they were the only places I could comfortably walk for a while.
Oregon has an absolutely ridiculous amount of beautiful wilderness, and I am very ready to start seeing more of it.
One of my recent hikes took me up to the peak of Larch Mountain. There are placards at the top showing all of the different mountain peaks you’re supposed to be able to see from there — Mount Hood, Mount St. Helens, and several others.
Unfortunately, wildfire smoke had other plans.
So instead of getting a panoramic view of Oregon’s mountain ranges, I got a panoramic view of a giant wall of haze. Still pretty, just considerably less educational.
Ragnar and Altan are also thrilled that hiking season has resumed, although the changing weather has introduced a new logistical problem.
These two are adventure gremlins. They love the woods. They love water. And most importantly, they love finding the single muddiest, wettest, filthiest patch of ground available and rolling around in it.
Rain itself doesn’t bother me much. I actually quite like it. Cleaning two enormous muddy dogs, however, is a considerably less appealing proposition.
So I’m adding go to Goodwill and buy a ridiculous number of old towels to my to-do list. I figure a pile of cheap rags that I don’t care about destroying should make it considerably easier to hose the boys down and get them reasonably dry when we get home from our adventures. I still have almost another month with them, so I suspect this is going to become important.
I also spent two days hiking around Dry Creek Falls over Memorial Day weekend. The area was absolutely beautiful, although I never quite managed to get as close to the falls as I wanted. Both times I reached the falls, there were people sitting underneath them having lunch.
And while I have nothing against people enjoying their lunch, I did have two dogs with me who were extremely interested in the concept of stealing it.
So I decided that trying to squeeze past a group of strangers while managing two food-motivated dogs near a waterfall was probably not worth it. I didn’t get to swim in the falls. But I did get to see them, and I’ll happily take that trade.
At this point, I’m finally starting to feel like I’m settling into something resembling a routine here. Weekdays are mostly work, doctor’s appointments, shorter walks and local nature with the dogs, and the occasional festival or event in Portland.
Weekends are becoming hiking days, especially for the places that require a little more driving.
There are still plenty of appointments and medical things to sort out, and I’m sure there will be plenty more unexpected developments along the way.
But the difference now is that those things are happening while I’m actually living my life, rather than being the entirety of my life.
I’m working. I’m meeting people. I’m finding places I like. I’m dancing, or at least planning to dance. I’m hiking again. The dogs are getting muddy. And apparently I’m collecting contagious diseases from children.
So all in all, I’d say things are going pretty well.Meer informatie
Salty Ocean Air and Adventure Gremlins 🌊🐕🐕
22 augustus, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☁️ 61 °F
It's somehow been almost three weeks since my last update. Apparently "I'll post again when something interesting happens" is a dangerous promise to make when you're also terrible at remembering to post.
Last time, I ended by hoping my next update would include some salty ocean air, fewer appointments, and maybe even a properly recovered knee. I'm happy to report that I actually managed all three... more or less.
The MRI on my knee finally came back, and thankfully there was no major ligament damage. What I do have is a very small fracture, which at this point mostly just needs time to heal. I'm basically back to normal activities, with the slightly inconvenient exceptions of impact activities and steep inclines or declines.
This has made choosing new hiking trails a little interesting. I know myself well enough to know that if I encounter an unexpected creek crossing or steep section three miles into a hike, there's an excellent chance I'll decide, "I'll just go slowly. It'll be fine."
It probably *would* be fine.
It also might turn a small fracture into a much longer healing process.
So, in an unusual display of good judgment, I've mostly been sticking to trails I already know.
Thankfully, the endless appointments and paperwork also seem to be slowing down. There are still plenty of loose ends to tie up, but life is feeling considerably less like one long series of waiting rooms.
And speaking of paperwork, the substitute-teaching process I mentioned in my last update is officially complete! I've received all my final approvals, I'm set up in the system, and now I'm just waiting for the school year to begin so assignments can start rolling in. After licensing, background checks, fingerprints, trainings, and all the other bureaucratic hoops involved in proving I'm safe to unleash upon Oregon's children, it's nice to finally reach the part where I can actually do the job.
I've also been making more of an effort to meet people and start building a community here. Recently I met someone for lunch at a really cool food cart pod near where I'm staying. Portland has these permanent collections of food trucks with an impressive variety of food, and this particular one even has an indoor café area where you can escape the weather and eat. I used the opportunity to try two things for the first time.
Poke bowl: **excellent.** I am officially a fan.
Boba tea: **less excellent.**
I've always maintained that beverages should not require chewing, so really, I should have seen that one coming.
I also celebrated my 39th birthday this month. I didn't do anything elaborate, but I figured I should at least do something for myself and went out dancing.
I'd also recently learned about a local community country and line-dancing group through someone I met while volunteering with Portland's Healing House, so I went to check out one of their events.
It looked like a blast. Unfortunately, approximately the entire population of Portland appeared to have reached the same conclusion.
The dance floor was packed so tightly that I couldn't actually see the instructor. Mostly I could see a few people in front of me bumbling around while presumably also trying to figure out what the invisible instructor was doing.
Eventually I managed to catch a glimpse of the actual dance and had another important realization: Oh. My knee can't do that.
There was considerably more jumping and twisting involved than my tiny fracture and I had previously discussed.
So I spent more time watching than dancing, still had a good time, and eventually escaped when the crowd became a bit much. They also hold events at a larger community center that's apparently less crowded, so I definitely want to try again once my knee is ready for jumping, twisting, and stomping without filing a formal complaint.
There has also been an expansion of the household.
On Monday I drove my neighbor Jesse to the airport so he could join his wife and the homeowner I've been housesitting for during the final half of their three months away. In exchange, I inherited custody of their dog, Ragnar. So I am now responsible for two dogs.
Fortunately, Ragnar and Altan are already best buddies, they're trained almost identically, and they're both wonderful dogs. In practice, having two hasn't been much harder than having one.
Which brings us, finally, to the salty ocean air I promised last time.
Yesterday I packed up both dogs and made the two-hour drive out to the Oregon coast for my first proper day of exploring it.
Even the drive out gave me something new to see. Along the road I suddenly spotted a herd of very large animals hanging out near the shoulder. My immediate thought was
**Moose!**
This was based on the highly scientific identification method of "larger and thicker than a deer." As it turns out, they were elk.
I've seen moose before, so apparently my brain has established exactly two categories for deer-shaped wildlife: deer and moose. I can now proudly add a third.
I was considerably less excited about how close they were to the road. Considering my last close encounter with a large hoofed animal ended with a dead deer and several thousand dollars of damage to my van, seeing an entire herd of animals that looked significantly bigger and sturdier than the one I hit mostly left me wondering why the bloody hell they were all hanging out right next to traffic.
Portland was reasonably pleasant when I left. The coast had other ideas. Apparently I temporarily forgot that I've previously been warned that the coast can easily be 20 degrees cooler than Portland. I arrived in shorts and a T-shirt to discover temperatures in the mid-60s, wind, mist, intermittent rain, and enough ocean spray to ensure that everything stayed just slightly damp.
A jacket would have been useful... I own jackets. I did not bring one. Unfortunately this would not be my only instance of being woefully unprepared that day.
The Oregon coast itself also seems determined to make sure nobody gets *too* relaxed.
Most of my previous beach experience has involved leisurely walks along the Mediterranean in Turkey. The Oregon coast greets you with signs warning about tsunamis, rip currents, rogue waves, frigid water, and various other advisories against the Pacific Ocean. It's beautiful. It just apparently comes with terms and conditions.
Dogs are allowed off leash on much of the beach as long as they're under voice control, and both of these guys are experienced little adventure gremlins. They also have remote collars that we use for commands while they're exploring.
I remembered the collars... I forgot the remotes.
Altan didn't particularly care. He's wonderfully codependent and tends to run around exploring for a while, come back to check on me, walk beside me, and then launch himself toward whatever interesting thing he discovers next.
Ragnar is more of a rugged individualist.
His preferred method of exploration is apparently to travel far enough away that calling for him becomes purely ceremonial.
This became a problem when he discovered the corpse of a puffin and decided it deserved a much more thorough investigation than I did.
Between the wind and the distance, he couldn't hear me calling him, so I started hurrying toward him. Unfortunately, the shortest route between me and Ragnar involved a tide pool.
There was no time for removing shoes and socks.
And that is how I acquired two extremely soggy feet while attempting to prevent a dog from making questionable dietary choices.
Fortunately, I was wearing my barefoot hiking shoes, which don't hold much water. I eventually took them off entirely and spent roughly the next five miles exploring the beach barefoot.
Despite the cold, wet feet and occasional failures in planning, the coast was absolutely worth the wait. I walked about six miles altogether and finally got to see Haystack Rock and Lion Rock in person.
There was one more beach I'd been especially excited to visit, but unfortunately it was closed. Reaching some of the other places I'd been recommended would also have meant considerably more walking, and by that point I was cold, wet, barefoot, and had already covered about six miles.
So I made another rare appearance of good judgment and called it a day.The Oregon coast isn't going anywhere. And now I have an excellent excuse to go back.
So, almost three weeks later: fewer appointments, a mostly recovered knee, final approval to start substitute teaching, some new people and places, another dog, my first poke bowl, an ill-advised boba tea, a newly acquired ability to identify elk, and finally plenty of salty ocean air.Meer informatie
Adulting
3 augustus, Verenigde Staten ⋅ 🌙 72 °F
Since my last update a couple of weeks ago, life has been surprisingly busy... just not in the sort of way that makes for exciting travel posts.
I've been trying to strike the right balance between staying active and giving both my knee and kidneys a chance to fully recover. I'd been hoping to make it out to the Oregon coast by now, but it's one of those trips that deserves an entire day to enjoy properly. Between follow-up appointments for my knee, kidney, physical therapy, eye exams, and a seemingly endless list of other adult responsibilities, I just haven't managed to sneak away yet. The coast is still very much on the agenda.
The good news is that I'm officially an Oregonian! 🎉 Friday I finally switched over my driver's license, and the whole process ended up being much easier than I'd feared. One thing I found especially interesting was learning that Oregon allows "Continuous Traveler" to be used as a residential address for people like me, provided you can establish residency in the state. Given how many van dwellers and full-time travelers call Oregon home, it makes a lot of sense.
While I haven't been tackling any big hikes yet, Altan has been making sure I still get outside. We've been sticking to shorter outings and spending plenty of time playing fetch so he can burn off enough energy for both of us. We also went to a Concert in the Park together, which he absolutely adored.
Unfortunately, this happened immediately after his grooming appointment.
Poor guy went in looking like a majestic shaggy Muppet and came out looking... well... like a slightly unsettling little gremlin. Thankfully, he's blissfully unaware of this transformation and remains completely convinced that he's the most handsome dog in existence. He spent the entire evening enthusiastically soliciting pats, treats, and admiration from anyone who wandered within sniffing distance. Honestly, his confidence is something we should all aspire to.
I also decided to step a little outside my comfort zone and attend a local social mixer. Making new friends as an adult is a strange experience, but moving somewhere new seemed like a good excuse to push myself into meeting some new people.
Finally, I started the process of applying to become a substitute teacher here in Oregon. I've officially been selected to move forward, so now it's on to licensing, background checks, and all the paperwork that comes with becoming employable again. With a little luck, it shouldn't be too much longer before I can start picking up assignments between adventures.
The weekend wrapped up with one more unexpected opportunity. I was asked if I could help volunteer at a fundraiser for The Healing House. After a very quick online crash course to earn my Oregon Food Handler's Card, I headed over to help with setup before the event.
Once things got underway, I spent the evening helping people with raffle and drink tickets, pointing guests toward the staff when they had questions, and enjoying the event in between. The Healing House is an organization doing work that's genuinely important to me, so I was really grateful to be able to lend a hand, even if it was only in a small way.
Overall, life has been a little less about dramatic scenery lately and a little more about building a life here in Oregon. Hopefully my next update will include some salty ocean air, fewer appointments, and maybe even a properly recovered knee.Meer informatie
Portland Pride and Apparently I Belong to a Dog
19 juli, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 82 °F
This weekend was Portland Pride, and despite still recovering from a kidney infection, I decided I was at least going to *attempt* to make it out there.
I was still on antibiotics, my kidneys were still sore, and I honestly had no idea how much energy I was going to have. Saturday was basically a test. Go volunteer at the Q Center, pay attention to how my body feels, and then decide whether Sunday was a good idea or whether I should stay home and be sensible... Being sensible has never really been my strongest quality.
I got to the festival early enough to wander around before my shift started. There was a face painter doing different Pride flags, so I figured if I don't own any Pride merch, I might as well become the Pride merch. She painted the trans flag colors on my face, which was honestly a lot of fun.
The rest of the afternoon was spent at the Q Center booth handing out resources, running the prize wheel, and talking to people. I worked most of the day with Joelle, and every few minutes I'd overhear another conversation about a service I didn't even know existed.
The biggest surprise of the day wasn't anything I expected.
One of Joelle's friends stopped by and pointed out a pamphlet for an organization called Healing House.
Wait... This exists?
Healing House is a place where transgender people recovering from surgery can stay if they don't have a support system nearby. The guy who started it had gone through surgery himself and realized there really wasn't much out there if you didn't have someone to help you recover. So he just... built the thing. I love people like that.
I ended up getting his email, and he invited me to come see the house sometime. I'd honestly love to volunteer there if I can.
By the time I got home Saturday night, I was exhausted. The good news was... exhausted was all I was. I hadn't made myself sick, I wasn't feeling dramatically worse, and I hadn't managed to undo a week's worth of healing. By my standards, that's practically restraint.
So Sunday morning I packed snacks, grabbed way too much water for both Alton and me, and headed back downtown.
One thing that has pleasantly surprised me about Portland is parking. The city-owned garages are seven dollars for the entire weekend day. Public transit would have been five, but with the heat, my knee my kidneys, and a dog in tow, having the truck nearby seemed worth the extra two dollars.
Before I even made it to the parade, I found what looked like hundreds of e-bikes lined up. Naturally, I assumed there was some kind of race. Nope.
Portland was attempting to break the world record for the longest line of e-bikes. Apparently that's a thing.
I wasn't aware anyone was keeping track, but they ended up breaking the previous record by almost three times, so congratulations, I guess.
There was also a fountain nearby that kept catching the sunlight just right, throwing a huge rainbow across the water every few minutes. You really couldn't have planned a more appropriate backdrop if you'd tried.
I picked a spot a little farther back to see how Alton handled the crowds before moving closer to the parade. Turns out he handled them considerably better than I did.
While I was waiting for the parade to start, I suddenly heard someone call my name. For about two seconds I just froze. How does somebody here know me?
It turned out to be Jesse, whom I'd met the day before. Somehow, out of a crowd of something like 80,000 people, he, his wife, and their three-year-old daughter had picked a spot right next to me.
It was kind of a weird feeling.
I've only been here a few weeks, and suddenly somebody in this enormous city knew my name. That was nice.
The parade itself was incredible. I don't think I realized just how massive it was until someone nearby casually mentioned it takes about three and a half hours to pass. I made it through roughly two and a half before deciding I'd had enough parade and wanted to explore the festival itself.
Since I'd spent most of Saturday volunteering, this was my first chance to actually wander. I checked out artists, community organizations, food vendors, therapy resources, and all kinds of local groups.
And then I stopped being an individual, I became "Alton's person."
Everyone wanted to pet him. Everyone wanted to give him treats. Everyone wanted to tell me about their dog. Apparently owning a dog isn't compatible with quietly wandering around minding your own business.
He forced me into more conversations with strangers in one afternoon than I've probably had in the last month combined. He, of course, was having the time of his life.
Thankfully, most of the festival was on grass instead of pavement, so his paws stayed cool. I still kept dragging him over to the water stations every so often to soak him down because by late afternoon it had gotten surprisingly hot.
Can somebody from Portland explain your weather to me? Everywhere else I've lived, the hottest part of the day is around two. Here it just keeps getting hotter until five. Who approved this design?
By around 4:30 both Alton and I had decided we'd accomplished enough for one weekend. He was starting to overheat, I could definitely feel the last two days catching up with me, and heading home sounded like an outstanding decision.
The last couple of days have been considerably less exciting. Mostly medical follow-ups, therapy intake, paperwork, updating my CV, and starting applications for substitute teaching.
Basically back to all the glamorous parts of moving to a new city.
Meanwhile, Alton went to the groomer.
He'd accumulated enough sticks, burrs, dirt, and whatever else dogs manage to find that it was definitely time. Unfortunately, he also had some matting in his ears and tail, so those had to be shaved.
He's gone from looking like a fluffy little Muppet to looking like somebody accidentally crossed a poodle with a gremlin.
He remains blissfully unaware of this. As far as he's concerned, he's still the most handsome dog in Portland.
Judging by the amount of attention he received over the weekend...
...he might actually be right.Meer informatie
Crowds, Chaos, and Kidneys
14 juli, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 86 °F
I figured I'd post a quick update now instead of making everyone read another novel at the end of the week.
On Saturday I headed over to the Mississippi Street Fair, and I don't think I appreciated just how popular it was until I got there. It was an absolute sea of people. Normally I'd weave my way through a crowd, but with the knee brace and my balance still not quite back to normal, I was pretty much committed to shuffling along at the speed of whoever happened to be in front of me, which was annoyingly slow.
I stopped by the Q Center to say hello to some of the people I'd met earlier in the week before heading back out to explore the fair. It was great seeing everyone again, especially knowing I'll be back there volunteering at Pride this weekend.
The fair itself was a lot of fun. There were five different stages with performers throughout the day, local artists and vendors everywhere, and enough food to make it impossible to decide what to eat. One whole section was dedicated to barbecue with a rib cook-off, and I had to laugh walking past the Jamaican food stand because, well... let's just say the smell in the air fit the stereotype perfectly. 🚬🍃💨
I kind of wish I'd brought Altan. I left him home because I wanted to go into the Q Center, but I ended up spending far more time outside than inside. He would've had the time of his life sniffing every food stand, every dog, and probably every single person who looked remotely interesting. Then again, with that many people, it was probably for the best.
Of course, no outing is complete without me collecting a story.
This one involved a porta-potty with a lock that apparently had all the structural integrity of wet cardboard. Mid-business, made more awkward by a brace that goes up to my groin, the door suddenly swung open and I made direct eye contact with a very surprised stranger. He apologized, closed the door... and then, instead of pretending none of this had ever happened like any reasonable human being would, proceeded to carry on an entire conversation with me from the porta-potty next door.
There are some social situations that simply don't require follow-up conversation.
Needless to say, I wrapped things up at record speed and made a tactical retreat before either of us had to acknowledge each other's existence ever again.
As if that wasn't enough, I also forgot to drop a pin where I'd parked the car. Since parking anywhere near the fair was basically nonexistent, I'd abandoned it somewhere in the surrounding neighborhood. Fortunately I found it again before accidentally becoming a permanent Portland resident.
Monday, however, had slightly different plans for me.
I woke up around 4 in the morning with excruciating pain in my lower back and discovered there was a significant amount of blood in my urine. That seemed like one of those moments where Google and I were in complete agreement: "Yeah... maybe go to the ER."
The good news is it wasn't a kidney stone like we'd feared. Instead, it turned out to be a UTI that had spread into a kidney infection. 7 hours, a bag of IV fluids, IV antibiotics, and enough tests to satisfy everyone's curiosity later, I was sent home with antibiotics, pain medication, and instructions to find a primary care doctor... which is proving to be a bit like trying to find a unicorn at the moment.
The really amazing part is how quickly the human body can bounce back. Yesterday I felt like I'd lost a fight with a freight train. Today I feel dramatically better. I'm still taking it easy and giving my body time to recover, but it's honestly incredible how much of a difference 24 hours can make.
Anyway, that's all for this update. I've got a busy few days coming up, so I figured I'd split things into smaller updates instead of making everyone read one ridiculously long post later.Meer informatie
Peg Leg Chronicles: Beaches, Braces, & Bureaucracy
10 juli, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 73 °F
The two days after the Fourth of July were absolute torture.
I injured my knee badly enough that I spent Sunday and Monday doing what I was supposed to be doing: resting, icing, compressing, elevating, and trying to get the swelling under control. There was quite a bit of inflammation, so while there was definitely some pain, that was my bigger focus.
The immobilizer, though...my goodness.
I don't think I appreciated just how difficult it is to not be able to bend your knee at all. It throws everything else out of whack. Your hips hurt. Your back hurts. Everything takes more effort, and I suddenly found myself moving at about one-tenth my normal speed.
What surprised me most wasn't the pain. It was the boredom.
I genuinely don't know how people enjoy sitting around doing nothing. I love reading. I really do. But by the end of those two days I didn't even want to read anymore. I didn't want to watch a show. I didn't want to scroll on my phone. I didn't want to do anything except get up and go *do* something.
I honestly felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin.
Thankfully, Altan has been a real trooper through all of this. We've been adjusting our routine a bit. Instead of long daily walks, I've been taking him for a longer walk every other day, and on the days in between we head out into the yard for about twenty minutes of fetch. I've also been leaning heavily on sniffing games and mental enrichment. I think people sometimes forget that dogs don't just need physical exercise—they need mental exercise too. Fifteen minutes of really working their brain or following scents can tire them out just as much as another mile of walking. So we've been making the best of our temporary limitations.
Tuesday felt like one giant administrative headache.
I spent what felt like half the day trying to complete an international wire transfer. Normally I can do it through my banking app, but for whatever reason that wasn't an option this time, so it turned into driving around from place to place trying to get everything sorted out.
Of course, all of that is compounded by the giant peg-leg brace.
I can't drive with it on, so every stop means taking the brace off, carefully maneuvering my leg into the truck, driving, climbing back out, putting the brace back on, and then hobbling into wherever I need to go. None of it is difficult exactly... It's just annoying. And slow!
Oh my goodness, I can't believe how much slower I move wearing that thing.
Wednesday was my orthopedic appointment, and it went exactly the way I expected.
There's only so much a doctor can tell you without imaging, so he confirmed what I already knew: I need an MRI.
It also reminded me how much I miss the healthcare systems in some of the other countries where I've lived.
I still remember going to an orthopedic specialist in Turkey because I had persistent shoulder pain. No referral. No appointment. I simply walked in, saw the orthopedic doctor, he examined my shoulder, ordered an MRI himself, walked me over to the MRI machine, then walked me back to his office afterward to review the results with me right then and there.
When Joe was having trouble breathing because of issues with his nose, he walked into the hospital, saw the specialist, had a scope done, had an EKG, blood work, chest X-rays, met with the anesthesiologist, and they were ready to do surgery that afternoon. We were actually the ones who asked to wait until the next day so we could go home, get prescriptions filled, and prepare for his recovery.
Every time I experience the American healthcare system, I can't help but make comparisons.
Don't get me wrong—I am incredibly grateful that I have insurance, that I have access to good medical care, and that this injury isn't causing me financial panic. I know how fortunate I am.
But it is hard not to laugh a little when the process is, "Go see the doctor so the doctor can tell you that you need the MRI you already knew you needed...then schedule the MRI and possible have to wait months for each of your appointments."
The rest of Wednesday disappeared into exactly that.
Scheduling the MRI.
Scheduling physical therapy.
Calling around trying to establish a primary care doctor.
Looking for an eye doctor.
Calling one number only to get transferred to another number, then another person, who transfers you back to the office you originally wanted.
By the time I finished, I desperately needed to get outside.
Kathy had suggested an easier walk for Altan and me—a paved trail that would be much more forgiving while my knee heals.
Naturally, about five minutes after getting there I spotted a little gravel trail heading toward the water and immediately thought, "Well...that looks interesting."
So much for staying on the easy path.
Because dogs are supposed to stay on leash there, I kept Altan's leash tucked underneath his harness so I technically had it with me, but once we wandered away from the main path I let him run.
Almost immediately he spotted a group of geese, charged into the water after them, and while it normally would have been hilarious, all I could think was, "Oh great...someone's probably going to see this and I'm going to get in trouble." There seem to be so many rules everywhere.
A little farther down the trail we found an actual beach along the Columbia River.
Getting down the short hill to the sand was...interesting.
I ended up sitting down and basically crab-walking backwards while keeping my injured leg perfectly straight in the brace. It wasn't graceful. But it worked. And it was absolutely worth it.
Altan spent the next hour launching himself through the shallow water chasing his frisbee. He wasn't even running anymore. He looked like a dolphin, just leaping out of the water over and over again.
I laughed so hard watching him. By the time we left, I already knew I wanted to come back.
Thursday and Friday were supposed to be really hot, and I was already picturing bringing a towel, some lunch, and just spending a few hours sitting on that little beach while the dogs played.
Thursday started with one of the things I'd been looking forward to all week: picking up my new knee brace.
This thing is an impressive piece of equipment. I feel like I've traded in my peg leg for some sort of techy kinkwear. Maybe I'm trying out steampunk for a little while.
Since I was already downtown, I decided to stop by the Q Center.
I'd been trying to figure out their events online, but their website is in the middle of a redesign and there were two different calendars that didn't seem to match. I couldn't tell which one was right, so I figured I'd just pop in, introduce myself, and ask.
I'm so glad I did.
Everyone there was absolutely wonderful. They gave me a tour of the center, showed me the new website they're working on, and talked about everything they're doing for the LGBTQ+ community. As much as I love the idea of traveling around in my van for months at a time, I also want Portland to become home base. I want this to be the place I come back to between adventures, which means building friendships and becoming part of a community.
That's never happened particularly naturally for me. I'm not really the type to strike up a conversation with a stranger and suddenly leave with a new best friend and exchanged phone numbers. I tend to connect with people through organizations—churches, volunteer work, community groups—so the Q Center feels like it could become one of those places.
I asked if they needed volunteers, and the first thing they mentioned was staffing their table during Portland Pride. Greeting people, handing out water, answering questions, and just being a friendly face.
Now, spending five hours making conversation with strangers is definitely not my natural habitat. It'll drain my social battery faster than just about anything else. But it's also something I can absolutely do if it helps, so I signed up.
Long term, I'm even more interested in some of their other volunteer opportunities. They have a gender-affirming closet that needs help organizing donations and appointments, a library they're cataloging, and office work that honestly sounds right up my alley.
That evening I talked to Jesse next door and asked if he'd mind me taking Ragnar to the little beach I'd found the day before since it was supposed to be so hot. He was thrilled with the idea.
Yesterday the three of us headed back. The new brace made an incredible difference. Being able to bend my knee a little made walking so much easier, and getting down to the beach wasn't nearly the production it had been the day before.
Altan and Ragnar could not have been more different.
Altan wanted me to throw the frisbee every three seconds. If I wasn't throwing it, he was sitting in front of me wondering why I wasn't throwing it.
Ragnar, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less about the frisbee. He entertained himself for hours—running through the water, digging, exploring, sticking his whole head underwater and then seeming genuinely surprised that he couldn't breathe.
Watching the two of them together was hilarious.
We stayed for about four hours, and for most of that time I had the entire place to myself. I had my headphones on, music cranked up, and somewhere along the way I committed fully to a one-man karaoke show while throwing frisbees for Altan.
At one point I happened to glance across the river and realized someone had apparently been listening for who knows how long.
I was embarrassed for about five seconds.
Then I thought, "You know what? This person doesn't know me. I'll probably never see them again."
So I kept right on singing and rocking my air guitar, cracking voice and all.
Today I'm finally heading back to the gym for the first time since hurting my knee. It'll be a very modified workout—mostly seated upper-body lifting until physical therapy gives me the okay to do more. The doctor also wants me back on a stationary bike as soon as I can bend my knee far enough, so hopefully that won't be too far off.
After that I'm planning to check my mail and wander through Portland's Mississippi Street Fair.
For now, my adventures are just going to look a little different.
Instead of scrambling up mountains and disappearing down rugged hiking trails, I'll be sticking to smoother paths, paved trails, and places where I can safely let my knee heal.
And honestly, that's okay.
This week reminded me that adventure isn't always about climbing higher or going farther. Sometimes it's finding a hidden beach because you wandered off the path. Sometimes it's walking into a community center on a whim and discovering a place where you might belong.
I still can't wait to get back into the mountains.
But until then, there are plenty of smooth trails to wander, neighborhoods to explore, communities to become part of, and apparently an audience of strangers willing to tolerate my one-man karaoke performances.Meer informatie
Sometimes the hardest part is coming down
3 juli, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 68 °F
It's officially been one week since I arrived in Oregon, and it feels like I'm starting to settle in.
This week has been a mix of exploring and paperwork. I got approved for Oregon health insurance, found a mailing address, and started the process of transferring my driver's license. I'm still waiting on proof of address before I can file everything, but at least the ball is rolling. I've also spent the week getting to know Altan a little better and checking out some of the trails around the Gorge.
A couple of days ago I had planned a pretty ambitious hike. My goal was to make one big loop and see Multnomah Falls, Wahkeena Falls, Fairy Falls, and maybe even Angel's Rest if I was making good time. Unfortunately, I forgot that it was the Friday before the Fourth of July.
The Gorge was packed.
Every parking lot anywhere near the trailheads was completely full. I drove around for quite a while before finally giving up and parking much farther away than I had planned. Then I couldn't even figure out where the trail started. There were what felt like four different paths leading into the woods, and naturally I picked all of the wrong ones first. Every trail seemed to end at some giant basalt rock wall that probably looked like a fun challenge to a rock climber but definitely not to me.
Eventually I found the Gorge 400 Trail and decided I'd just start hiking and see where it took me.
Honestly, that ended up being a pretty good decision.
The Pacific Northwest is exactly what I imagined Oregon would be. Everything is unbelievably green. Ferns cover the forest floor, moss grows on just about everything, little creeks wind through the woods, and the whole place feels cool, peaceful, and almost magical. I absolutely love it here.
Altan was having just as much fun as I was, sniffing every interesting smell he could find and stopping to splash through every creek along the way.
I had packed for what I thought might end up being a ten-mile day. Plenty of water for both of us, snacks, electrolytes, my first aid kit, and a few emergency supplies all went into my backpack. It wasn't exactly light, but I'd rather carry things I don't need than need something I didn't bring.
As it turned out, I only hiked about six miles.
That probably doesn't sound like much, but here's the thing people don't always realize: six miles with almost 3,000 feet of elevation gain isn't an easy hike. It's considered a strenuous one. I've done longer hikes before, but climbing almost 3,000 feet and then turning around to descend all of it is exhausting in a completely different way. The uphill burns your lungs. The downhill punishes your knees. By the time I reached the top of Multnomah Falls, I knew the hardest part of the day was probably going to be getting back down.
Along the way I found this beautiful little creek and decided it was the perfect place to stop for lunch. I sat with my feet in the freezing cold water while Altan happily ran around splashing through it. Every now and then he'd shake himself off, making sure I got just as wet as he did.
There wasn't another person around.
It was quiet.
Peaceful.
And apparently the perfect place for me to once again decide that pants were optional.
After a little break, some fruit, granola, and electrolytes, we kept going until we reached the top of Multnomah Falls. Looking down from up there and realizing just how far I'd climbed was pretty satisfying.
The hike back started like every other hike back does.
Very carefully.
Going downhill has always been harder for me than going up. My knees aren't the biggest fans of steep descents, which is exactly why I carry trekking poles. They give me a lot more stability and take some of the strain off my joints.
Unfortunately, they were about to earn their keep.
The section of trail near Cougar Rock is narrow, and the vegetation has grown in from both sides. You can only clearly see the middle of the trail. On one side the hillside goes up. On the other it drops away pretty steeply, but all the brush hides where the edge actually is.
At one point my left foot landed on a loose rock.
The rock moved. I didn't. At least not in the direction I wanted.
My left leg started sliding down the hillside while the rest of me was trying very hard to stay on the trail. Thankfully I had my trekking poles. I managed to jam them into the ground while my right knee slammed into a rock and twisted awkwardly underneath me. Somehow that stopped my fall before I ended up sliding down the hill.
After pulling myself pack on the trail I just lay there for a minute letting the adrenaline do its thing.
My pants were ripped, my knee definitely hurt, but I wasn't bleeding badly and I could still walk. At that point my only goal was getting back to the truck where I could figure out exactly what I'd done.
The hike back was slow. But what I remember most wasn't my knee.
It was Altan.
Earlier in the day he'd been running ahead, exploring everything he could find. After I fell, I kept giving him the command to go ahead of me like he normally does. He refused. Every single time.
Instead, he stayed directly behind me for the rest of the hike. Step for step.
Later I looked it up because I'd never seen a dog do that before. Apparently dogs are incredibly good at recognizing when we're hurt. They notice changes in the way we move, our body language, even the stress hormones our bodies release. Whether that's exactly what was happening or not, I don't know.
What I do know is that the goofy, carefree dog I'd been hiking with all morning suddenly decided his job wasn't exploring anymore.
His job was making sure I got back safely.
We eventually made it back to the truck, and I drove home without any problems. I got Altan settled with food and water, took a shower, and started icing and elevating my knee.
At first I wasn't overly worried. I figured I'd banged it up pretty good and it would probably be sore for a few days.
A couple hours later, though, things changed. The pain wasn't what concerned me. It was the instability.
Earlier I'd managed to hike almost three miles back to the truck. Now I could barely put weight on my leg without my knee wanting to buckle underneath me.
Years ago I tore my MCL and meniscus snowboarding. Being young and stubborn, I walked around on it for six months before finally going to a doctor. This injury actually hurt more than I remembered that one hurting, and this time I also had a dog I was responsible for taking care of.
That was enough to convince me not to wait.
Urgent care had stopped accepting walk-ins, so they sent me over to the emergency room instead.
Not exactly how I imagined using my brand-new Oregon health insurance for the first time.
The good news is that nothing is broken. X-rays looked good. The bad news is that there's still a pretty good chance I sprained or tore my MCL, so they put me in a knee immobilizer and referred me to an orthopedic doctor.
Needless to say, my Fourth of July ended up looking a little different than I'd expected.
I'd already promised Jesse I'd take both dogs out for some exercise, so the next morning I strapped on the brace, grabbed my trekking poles, and figured I'd take them down to the river where they could run around while I mostly stood still.
Turns out my definition of "a short walk" and reality are two very different things.
The river is about three miles round trip. Healthy Kara apparently forgot that detail. So we took it slow... Very slow.
Ragnar entertained himself just fine. Altan, on the other hand, still wanted to stay right beside me. I eventually started throwing his ball as we walked just to convince him to burn off some energy instead of constantly checking to make sure I was okay.
By the time we got back to the house that afternoon, I was completely wiped out.
So instead of going out to find fireworks or a parade, I spent the evening on the couch with my leg elevated.
Honestly, it turned out to be exactly where I needed to be.
I could still see fireworks through the windows, and more importantly, I was there to keep Altan company. He wasn't a fan of all the explosions outside, so we watched the show together from the safety of the living room instead.
Today has mostly been another day of resting, icing, and trying to be patient.
Tomorrow it's back to paperwork, phone calls, and now one more thing on the to-do list: finding an orthopedic doctor.
I guess that's how life goes sometimes.
You make plans for waterfalls, end up in the emergency room instead, and somehow the thing you remember most isn't the injury at all.
It's the dog who quietly decided that getting you home was more important than exploring the trail.Meer informatie
Home at Last (For a Little While)
28 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 61 °F
After finishing the drive across Idaho, I crossed into Oregon and spent my final night on the road in Ontario. The scenery wasn't nearly as spectacular as the overlook where I'd slept the night before, but after so many days of driving, a quiet night in a rest stop parking lot was exactly what I needed.
The next morning I set off for what I thought would be a picture-perfect drive into Oregon. Instead, eastern Oregon completely caught me off guard. In my mind, Oregon was supposed to be endless forests, lush greenery, cool mist, and overcast skies. Instead, I found myself driving through dry, rocky hills covered in shades of brown and gold. It was beautiful in its own way, but definitely not the Oregon I'd imagined.
Then I reached the Columbia River Gorge.
The first glimpse of the water honestly stopped me in my tracks. At first I thought I was looking at a lake. There was no way *that* could be a river. It was absolutely enormous. Even more surprising was how quickly the water was moving. Despite being incredibly wide, the current was fast, choppy, and full of energy.
The wind was on another level.
I pulled over to snap a photo and genuinely wondered if my phone was going to blow right out of my hand. The entire gorge felt like one giant wind tunnel. Later I learned that's exactly what it is—air pressure differences between the Pacific Ocean and the inland desert funnel through the gorge, creating some incredible winds. It was one of those places where the weather almost becomes part of the landscape.
As I continued west, I watched the scenery gradually transform. The rocky desert slowly gave way to thicker forests, richer shades of green, and the Pacific Northwest I'd been picturing all along. It was really neat to watch Oregon change so dramatically over just a couple of hours.
By the time I reached the Portland area, I arrived just in time to meet the homeowner before she left on her three-month adventure. She had just returned from six months in Alaska and a marathon in Central Oregon, so things were a bit of a whirlwind! We went over the house, the routine, and—most importantly—the dogs.
Her best friend and co-owner of the duplex, Rebecca, took me to one of the nearby parks to show me the best walking routes and introduce me to the dogs' training collars. I have to say, these are probably the best-trained dogs I've ever met. Watching how responsive and well-behaved they are has completely changed my perspective on dog ownership. If I ever decide to get a dog of my own, investing in professional training is going to be non-negotiable. Seeing what a difference it makes has been incredibly impressive.
The following morning I dropped the homeowner off at the airport and officially took over the house. Since the dogs only need their longer adventures a few times a week, I kept things pretty relaxed and turned my attention toward the less exciting part of moving: Oregon paperwork. Driver's license, insurance, vehicle registration, Medicaid, and a seemingly endless list of administrative tasks. Rather than overwhelm myself, I'm trying to tackle a little bit each day.
Yesterday I returned to the park with one of the dogs for a long walk, letting him splash around in the river before looping through the trails. Unfortunately, I also learned that one section of the park has become a gathering place for a fairly large homeless encampment, with a noticeable drug problem. It sounds like the authorities generally leave that area alone as long as people stay within that section and don't cause problems elsewhere. I simply kept an eye on my map to make sure I stayed on the right trails and avoided wandering where I didn't need to be.
Today was easily the highlight of my week.
Jesse, Rebecca's husband, invited me to join him on one of his favorite mountain trails. He's an avid runner and all around athlete who has been recovering from a foot injury after martial arts training, so he wanted to ease back into hiking before returning to trail running. "Easy" turned out to be a very relative term! Luckily only the first 3 miles were uphill and the way back I got to enjoy the same 3 mi but downhill.
The trail wound through dense forest with countless little creek crossings, surrounded by moss, towering trees, and endless shades of green. Everything was covered in a cool blanket of fog and mist. It was honestly some of the most beautiful scenery I've ever experienced.
Ironically, I forgot my phone at home.
Normally I'd be disappointed to miss the photos, but in hindsight it was probably for the best. I was already working hard just to keep up with Jesse's pace, and stopping every few minutes to take pictures probably wouldn't have made me the best hiking partner. Instead, I simply soaked it all in.
Literally.
The mountain sat around 50°F , and while I was grateful I'd brought a sweater, everything else ended up soaked. Every branch, fern, and shrub I brushed against was dripping with moisture. By the end of the hike my pants were completely wet and my shoes and socks were completely soaked through, even though it hadn't actually rained. Jesse explained that this part of the forest stays damp for much of the year, with the fog providing a constant source of moisture. It gave the whole place an almost magical atmosphere.
Now I'm back at the house, warming up with some food and diving back into the never-ending list of life admin. It may not sound particularly exciting, but after weeks of constant travel, it feels surprisingly good to finally stay in one place for a while.
I'm looking forward to getting all the paperwork behind me so I can spend more time exploring Portland and discovering everything my new temporary home has to offer.Meer informatie
Forst Pride, Last Stretch
27 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ 🌙 59 °F
This morning I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof of my van. It hadn't been the most restful night's sleep thanks to the wind, thunder, and lightning, but I didn't really mind. After nearly two weeks without my little home, I was just happy to be waking up in my own bed again.
I only had about an hour's drive into Idaho Falls, where I'd made plans to meet up with a friend who was participating in the local Pride parade. Since I only wanted to drive about six hours today, I realized I actually had time to stop—and I'm really glad I did.
It was my first Pride parade.
What struck me most wasn't the floats or the music or even the rainbow flags. It was the people.
Everywhere I looked, there were smiles. Families, kids, older couples, teenagers, allies, and members of the LGBTQ+ community all gathered together simply to celebrate one another. There was such a genuine feeling of acceptance and kindness in the air that it was impossible not to smile back.
For a few hours, everyone just seemed... happy.
It was a really beautiful thing to experience, and I'm grateful I happened to be passing through at just the right time.
Eventually, though, the road was calling again.
Driving across Idaho wasn't necessarily the most exciting stretch of the trip. There were long, wide-open spaces, plenty of cattle, and miles upon miles of open country. But there was one place that immediately caught my attention: Craters of the Moon National Monument. Even from the highway, it looked incredible. Massive fields of jagged black rock stretched out across the landscape, looking so alien that it genuinely could have been the surface of the moon.
The geology nerd in me desperately wanted to pull over and explore. As I later learned, it's actually an ancient lava field created by volcanic eruptions—not something from outer space at all—but it certainly looked the part. Unfortunately, after spending so much time at the parade, I knew I needed to keep making progress if I wanted tomorrow's drive to Oregon to be relaxed instead of rushed. So I'll just have to add it to the ever-growing list of places to come back and explore someday.
Every mile felt a little lighter than the last. After everything that had happened over the past couple of weeks—the deer, the repairs, the waiting, the uncertainty—it finally felt like life was getting back on track.
By this evening, I'd crossed into Oregon.
Tomorrow I have about five and a half hours left before I arrive at my pet sit, where I'll be spending the next three months with a brand-new four-legged roommate.
I can't even begin to describe how excited I am.
After weeks of living one day at a time and never quite knowing what tomorrow was going to bring, having somewhere to land for a while feels pretty incredible.
Here's to new adventures, new friends, and finally staying in one place long enough to unpack my backpack.Meer informatie
Back on the road again
26 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 84 °F
Friday was the absolute last possible day for me to get my van back if I wanted any chance of making it to Oregon on time for my pet sit. Thankfully, my homeowner had already been incredibly understanding and agreed to push my arrival back a bit, but I was officially out of wiggle room.
The body shop owner had told me several times that parts deliveries usually arrived around 9:30 a.m. and promised he'd call me as soon as he knew anything. By 10:30... I was a nervous wreck.
I had no idea what my next move should be. Do I return the rental car and hope I can find an Uber willing to drive me 2½ hours back to Riverton? Do I keep the rental and just drive straight to Oregon? Do I call the shop again and become *that* customer?
As I frantically called the rental company, looked into Uber options, and tried to come up with every possible backup plan, my phone finally rang.
The parts had arrived.
My van was finished and was just getting one final inspection from the mechanic to make sure everything looked perfect before they handed it back.
I don't think I've ever felt such immediate relief.
The next challenge was getting back to Riverton. I was surprisingly nervous about relying on Uber. I've had rides accepted before that never actually materialized because nobody wanted to make the trip, and asking someone to drive over two hours into rural Wyoming—with another two-and-a-half-hour drive back empty—felt like a big ask.
Thankfully, the rental agency was incredibly kind. They let me begin the return process without officially checking the vehicle in until my Uber actually arrived. My driver accepted the ride, and I gladly tipped extra knowing he'd be making the long drive home without a passenger.
The ride itself...
Let's just say it was entertaining.
My driver was a passionate Flat Earther with opinions on just about every conspiracy theory you can imagine. Two and a half hours flew by listening to perspectives I can honestly say I'd never heard before.
When we finally arrived back in Riverton, my van was still at the mechanic for its final inspection, so I unloaded everything onto the sidewalk outside the shop and waited.
And then she rolled into the parking lot.
I can't even describe how happy I was to see my little home again.
My bed. My kitchen. My gear. My space.
After nearly two weeks, it finally felt like I had my life back.
The funniest part? The two pieces that had delayed everything for days turned out to be almost laughably insignificant. One was a tiny plastic cover for the fuse box under the hood. The other was literally a piece of foam that sits behind the bumper.
Days of delays...
...because of a tiny piece of plastic and a chunk of foam.
Of course, I know those parts matter, and I'm genuinely grateful the shop insisted on fixing everything properly instead of cutting corners. But I'd be lying if a tiny part of my brain wasn't thinking, "Couldn't we just carve up a pool noodle and call it good?" 😂
Instead, they did it right.
After thanking everyone at the shop, I celebrated with some Chinese food before finally pointing the van west. I only drove a couple of hours before finding a beautiful little campsite outside Idaho Falls. The sunset was incredible, and after everything that had happened, it felt so good to be back in my own bed.
The thunderstorm that rolled through overnight had other ideas about how much sleep I'd actually get...
But honestly?
After the last couple of weeks, listening to rain fall on the roof of my own van sounded pretty wonderful.Meer informatie
ReizigerMe too! It's a huge relief, though technically I'm still not driving it because my temporary tags expired while it was in the shop. So until I can get my license switched over to Oregon and I get my vehicle registered here I am sticking with using the homeowner's truck.
Waiting in Casper, Wyoming
23 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 72 °F
While my van was in the body shop, I had to fight the urge to leave Casper and head back into the mountains. There were still hikes I wanted to do, but the repair timeline kept shifting because of parts delays, and I was terrified of being out of cell service when the shop finally called to say the van was ready. So instead of disappearing into the wilderness, I decided to see what Casper had to offer.
And honestly? Casper turned out to be a pretty cool place.
I spent a couple of days visiting the museums at Casper College, starting with the geology museum. Seeing dinosaur fossils that were actually discovered in this area was strangely moving. When you're a kid obsessed with dinosaurs, you imagine them in some distant, exotic place—not standing where you're standing. But the world was different then, and those creatures really did roam what is now Wyoming. Looking at those fossils, I kept thinking, “Wait… this was right here.” That realization never stops feeling a little surreal.
The geology collection was equally fascinating. They had rocks, minerals, and gemstones from Wyoming and from around the world, and it brought me right back to high school. Geology was one of those subjects I genuinely loved—I was probably the kid doing extra work just because I found it interesting. Walking through the exhibits felt like reconnecting with a forgotten hobby.
Next was the wildlife museum, which ended up being another highlight. One large section is dedicated entirely to animals native to Wyoming, and it was incredible to see so many of the creatures that are roaming the landscape around me all gathered in one place. They also had exhibits featuring wildlife from around the world, including a taxidermy polar bear that absolutely stopped me in my tracks. I’d only ever seen polar bears from a distance at zoos, so I never really understood their scale. I remember walking back over to the grizzly bear exhibit afterward and thinking, “Seriously? It’s that much bigger?” The thing was enormous.
Another day I visited a local nonprofit arts center that felt like a cross between an activity center, studio, and museum. They host art classes, community meetups, and mixed-media workshops, and the whole place had a wonderfully creative energy. The standout for me was a metal sculptor who made pieces entirely from found objects. Every sculpture was beautiful, but what struck me most was that they made me want to create something myself. I loved the idea of taking discarded items and turning them into art.
I also spent time at the Veterans Memorial Museum, which was humbling. Uniforms, mess kits, beds, equipment, and artifacts from different periods of American military history filled the building, each item representing real people and real lives.
That museum led me to one of the more unique experiences in town: a self-guided driving tour of the old World War II air base. The concept was fantastic. You follow a map, stop at different locations, and call in to hear audio stories about each site. I’ll admit it was a little chaotic doing it alone—driving, navigating, and dialing numbers at the same time isn’t exactly relaxing—but the tour itself was excellent. I wish more places did this, especially national parks. Reading a pamphlet while trying to take in a landscape never feels ideal, but having the history narrated while you’re looking at the place? That’s brilliant.
And yes, I also spent an inordinate amount of time at the gym and, more importantly, in the shower. After days of living out of the van and spending nights in parking lots, having access to a long, hot, steamy shower felt borderline luxurious. I definitely took my time appreciating it.
All of this happened against the backdrop of waiting for news about the van, trying not to stress too much about something I couldn’t control. In the end, I’m glad I stayed. What started as an inconvenient delay became a few unexpected days of exploring, learning, and reminding myself that sometimes the detours turn out to be destinations worth seeing too.Meer informatie
Learning to find my way
20 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F
Saturday started with me looking for something to do while I'm stuck in Casper waiting on van repairs. There are plenty of hikes on Casper Mountain, some interesting parks, and several free museums around town, but one event in particular caught my attention. A local nonprofit was hosting a Father's Day survival and preparedness program, and after a quick phone call to confirm walk-ins were welcome, I headed over when it opened at 10:00 a.m.
The first part of the event focused on navigation. We learned how to use a compass, calculate our pace count, and follow bearings through the woods. Once everyone had the basics down, we were sent off with a set of bearings that guided us to different stations scattered throughout the forest. At each stop we learned practical skills like fire starting, shelter building, water purification, emergency communications, natural food and medicine sources, and basic first aid.
I was paired with two cousins named Silam and Asher, who didn't have a compass of their own. They immediately reminded me of my nephews. Unfortunately, my little team quickly decided they were cold, bored, and ready to head back to their parents, so our adventure together ended after the navigation portion. Still, I enjoyed helping them through that first exercise.
The event itself was fantastic. Some of the skills were completely new to me, while others reinforced things I already knew. One of my favorite moments was successfully starting a fire using only flint and natural materials. I've used flint before, but always with a little help getting things going. This time I had to gather my own tinder, identify materials that would catch a spark, shave and fluff them into a nest, and patiently build the fire from scratch. There was something incredibly satisfying about seeing that first little ember catch.
The water purification station was equally interesting, and by the end of the day I had a growing list of items I'd like to add to my hiking pack and a few apps to install on my phone. Hopefully I'll never need them in an emergency, but it's comforting to know a little more than I did before.
Sunday started much earlier than I would have preferred. I woke up around 4:00 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep, so I spent a quiet morning reading and waiting for the rest of the world to catch up. Eventually I gave in, stopped by a barber shop to clean up the edges around my ears and tighten up my taper, then headed to a brunch hosted by the local LGBTQ+ community.
These were the same people I'd met at game night earlier in the week, so it was nice seeing familiar faces in what otherwise still feels like a city full of strangers.
During brunch, someone mentioned a summer solstice night walk happening later that evening at Crimson Dawn. The history of the place is fascinating. Its founder, Neal Forsling, created a whimsical world on Casper Mountain filled with stories, folklore, artwork, and shrines dedicated to fairies, witches, and other magical creatures she imagined inhabiting the area. Walking through the forest felt a little like stepping into someone else's dream.
One stop along the trail especially stood out to me. Neal had created a stone memorial of sorts. Whenever she felt lonely or thought of someone she missed, she would bring a rock to the site, focus on a happy memory, and add the stone to the growing pile.
Maybe it was because it was Father's Day, but that story hit me harder than I expected.
My dad was front and center in my thoughts all day. As I wandered through the woods, I kept thinking about how much he would have loved this little adventure. Before smartphones, Google, and AI made information instantly accessible, he somehow always managed to discover the most obscure and interesting things for us to do. One of my favorite memories was something he called "Girl Power Night" because my sisters and I were obsessed with the Spice Girls. It turned out to be a historical reenactment featuring the wives of various U.S. presidents talking about their roles in history. Somehow he was always finding strange little events, forgotten attractions, and unexpected adventures.
The older I get, the more I notice pieces of him in myself. The curiosity. The desire to explore. The ability to find something interesting almost anywhere. And for that, I'm incredibly grateful. It makes me feel like he's still along for the ride somehow, cheering me on from the passenger seat.
The evening ended with a different kind of adventure than I expected.
The solstice walk normally concludes with a bonfire, hot chocolate, snacks, and conversation, but as the hike neared its end the weather began to turn. At first it was just wind, then distant thunder, then flashes of lightning. It became obvious a storm was moving in, and not knowing how bad it would get or how long it would last, I decided to head down the mountain early.
In hindsight, waiting might have been the wiser choice, but I was worried the rain would last and the dirt road I needed to drive down would become impossible in my little Sentra.
Driving down Casper Mountain during the storm was probably one of the creepiest drives I've ever experienced. There are no streetlights up there. Just darkness, dense forest, jagged rock walls, twisting roads, sheets of rain, and the occasional flash of lightning illuminating everything for a split second before plunging it back into shadow. Heavy mist drifted across the road while the wind pushed rain in every direction.
It felt like driving through the setting of a ghost story.
But as I finally descended toward the city and the trees began to thin, I was rewarded with one of the most beautiful views I've seen in a long time. Storm clouds stretched across the horizon while the lights of Casper glowed below. Rain softened into a mist, and in one corner of the sky the last traces of sunset painted the clouds shades of red.
For a moment, it felt like the storm and the light were sharing the same sky.
It was a fitting end to a Father's Day spent thinking about the past, appreciating the present, and feeling my way through both.Meer informatie
Where the universe parked me
19 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ⛅ 72 °F
Not much has changed since my last update, which, after the last week, is probably a good thing.
Yesterday morning, the tow truck finally arrived and my van officially went into the shop for teardown. The owner himself came out to pick it up and will be doing the repairs, and he's been great to work with so far. While loading the van, he already spotted several issues that the insurance adjuster missed in their estimate. His hope is to finish the teardown by Friday, order parts immediately, and, if everything arrives on time, keep the repairs moving without too much delay.
One thing he seemed particularly concerned about was the fact that all of the oil leaked out. Fortunately, I haven't tried to start or run the vehicle since then, so hopefully his concern is just a precaution and not a sign of additional problems.
With the van now in the shop, I've finally been released from what I've been calling my Walmart parking lot incarceration. More than one local warned me not to leave the vehicle unattended for long periods, so that parking lot became my home base while I waited for the tow truck. Now I have a little more freedom to explore.
Unfortunately, I've also accepted that Yellowstone probably isn't happening on this trip. It deserves more than a rushed day visit, and I don't want to spend the time and money driving all the way there only to turn around and drive right back past it again on my way to Oregon. Yellowstone will still be there when I next get an opportunity to visit.
Instead, I've relocated to Casper and am using it as my temporary headquarters. Having regular access to a gym, showers, coffee shops, and other modern conveniences feels surprisingly luxurious after the past couple of weeks. The nearby Casper Mountains offer plenty of hiking, and there are enough community events around town to keep me busy.
Last night I made it to a local Pride event called "Gayyyme Night," where a group of us spent the evening playing board games. The main game involved building ridiculous sentences from magnetic word tiles and voting on the funniest response. Unsurprisingly, my competitive streak and love of words carried me to victory.
Earlier this week I also attended a storytelling event focused on queerness in nature. One speaker, a member of the Arapaho Tribe, shared their experiences as a Two-Spirit person. In many Native traditions, Two-Spirit people have historically been viewed as holding a unique spiritual role within their communities. Listening to their story was a genuinely special experience and one I'm grateful I had the opportunity to witness.
So for now, I'm settling into this unexpected pause. The plan is simple: explore local history, find some hiking trails, attend community events, and enjoy what Wyoming has to offer while my van heals.
It's not where I expected to spend a couple of weeks, but Wyoming is a beautiful place. If the universe was going to park me somewhere for a while, there are certainly worse options.Meer informatie
You Know Nothing, Jon Snow
16 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 81 °F
This morning I woke up with a simple plan: drive down to Thermopolis, visit the hot springs, enjoy a proper shower afterward, and call it a day. It was only about an hour away and seemed like a good excuse to get out and explore something different.
One of the things that makes Thermopolis unique is that when the land was transferred from the Native tribes to the state, the treaty required that part of the hot springs remain open to the public forever. Because of that, there is still a free bath house available for anyone to use. Considering how many hot springs around the world have been turned into expensive spa experiences, I thought that was pretty cool.
After visiting, I'm also very glad it was free.
The entire area smells like hot garbage and dinosaur farts.
The drive there was spectacular, though. It starts through the reservation before reaching the reservoir that feeds into the river. A dam sits at the entrance to Wind Canyon, and from there the road winds through some of the most dramatic scenery I've driven through so far.
It was also oddly intimidating.
The canyon walls rise up on all sides, the road twists constantly, and despite the sharp curves the speed limit remains surprisingly high. Outside of a few tunnel sections carved directly into the mountainside, where they slow you down to about 45 mph, you're often doing 70 with only a suggested speed of 55 around many of the turns. It's beautiful, but there were definitely moments where I felt very small surrounded by all that rock.
Much of the drive follows the river. The water moves fast, weaving around enormous boulders that have clearly broken loose from the surrounding mountains over the years. Signs warning drivers about falling rocks appear everywhere, which I found mildly amusing. At 70 mph, I'm not entirely sure what anyone expects me to do if I happen to notice a boulder falling out of the sky, but I appreciated the warning nonetheless.
Once I arrived, I spent a little time driving through the state park. They have a herd of bison there, but at this point in my trip I've seen so many bison that my reaction has shifted from "WOW!" to "Yep, that's another bison."
The staff at the bath house were incredibly friendly and helpful. Since it was my first visit, they gave me the full orientation: the benefits of the mineral water, the recommended soak times, and why they limit visitors to 20 minutes in the pools.
According to them, most of the benefits happen during the first 15 minutes. Beyond that, you're mostly just stressing your body and increasing cortisol levels. They also recommended not showering immediately afterward, since your skin continues absorbing minerals as your body cools.
The pools are kept around 106°F and are fed continuously by the spring water.
One thing I learned today is that I apparently know nothing about hot springs.
Thanks to a lifetime of movies and TV shows, I had somehow convinced myself that hot springs were basically nature's bathtubs. You find one, hop in, and enjoy the warmth.
Turns out that, much like Jon Snow, I know nothing.
Most natural hot springs are actually far too hot for humans to sit in safely. The water either needs to mix with cooler water naturally or be managed like it is here. Otherwise, most springs are hot enough to cause serious burns in a matter of seconds.
My first soak was fantastic.
Afterward, I had a couple of hours to kill before I could do a second soak, so I headed out to explore the trails around the park. Being the genius that I am, I left my sunscreen in the van and completely ignored the fact that the Wyoming sun hits a little differently at higher elevations.
Two hours later I had acquired a mild sunburn.
Nothing serious, but definitely enough to remind me that I am not, in fact, immune to ultraviolet radiation.
The walk itself was beautiful. I followed several trails, crossed the floating bridge, wandered through the old cemetery, and visited a historic lookout point where an early explorer spotted steam rising in the distance. Thinking it might be smoke from Native campfires, he climbed to investigate only to discover it was actually the hot springs.
The entire area is full of interesting history, and I really appreciate that it remains accessible to the public.
My second soak was... less magical.
The first one happened while the morning air was still cool. By the second round I was already overheated from hiking, slightly sunburned, and generally baked by the afternoon sun. Sitting in 106-degree water no longer felt relaxing. It felt like voluntary suffering.
I dutifully completed my twenty minutes and then immediately headed for the showers.
After spending the day marinating in mineral water that smelled like a dinosaur had died in a swamp, that shower felt glorious. I took my time, scrubbed off every trace of sulfur, and enjoyed the luxury of standing under cool running water for far longer than was strictly necessary.
By around 4 p.m. I was exhausted. Between the soaking, the hiking, the sun, and the heat, my body felt wonderfully heavy and completely relaxed. I grabbed a soda water and an iced coffee from McDonald's before starting the drive back.
This time I stopped frequently along the river. On the drive in I had been focused on getting to Thermopolis, but on the way back I took my time. I pulled into overlooks, admired the river, checked out the dam, and simply enjoyed the scenery.
Now I'm back in my familiar Walmart parking lot as the evening cools down. One thing I'm especially grateful for here is how comfortable the nights remain. Even when the days get hot, temperatures still drop into the 50s after sunset, which makes sleeping in the van incredibly pleasant.
Tomorrow should be fairly low-key. I'll call the auto body shop to see whether the parts for my van have finally arrived. Depending on shipping, they could show up tomorrow or Thursday.
In the evening, though, I have something a little more interesting planned.
There's a Pride event in the next town over called the Houlihan Narratives, featuring storytellers sharing experiences about queerness, nature, and the outdoors. It sounded like a unique event and a good excuse to spend some time exploring a town I've been hearing good things about. Apparently it has a strong arts community and plenty of character, so I'm looking forward to wandering around and seeing what I find.
For now, though, I'm content to enjoy a cool Wyoming evening and let the hot springs work whatever magic they're supposed to be working.Meer informatie
Reiziger
a few questions for ya Kara. the sign mentions that It "maintains" a safe 104degrees....how do they do that?
Reizigeralso, what are the health benefits of the mineral hot springs? what type of experience have you had?
ReizigerThe main spring pumps out a crazy 3.6 million gallons of water every single day, but it naturally bubbles up at a scorching 127°F. To keep the bathhouse pools at that safe 104°F, they pump some of that water through an outdoor cooling system to let it naturally air-cool before it hits the pools. They come out to check the pool temperatures about every 30 minutes and those temps will dictate. How frequently and at what speeds they run the pump diverting fresh hot spring water into the pool. The water has something like 27 different minerals in it (lots of sulfur and magnesium), so it’s supposed to be awesome for muscle recovery, circulation, and joint pain, and it's also supposed to be really good for your skin and in other cultures it's frequently prescribed to help treat chronic pain and dermatological issues. For me, it was honestly amazing. After being on the road and dealing with all the recent stress with the van repairs, soaking in it felt super relaxing! I left there after my second dip in just feeling completely boneless and refreshed. My skin is also feels softer and the eczema I frequently carry on my hands and feet has cleared up quite significantly since my soak.
Grand Tetons, Bears, and the Return to Reality
14 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 39 °F
Yesterday I woke up on Shadow Mountain and spent the first half of the day exploring Grand Teton National Park. After the stress of the last few days, it was exactly the reset I needed.
My route took me through Antelope Flats Road, Mormon Row, Schwabacher Landing, Snake River Overlook, Elk Ranch Flats, Oxbow Bend, Willow Flats Overlook, and Signal Mountain Summit. It wasn't a big hiking day. My legs were still reminding me of the climb to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point the day before, so I kept things short and focused on enjoying the scenery.
Mormon Row was one of my favorite stops. There's something surreal about standing in front of a small homestead built in the late 1800s and imagining what life must have been like there. What really made me laugh was realizing that the house I remodeled back in Wellington was still roughly seventy years older than this famous little cabin. Even so, the view those settlers woke up to every morning is hard to beat. In summer, it looks idyllic. In winter? With feet of snow, brutal winds, and isolation? I'll happily admire it from a photograph.
Snake River Overlook was absolutely stunning. The water was crystal clear and looked incredibly inviting. After the previous day's hike, I wanted nothing more than to climb in and wash off some of the dust and sweat. Unfortunately, the river had other ideas. It's fast-moving, cold, and not exactly designed for casual soaking. Probably for the best, but it was tempting.
One of the stranger moments of the day happened at Willow Flats Overlook. Shortly after I arrived, a park ranger pulled up and started asking visitors if anyone had heard someone yelling for help. Apparently a report had come in from somewhere in the area.
The thing that made it unsettling was that Willow Flats is covered with warning signs. Hiking is prohibited because of increased bear activity, and yet it sounded like someone may have gone into the area anyway.
Before long there were multiple ranger vehicles, an ambulance, and a search team assembling. I never did learn what happened. Hopefully whoever was involved made it out safely, and hopefully any bears involved did too. It was a sobering reminder that those warning signs aren't there for decoration.
That bear situation didn't exactly help with the nerves from the night before.
I had spent the night sleeping on Shadow Mountain and still had leftovers from my Rocky Mountain oysters and burger tucked away in my cooler. The park recommends keeping food secured in a vehicle, which I did, but they also casually mention that bears are perfectly capable of tearing into vehicles if they're motivated enough.
Normally I sleep with the windows cracked slightly for ventilation, which suddenly felt a lot more exciting than usual.
Sleeping arrangements were an adventure of their own. I originally tried folding down the seats and sleeping stretched out in the back like I had done years ago on a trip to Mexico. Unfortunately, the Sentra's interior creates a surprisingly uncomfortable hump right where you don't want one. To make matters worse, finding a campsite had been difficult, and the only spot I found left the van parked on a pretty steep incline with the nose pointed uphill.
After a lot of shifting around and muttering to myself, I gave up and folded everything back upright. Surprisingly, sleeping mostly seated and leaning against the rear window ended up being the most comfortable option.
The payoff was waking up before sunrise and watching the Tetons slowly light up in the morning glow. That alone made the awkward and cold night worth it.
I made sure to leave the park a little after 3 PM. After my recent encounter with a deer, I have absolutely no interest in driving at dusk if I can avoid it. I made it back to my now-familiar Walmart parking lot and was relieved to find the van exactly where I had left it. Pizza, a quiet evening, and a normal night felt pretty good.
On the drive out, I stopped at a pull-out along the Continental Divide—one of those quietly impressive markers you find scattered through the Rockies. It’s essentially the line where water decides which ocean it’s headed for, either flowing west toward the Pacific or east toward the Atlantic. Sitting up there at over 9,800 feet, it felt like standing on a weird kind of halfway point for the entire country’s water system. Of course, I couldn’t just stay in the car. I climbed up the slope to a nearby snowbank and, instead of touching grass like a normal person might need at this point in life, I touched snow in the middle of June just because I could. Cold, ridiculous, and exactly the kind of small moment that makes a road trip feel real.
Today has been much less exciting and much more practical.
I've been making phone calls, tracking down receipts from my shuttle ride to Casper, checking with the auto body shop about parts and repair timelines, and doing a very glamorous load of laundry in the back of the van. I briefly considered solving my dwindling underwear situation by simply buying more at Walmart, but common sense eventually prevailed.
The biggest question right now is still the repair timeline.
I'm reaching out to the homeowner for my upcoming pet sit in Oregon to see if there's any flexibility in my arrival date. Depending on when repairs actually begin and how long they take, I may need to make some creative plans involving flights, vehicle storage, family assistance, or some combination of all three.
At the moment there are still too many unknowns to make any final decisions.
So for now, I'm trying not to stress about things I can't control.
Looking back, I'm really glad I took those two days to explore Grand Teton National Park before diving back into the logistics. It was exactly the mental break I needed.
Tomorrow, assuming everything goes according to plan, I'm hoping to drive to Thermopolis and spend some time in the natural hot springs. A day soaking in hot water sounds like a pretty good way to forget about insurance claims, repair estimates, and deer-related adventures for a little while.Meer informatie
Grand Teton National Park: The Day I Accidentally
13 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 46 °F
Yesterday was a big day: I got wheels again.
The Riverton transportation authority was able to arrange a shuttle to the nearest larger city, about two hours away, where I had reserved a rental car. They dropped me at the airport, the rental agency picked me up, and after a mountain of paperwork I was finally back on the road.
I was far more nervous than I expected to be.
I wasn't driving at dusk, but I was definitely getting closer to it than I would have liked, especially after stopping for an early dinner of Rocky mountain oysters and a burger; and after hitting a deer a few days ago I discovered that my confidence behind the wheel isn't quite what it was before. The entire drive back to Riverton had a weird undercurrent of anxiety running through it. Every shadow looked suspicious. Every movement near the road caught my attention.
Fortunately, I made it back safely, parked next to my wounded camper van, and called it a night.
This morning I got cleaned up, did my normal routine, and went into Walmart to speak with the manager. Since I finally had transportation again, I wanted to do a little exploring, but I also didn't want my damaged van getting towed while I was gone.
The manager was incredibly kind.
She told me they have people leave vehicles there for months at a time and that as long as it was parked properly and not causing problems, it would be fine. She did, however, recommend that I not advertise the fact that I'd be leaving it overnight. The Walmart sits on the reservation, and the area struggles with significant poverty and addiction issues. It's honestly a sad situation more than anything else.
So before leaving, I packed anything remotely valuable into the rental car, tucked everything else away, and made sure there was nothing visible through the windows.
Then I finally set off for Grand Teton National Park.
Grand Teton was supposed to be my next stop before my little deer-related itinerary adjustment.
The drive took almost three hours thanks to road construction, but eventually I made it into the park.
Normally when I arrive somewhere new, I drive the scenic loop first. I like getting the lay of the land before deciding where to spend my time.
Apparently after several days of staring at the same Walmart parking lot, I had absolutely no interest in doing that.
I wanted to move.
A ranger recommended hiking from the Lupine Meadows Trailhead, connecting through Moose Ponds and Jenny Lake, continuing to Hidden Falls, and then on to Inspiration Point. He estimated the hike would be around four miles round trip.
Perfect, I thought.
Four miles is right in my comfort zone.
This story would be a lot shorter if that had remained true.
The hike started beautifully beneath the Tetons, with views of the mountains towering overhead. At Moose Ponds I spotted a side trail leading to the water and decided to take a quick detour.
I reached the pond, enjoyed the view for a minute, and noticed another trail continuing onward.
"Great," I thought. "This probably reconnects with the main trail."
It did not.
Instead, I rounded a corner and nearly walked directly into the rear end of a moose.
At first I couldn't even figure out what I was looking at.
A donkey?
A wild horse?
Why is there a donkey in Grand Teton?
In my defense, the viewing angle was terrible.
Eventually it moved enough for me to get a better look, and I quickly realized two things:
First, it was definitely a moose.
Second, there were two of them.
Mom and baby.
At that point my brain switched from curiosity to survival mode.
I was already closer than recommended. A mother moose with a calf is not the sort of creature you want to accidentally surprise. I backed away and started creating distance immediately.
A hiker came along and asked if I'd seen them.
"Yep," I told him. "They're right over there. Be careful. It's a mom and baby."
He assured me he wasn't planning on getting any closer, which was comforting because one of us should probably be making good decisions.
Eventually I found my way back to the main trail and continued toward Jenny Lake.
Along the way I encountered a stream crossing and immediately had flashbacks to that hike last week where I spent half the day crossing water.
I saw the stream and thought, "Absolutely not. I am not taking my shoes off again."
Fortunately some kind soul had built a little bridge, sparing me from yet another unintended aquatic adventure.
Jenny Lake itself was stunning.
The water was crystal clear and absolutely freezing. One touch was enough to confirm that it was being fed directly by snowmelt from the mountains.
From there I followed the shoreline toward Hidden Falls.
And then another waterfall.
And then eventually Inspiration Point.
By this point I was already well beyond the halfway mark the ranger had described.
I considered turning around.
Several times.
But after hiking that far, there was no chance I was going to quit before reaching the viewpoint.
Then the climb started.
And kept starting.
Every corner looked like it should be the top.
None of them were.
I would reach a bend and think, "This has to be it."
It wasn't.
Another climb.
Another switchback.
Another corner.
At one point I found myself wondering exactly what kind of inspiration awaited me at the top because the only inspiration I was feeling at the moment was inspiration to throw myself over the edge rather than take one more step up.
My legs were shaking.
The trail was narrow.
People were squeezing past each other in both directions.
The drop-offs beside the trail were substantial enough that I learned very quickly not to look over the edge while walking because doing so made me instantly dizzy.
I don't even have a fear of heights.
Maybe it was exhaustion.
Maybe it was elevation.
Maybe it was the wind.
Whatever it was, my brain decided that looking over the edge was no longer part of the program.
Eventually, after what felt like an unreasonable amount of uphill walking, I made it.
And it was worth every step.
The view from Inspiration Point was absolutely incredible.
Cold.
Windy.
And completely breathtaking.
When I finally checked my mileage, I discovered I had already hiked three and a half miles just to reach the viewpoint.
The ranger's "four mile round trip" estimate had apparently become "four miles if you accidentally take every possible scenic detour."
I still had to get back to my car.
Fortunately the return hike was easier, although I definitely picked up the pace.
Not because I was eager.
Because I had absolutely no intention of driving after dark.
Not after the deer.
Not even a little.
Today I already had to avoid bison standing in the road. That was enough wildlife-related driving excitement for one day.
So I hurried back, found a dispersed campsite in the national forest, and arrived with plenty of daylight remaining.
Now I'm sitting here watching the sun drop behind the mountains.
My hike ended up covering nearly eight miles with about 1,250 feet of elevation gain, topping out around 7,300 feet.
Not bad for a hike that was supposed to be four miles.
Tonight I'll be sleeping in the back of a very small rental car instead of my cozy camper van.
I've got a warm sleeping bag, a sweater, and what I can only describe as cautious optimism.
We'll see whether that's enough.
If not, tomorrow's post may simply read:
"Your boy survived Grand Teton but was defeated by a compact sedan."Meer informatie
Wyoming: Now Featuring Hold Music
9–12 jun., Verenigde Staten ⋅ ⛅ 70 °F
Well, this is not exactly the Wyoming adventure I had planned.
For the last three days, I've been living in a Walmart parking lot in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, waiting for insurance, adjusters, repair estimates, phone calls, return phone calls, and then a few more phone calls just for good measure.
The biggest challenge hasn't really been the accident itself—it's the location. Riverton is a nice little town, but it's also very much in the middle of nowhere. There are a handful of auto body shops, one rental car agency, and not a whole lot else when it comes to services. The nearest city with more options is two to three hours away, which has turned every simple problem into a complicated one.
Most of my days have been spent on the phone with Progressive, body shops, rental agencies, motels, transportation services, and pretty much anyone else who might help me figure out a path forward. Unfortunately, things got a little more interesting yesterday when I discovered my van had developed a significant oil leak. The fresh oil change I got just a few days ago is now decorating the Walmart parking lot, which means I can't safely start the van to charge devices or run my cooler.
The good news is that while I've been stranded in a parking lot, I haven't been completely alone.
The first night I pulled in, I noticed another van parked nearby. I picked a spot several spaces away but close enough to the lights and cameras to feel comfortable. The next morning I saw the owner sitting outside.
I'll be honest—snap judgments were made.
He looked a little rough around the edges, and my first instinct was that my valuables were not safe. So I'm true Eric DeArmon fashion, I walked over, introduced myself, handed him a protein shake, and struck up a conversation.
His name is Mike.
In my head, he'll always be Mountain Mike.
Mike is 75 years old and lives out in the Wyoming backcountry in his van. Over the last few days we've spent quite a bit of time talking. I've listened to stories from his life, shared a little of my own, and enjoyed the kind of conversations that only seem to happen when neither person has anywhere else they need to be.
It was a good reminder that people are often much more interesting than our first impressions of them. Sometimes the stranger you're slightly worried about turns out to be the friendliest person in the parking lot.
Unfortunately, I think Mountain Mike headed back to the mountains this morning. He's not much of a town guy and was eager to get back to his camp. I haven't seen him since early today, so I suspect he's back where he'd rather be.
As for the van, there has finally been some progress.
The adjuster came out today, completed the estimate, and the body shop is preparing to order parts. Once they know when everything will arrive, they'll schedule a tow and get the repairs started. After talking through the options, everyone agreed that the best place for the van to stay for now is right here in the Walmart parking lot. As glamorous as that sounds, it does at least give me a place to sleep while we wait without incurring large motel costs.
The rental car situation has been its own adventure. The only rental agency within a two hour radius is booked solid until mid-July, which wasn't exactly helpful. After a lot of digging, I finally found a possible solution. The local transportation authority has a shuttle service that's normally reserved for seniors and veterans, but they were kind enough to make an exception for my situation. Tomorrow, they're taking me to Casper, where I've confirmed a rental vehicle is available.
It's going to cost a pretty penny, but hopefully my trip interruption coverage will soften the blow. At the very least, having wheels again means I won't be limited to staring at the Walmart parking lot all day.
And honestly, that's exciting.
Riverton sits within the Wind River Reservation, and there seems to be a lot of local history and interesting places nearby that I simply haven't been able to reach without transportation. Once I have the rental, I'll finally have some freedom to explore while I wait for news about the repairs.
The timeline is still the big unknown.
I need to be at my pet sit in Oregon in less than two weeks, and that date isn't flexible. If the repairs can be completed within that window, I'll stay in the area, explore a bit, and hopefully still make it to Grand Teton National Park and maybe even Yellowstone.
Glacier National Park, however, is looking increasingly unlikely.
From everything I've been told, getting parts delivered anywhere in Wyoming takes time, and there's a very real possibility that I'll need to continue on to Oregon and come back later to retrieve the van once repairs are complete.
For now, though, after three days of uncertainty, I finally have something I didn't have before:
The beginnings of a plan.
It's not the plan I started this trip with, but it's a plan nonetheless.
I'm doing my best not to let this derail the adventure. Honestly, the hardest part hasn't been being stranded. It's been the endless phone calls and trying to untangle logistics in one of the most remote corners of the country.
So that's the latest update from my temporary home in a Walmart parking lot.
Not many photos to share this time around, unless you'd like several exciting angles of cracked plastic and oil stains.
Hopefully the next update will involve mountains, national parks, and considerably less time on hold.Meer informatie
Devils tower and the devils minion.
8 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 61 °F
I thought stopping at the Devils Tower National Monument was going to be just another sightseeing stop. Something incredible, for sure, but still just something to check off on the way to the next park.
What I wasn’t expecting was for it to feel like more than that.
Walking around it, seeing all the prayer cloths and offerings from Native tribes, it felt different. I don’t really know how to explain it cleanly, but it didn’t feel like just a rock formation in the middle of nowhere. It felt like something with weight to it, something spiritual. The stories about the girls and the bear, the way the rock rises up out of the ground… I don’t know if you take it literally or not, but it adds to the feeling of the place, and there is definitely a feeling of presence there
And it was actually a really good day. It was my one-year anniversary for an important life milestone, and I was in a really good headspace. Just walking around, taking it in, feeling grateful to be there. I spent a few hours there and left around 3pm feeling really good about the day.
From there I started heading toward Grand Teton, knowing I wouldn't make it the same day I planned to find a place nearby keep down for the night. The drive itself was honestly great. High elevation, big open roads, a lot of wind. I was averaging way better gas mileage than usual, just cruising and taking my time instead of rushing.
Then everything changed pretty fast.
About ten miles before where I was planning to stop for the night, a deer jumped straight into the road.
I hit the brakes, stayed straight, and hit it head-on. There wasn’t really any time to do anything else. It went down the left side of the car and didn’t move after that. I’m just going to call it the devil’s minion doing a full kamikaze run on my itinerary. The speed limit on that street was 70 mph. Luckily I was cruising at a much lower speed or the damage could have been far more catastrophic.
I pulled over immediately. Hazards on. Just kind of sat there for a minute trying to process it because I’ve never hit a deer before.
Cell service was in and out, but I got through to police and insurance. The officer ended up coming out and was actually really helpful and calm. He checked everything, made sure the road was clear, and confirmed I was okay to drive the car into town. He also let me use his flashlight so I could get a better look and take photos of the damage.
Damage is definitely there—front grill, hood, and left headlight—but nothing was leaking and the car was still drivable.
So I drove slowly into town and ended up at a Walmart parking lot for the night. RVs, vans, all of that kind of mix. I dealt with insurance calls, tried to get next steps, and basically just tried to come down from the adrenaline of everything.
Insurance wasn’t super helpful that night—just “call back tomorrow” so I just stopped pushing and settled in for the night.
This morning I woke up around 7, went into Walmart, and called again. Same answer: wait for an adjuster, up to 72 hours.
While I was waiting on that, I started calling around anyway. Ford dealership first, then the body shop they recommended. The dealership told me they outsource body work, and gave me the shop they usually use.
That call actually helped a lot. The guy at the body shop was the first person who was genuinely helpful. He was very familiar with my provider and their adjuster in the area. And walked me through how the adjuster process works with Progressive, how the estimate gets handled, and basically made it feel a lot less chaotic.
So now I’m just waiting on the adjuster to get assigned.
I’m still parked at Walmart, just taking it easy and getting things organized so I’m ready to move as soon as I get next steps..
Also met a guy parked next to me—Mike, 75, van lifer. I introduced myself this morning while I was cleaning out my cooler and reorganizing. I brought him over a protein shake and we ended up talking a bit. Super nice guy, lots of stories, and he actually had some useful local contacts and advice for mechanics in the area.
So yeah, that’s where I’m at.
Not exactly where I expected to be, especially after what started as a really good day, but I’m okay. Just in that waiting stage now, letting the process catch up with everything that already happened.Meer informatie
Badlands National Park
7 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 68 °F
Last night I pulled into a dispersed camping spot just outside Badlands National Park after dark. I had found it on iOverlander ahead of time, and when I arrived there were already two other camper vans parked there. Normally I enjoy a little more privacy, but in this case I was just looking for a place to sleep. I had already showered, changed into pajamas, and was ready for bed. All I really needed was a safe place to park.
The drive there had been an adventure of its own. The wind was absolutely insane. At times it felt like I had somehow wandered into Kansas and was about to get swept away with Dorothy's house. The speed limit was 80 mph, but between the darkness, the crosswinds, and the fact that I am still learning how this van handles in different conditions, I took it slow.
Because of the other vehicles already occupying most of the good spots, I ended up parking on a slight slope with the left side of the van lower than the right. It wasn't much, but apparently it was enough. I woke up around 5:00 a.m. after a night of poor sleep and spent some time lying there watching the sunrise.
As I sat there, I found myself thinking about how strange the human body is. My van wasn't dramatically tilted. It was barely noticeable. Yet somehow my body recognized it all night long and never fully relaxed. It constantly felt just slightly off balance, like I might slide out of bed at any moment. I'm sure if I stayed there for several nights I would adjust, but it reminded me how sensitive our bodies are to even the smallest changes.
That thought carried into something else I had been noticing over the past several days. I've had headaches, been much thirstier than usual, and when I donated plasma my blood pressure was significantly higher than it normally is. My blood pressure usually runs fairly low, so seeing those numbers caught me by surprise. It wasn't until this morning that it finally clicked that I had slowly been gaining elevation throughout this trip. At roughly 2,500 feet above sea level, I'm nowhere near an elevation that causes major issues, but apparently it was enough for me to notice some of the smaller adjustments my body was making.
There's something fascinating about actually feeling yourself adapt to a new environment.
Once the sun came up, I headed into the park. The forecast called for temperatures near 100 degrees, and I wanted to get any serious hiking done before the heat settled in.
I started with what was supposed to be a short, easy hike, but of course, your boy had to explore.
There were side trails branching away from the main route, rock formations to climb, and plenty of opportunities to investigate things that were definitely not part of the official trail. Before long I was scrambling around on the Badlands formations, which have a strange texture somewhere between rock, sand, and ash. Going downhill on that stuff is surprisingly slippery.
Naturally, despite owning trekking poles, I had left them in the van because this was supposed to be a short and easy hike.
This seems to be a recurring theme in my life. I either overprepare or underprepare, and regardless of which one I choose, I somehow end up wishing I had made the opposite decision.
At one point I slipped and fell, scraping up my hand. It wasn't serious, but it was bleeding enough that I decided I should head back and clean it up.
That's when I managed to get lost.
Not dramatically lost. Just embarrassingly lost.
I somehow wandered off onto a collection of side trails and couldn't immediately find my way back to either the main path or my vehicle. What struck me was how easy it was. We hear stories about people getting lost in wilderness areas and it's easy to assume they made some huge mistake. But all it took was following a few unofficial paths in a relatively small area before I found myself completely turned around.
Thankfully I found enough cell service to pull up AllTrails and navigate myself back to the van and my first aid kit.
After patching myself up, I moved on to Saddle Pass Trail.
Now that was fun.
The trail is short but incredibly steep. At several points it felt closer to climbing than hiking. I was using my hands and trekking poles almost as much as my feet, and I absolutely loved it. Standing at the top looking back down, I couldn't stop smiling.
From there I connected to Medicine Root Trail and then Castle Trail rather than turning around. Since I knew the heat would shut down most of my hiking later in the day, I wanted to take advantage of the cooler morning hours.
Medicine Root felt alive. Prairie grasses, wildflowers, cactus, and wide open landscapes stretched in every direction.
Castle Trail felt completely different. Walking through those formations felt like wandering across another planet. At one point I came across several rock formations that looked exactly like elaborate sandcastles built by children at the beach. Whether that's actually where the trail gets its name, I have no idea, but it certainly felt fitting.
As I walked, something else became clear.
Nature doesn't just make me feel good.
It makes me feel alive.
For the past two months I've been spending more time in town. I had perfectly valid reasons for it. I wanted to spend time with family, especially my sisters and nieces and nephews. And I did. I loved every minute of that time.
But if I'm being honest, outside of those moments, I felt lethargic.
I joined a gym, wanting to stay active. Yet most days I simply didn't feel inspired to do much of anything.
Today I was hiking my third trail of the morning with a busted toe, a scraped hand, and a growing collection of dirt and sweat stains, and I had more energy than I've felt in months.
It made me realize something.
Even when a city has parks and trails nearby, something about living in that environment drains me. It becomes harder to go outside. Harder to explore. Harder to move.
Out here it's the opposite.
Open grasslands, forests, mountains, deserts, rivers, oceans—it doesn't really matter which version of nature I'm standing in. They all seem to breathe life back into me.
This is where I feel most like myself.
By late morning the heat was becoming impossible to ignore, so I traded hiking boots for driving and began exploring the scenic loop through the park.
I stopped at the fossil exhibit and learned something that completely changed how I looked at the landscape around me. Millions of years ago, this entire area was underwater. There aren't dinosaur fossils here because this wasn't dinosaur territory. It was once part of an ancient sea.
The more I looked around, the more it made sense.
Some of the formations reminded me of underwater landscapes I had seen while swimming and diving along the rocky coastline of Turkey. There was something oddly familiar about them.
Later, while driving through the park, I came around a bend and found myself face-to-face with a bison.
Well, not exactly face-to-face.
He was resting comfortably beside the road, completely unbothered by the vehicles passing nearby. I looped around him slowly and continued on my way.
For a brief moment I considered getting out to say hello.
Fortunately, even I have limits.
The rest of the afternoon brought more overlooks, more bison, and more reminders of just how beautiful this place is.
Around 4:30 I stopped at the visitor center to refill every water container I owned. Between the heat and the elevation, I felt like I had been drinking water nonstop all day. While I was there, I stumbled across a special solar viewing setup and got to look directly at the surface of the sun through a protected viewing device. I could actually see a sunspot.
It was fascinating to get a closer look at the giant fiery ball in the sky that had been trying to kill me all day.
As I write this, I'm sitting in the van with all the windows open, waiting for the worst of the heat to pass. Later tonight I plan to watch the sunset from one of the overlooks before heading to a ranger presentation and a stargazing event.
Tomorrow I'll make my way toward Devil's Tower in Wyoming. Since I'll be passing through Rapid City anyway, I'll stop at Planet Fitness for a workout, a shower, and a plasma donation before continuing west.
Tonight, though, belongs to the Badlands.
And despite the heat, the scrapes, the wrong turns, and the lack of sleep, I think this place has been exactly what I needed.Meer informatie
Black hills and Wind cave national park
6 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 70 °F
Today was one of those days that felt full in all the right ways.
Last night I slept in a secluded spot in the Black Hills National Forest. Before bed I may or may not have strapped a large camping knife to my hip after hearing mysterious noises outside the van. Was it necessary? Probably not. Did it make me feel better? Absolutely.
Fortunately, the only thing that ended up attacking me overnight was my imagination.
I got an early start and spent the day finishing everything I wanted to see around the Black Hills area: Cathedral Spires, Needle's Eye, Sylvan Lake, Wind Cave National Park, Cascade Falls, and quite a bit of driving through Custer State Park and the Black Hills National Forest.
As I was driving this morning, I spotted two deer. That's actually the only wildlife I've seen around here so far, but it immediately made me think of Grandpa Joe and put me right back in the mindset of being 13 years old, riding around back roads with him.
I never fully understood why he loved it so much. That was his way to relax. He'd take these long, slow drives looking for deer, asparagus, berries, or whatever else happened to be out there. Sometimes he'd drag me along. Sometimes I'd eagerly go. Either way, he always found something.
I think I finally get it now.
Driving through these hills today, I could feel him with me. He would have absolutely loved this place.
Before Wind Cave, I stopped at Cathedral Spires where I met a really nice man from Ohio and a woman who had lived in both Ohio and Minnesota. They didn't know each other before today, but somehow the three of us ended up chatting in the middle of South Dakota. It's always funny meeting people from roughly the same part of the country when you're hundreds of miles from home.
After that came Needle's Eye.
The rock formations were beautiful.
The tunnel getting there was mildly terrifying.
I must have backed up ten times while trying to get through. Every time I thought traffic was clear, someone else would appear. Meanwhile the gentleman behind me seemed determined to attach his vehicle permanently to my rear bumper. You'd think after the third or fourth time I had to back up—and therefore he had to back up too—he might have figured out that leaving a little space would be helpful.
Nope.
But eventually I made it through, and it was worth it. The Needle's Eye itself was impressive, and a few of the surrounding rock formations looked... well... let's just say my sense of humor has not matured with age.
From there I headed to Sylvan Lake.
And honestly, I think they named it wrong.
It should be called something like Shimmering Shire or Glistening Glen because everything there sparkles.
The sunlight flashes off the water. The trails are scattered with crushed quartz. The stone benches glimmer. The rock formations shine.
Everything sparkles harder than a Kurdish wedding party.
It was beautiful.
Also slightly blinding.
After Sylvan Lake I made my way to Wind Cave National Park. On the drive through the park I came across a large herd of bison, which was really cool to see. Up until now I'd mostly seen one or two at a time, so seeing an entire herd together was something special.
Unfortunately, I wasn't able to actually go down into the cave. The online reservation system wasn't working when I checked beforehand, and by the time I arrived there had been exactly one unsold ticket left for the entire day.
It was for the 11:00 tour.
Which had departed ten minutes earlier.
So that was unfortunate.
The park itself was still worth visiting, though. The visitor center has a really interesting exhibit, and I walked over to the natural entrance of the cave. The wind coming out of that opening is incredible. It feels like somebody mounted a giant air conditioner underground and pointed it directly at your face. Around the entrance were ties and offerings left by Native American tribes who consider the area sacred, which added another layer of significance to the experience.
After Wind Cave I was supposed to head directly toward Badlands National Park.
Instead, my brain saw signs for Hot Springs and immediately went:
"Ooh. What's that?"
And just like that, the itinerary was no longer in charge.
I spent the next several hours unsuccessfully hunting for what I thought were actual hot springs. To this day I'm still not entirely sure whether all those signs were referring to the town of Hot Springs or some magical natural spring that I simply failed to locate.
What I did find was the town itself.
It's a really charming place. Walking around there felt a little bit like stepping backward in time. It was cute, quiet, and full of character. At one point I found myself wondering why so many movies get filmed in places back home when towns like this exist.
Still determined to find an actual hot spring, I kept exploring.
What I eventually found was Cascade Falls.
There wasn't a hot spring.
But honestly, I wasn't even mad about it.
The falls are more of a series of small cascades and natural pools than a traditional waterfall, but the place was beautiful. I climbed around, explored as much as I safely could, and eventually just stretched out in the cool running water and soaked up the sun.
Of course, I also managed to injure my toe.
Because while I own a perfectly good pair of water shoes, I apparently decided that wearing them in the water would make far too much sense.
Stupid decisions produce predictable results.
Fortunately, nothing serious.
After Cascade Falls I looked up directions to Badlands National Park and realized I'd be passing within about fifteen minutes of the same Planet Fitness I'd visited before. Even though I felt pretty clean after spending the afternoon in waterfalls, I decided a proper shower and workout wouldn't hurt.
So tonight's post is being written from a Planet Fitness parking lot.
In a few minutes I'll grab a soda water, point the van toward Badlands National Park, and find somewhere to sleep nearby. I'd rather get situated tonight and be ready for an early start tomorrow than spend the evening hanging around town.
The Black Hills were every bit as beautiful as I'd hoped they'd be.
And somewhere between the deer, the back roads, and the endless wandering, I think Grandpa Joe was right all along.
Sometimes the point isn't what you find.
It's just going looking.Meer informatie
Custer state park
5 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 79 °F
I woke up around 5:30 this morning and spent some time just relaxing in the van, straightening things up a bit and getting ready for the day. Part of the reason I lingered was because I had a beautiful view of the sunrise and wanted to enjoy that before heading out. It was a nice, quiet start to the morning.
The cemetery where I spent the night wasn't completely isolated, and I didn't want to be disrespectful by treating it like my personal campground, so after the sunrise I headed into town to find a restroom where I could do a little cleanup and get through my normal morning routine.
Once I got moving, I had a little over four hours of driving ahead of me. My destination was Grand Rapids, which happened to be the closest place with a Planet Fitness. After yesterday's adventures, I was more than ready for a real shower. The river had done its best, but there are limits to what can reasonably be accomplished with a camping shower and a questionable amount of determination.
One thing I've learned on this trip is that towns get a lot farther apart once you start heading west. Four hours was the closest Planet Fitness available, but it worked out well because it also put me within about an hour of my next destination.
At the gym, I kept things light. I definitely tweaked my back a few days ago during a workout, and I'd rather not turn a minor annoyance into a major problem. Between the driving, hiking, and carrying a backpack around, my back is already getting enough exercise. So for now, I'm on unofficial light-duty restrictions when it comes to lifting weights.
I did enjoy a hydro massage with heat, though, which felt fantastic, and I got one of the best showers I've had on this trip. It was also one of the nicest Planet Fitness locations I've visited, which felt like a nice little luxury while I'm still in what might be my last stretch of civilization for a while.
While I was there, I noticed a Sam's Club nearby and immediately sent an SOS message to my sister asking if I could borrow her membership. My food situation had reached a critical stage. For the last several days I've been working my way through a large supply of tofu tempura. This morning I woke up with the realization that if I had to eat one more bite of it, I might actually cry.
Sorry, Dad. I know throwing away food is practically a criminal offense in your eyes, but I ate tofu tempura for five straight days. I served my sentence.
So the leftovers are officially retired, and I celebrated with a Sam's Club pizza and hot dog.
With that important mission accomplished, I noticed there was also a CSL Plasma nearby, so I decided I might as well donate while I was in town. Why not? By that point I had already showered, eaten, worked out, and gotten a hydro massage. Apparently I was determined to get the absolute most out of civilization before disappearing back into the wilderness.
After all of that, it was finally time to head toward Custer State Park.
Technically, I was supposed to visit Badlands National Park first. Somewhere along the way I managed to get my itinerary a little scrambled, which means I'll be heading to Badlands tomorrow instead. It adds a little backtracking and maybe about a hundred unnecessary miles to the van, but honestly, that's okay. Badlands has been one of the places I've been looking forward to the most, so I'm absolutely not skipping it.
I've started to notice a pattern when approaching national parks. Long before I reach the entrance sign, I can tell I'm getting close. The landscape changes. The scenery goes from beautiful to something that feels special. Every time it happens, there's this quiet sense of awe that settles in.
Driving toward Custer was exactly like that.
The landscape gradually transformed into this incredible combination of rocky formations and dense forest. It felt like a crossroads between the terrain I had just left behind in North Dakota and the mountain forests farther west. It was absolutely gorgeous.
I spent the afternoon driving the Wildlife Loop Road through Custer State Park. Unfortunately, I didn't have much luck with wildlife. I saw a few deer, but no bison, no wild horses, and none of the other animals the park is famous for.
That may have had something to do with the extensive road construction happening throughout the park. Traffic was frequently stopped while crews worked, which caused vehicles to bunch together. Compared to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, where I often felt like I had the landscape to myself, Custer felt considerably more crowded. I suspect much of that was because of the construction rather than the park itself.
The improvements they're making look great, and hopefully part of the project includes creating additional pull-offs. One thing I noticed was that there aren't many places where you can simply stop, sit or take a short hike, and take in the scenery. Most of the time you're committed to continuing forward whether you're ready to move on or not.
After Custer, I headed toward Mount Rushmore.
I wasn't especially interested in the museum or visitor center. I really just wanted to see the mountain itself. When I arrived, I discovered that while seeing Mount Rushmore is technically free, parking costs ten dollars and there isn't really an option to simply walk in.
For some reason, that annoyed me more than it probably should have.
So instead, I found an overlook on Iron Mountain Road and viewed it from a distance.
Honestly, I think I made the better choice.
Watching the sunset behind the Black Hills while Mount Rushmore sat silhouetted in the distance was far more memorable than I suspect standing in a crowded viewing area would have been. The colors were incredible, and the timing couldn't have been better.
Getting there was half the adventure.
Iron Mountain Road is absolutely wild.
The route winds through narrow tunnels, crosses steep wooden bridges, and twists around mountainsides in ways that occasionally make you question the sanity of the engineers involved. Some of the bridges curve so sharply that it feels less like driving across a bridge and more like driving up a giant wooden spiral staircase.
I've never seen anything quite like it.
It was a little scary.
It was completely awesome.
Tonight I'm camped in the Black Hills National Forest not far from the overlook. Eat your heart out, Nicolas Cage. I've been here too, although unfortunately I didn't stumble across any clues leading to a hidden national treasure.
Tomorrow's plan is to finish up my time in the Black Hills with a drive along Needles Highway, stop by Wind Cave National Park, and then backtrack east to finally experience Badlands National Park before continuing west.Meer informatie
Theodore Roosevelt National Park
4 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ⛅ 52 °F
After yesterday's drive-through introduction to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, today was my full day exploring it properly.
I woke up early at my little wilderness campsite and went through what has quickly become my morning routine: coffee, a protein shake, packing a day bag, organizing supplies, and preparing for whatever adventure the day had in store.
Getting out of camp in daylight was much easier than arriving the night before. Looking back, I definitely won't be staying there again if rain is in the forecast. The dirt road was already rough and muddy in dry conditions. By the time I reached pavement, my wheel wells were completely caked in mud, and I had to stop and clean off the front sensors because the van was convinced the radar system had stopped working.
Once I got into the park, I spent some time driving the scenic loop in the early morning light before stopping at the visitor center to look at hiking options.
My original plan was to hike out to the Petrified Forest. Unfortunately, reality intervened. The trail is nearly 11 miles long, rated difficult, and requires a level of fitness that I may or may not have possessed at some point before spending the last two months relaxing, eating well, and enjoying time with family. After a brief moment of optimism followed by a longer moment of honesty, I decided to choose a different trail: the 5.5-mile Big Plateau Trail.
That turned out to be the correct decision.
Less than half a mile into the hike, I found myself standing at a river crossing where a group of women and one other hiker were. Everyone was gathered at the bank debating how best to cross. The other hiker said someone had already made it through and that the water wasn't any higher than knee-deep.
Good enough for me.
I sat down, removed my shoes, socks, and pants, and confidently waded across in my boxers.
The crossing itself wasn't terrible. The mud on the other side was another story entirely.
While cleaning my feet afterward, I discovered that my fellow hikers had come almost completely unprepared for the crossing. They had water bottles and determination, but not much else. So I was able to share some supplies, help them clean up their feet afterward, and pass around some homemade tick spray. For a brief moment, I became the trail's discount version of a knight in shining armor.
The hike itself was absolutely beautiful.
It was also exhausting.
There were steep climbs, uneven terrain, multiple water crossings each one muckier than the last, and long stretches completely exposed to the sun. Much of the trail wound through rugged badlands formations, open prairie, and rocky hillsides with incredible views in every direction.
There was one moment during the hike that perfectly captured the difference between people who hike occasionally and people who apparently evolved in the mountains.
After one particularly brutal climb up a steep rock face, I reached a shaded area near the top and decided it was a good time to stop for a minute. Not because I wanted to. Because my lungs had filed a formal complaint.
So there I am, leaning on my trekking poles, questioning my life choices and pretending I'm just "taking in the scenery," when I hear someone call out, "On your right."
A shirtless guy comes jogging past me.
Barefoot.
Uphill.
At a pace that suggested he wasn't even remotely inconvenienced by gravity.
Meanwhile, I'm standing there trying not to die.
The only thought that entered my mind was: this mofo is a goat.
And I mean that in both senses of the word.
Anybody who can run barefoot up the side of a mountain is simultaneously a mountain goat and the Greatest Of All Time.
By the end, I was hot, tired, and fairly certain I had picked up at least a little sunburn despite starting early in the day. I honestly don't know how people hike here in August. It was only June and I felt like I was being slowly roasted.
After finishing the trail, I spent some time driving around the park again to cool down and think about my next move. I debated driving out to the Petrified Forest trailhead just to see it, or continuing on toward my next destination.
Then the rain started.
At that point, I decided today had already delivered everything it needed to.
My back had also been bothering me a bit, which I suspect can be blamed on a twisting machine at the gym yesterday that may have won our disagreement. So instead of squeezing in one more adventure, I decided to have an early evening.
I found a place to get cleaned up, relaxed for a while, worked on repairing the screen in the van, read a bit of my book, and listened to the rain.
For tonight, I found a beautiful little spot on top of a hill near a small cemetery. It's peaceful, quiet, and has a great view of the surrounding countryside. A family of wild turkeys has apparently decided to make camp nearby as well, which has added some unexpected neighbors to the evening. Hopefully they can ward off the ghosts.
I considered returning to last night's campsite, but with the rain moving in and the road already sketchy in dry conditions, getting stuck seemed like an unnecessary way to add excitement to the trip.
So instead, I'm ending the day with a cool breeze, distant thunder, a sunset over the hills, and the kind of quiet that only seems to exist out here.
Not a bad way to finish an exhausting day in Theodore Roosevelt National Park.Meer informatie
Vehicle and self maintenance
3 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☀️ 72 °F
What I thought was going to be a boring maintenance day ended up becoming one of my favorite days of the trip so far.
Last night I pushed a little farther west than originally planned. My van rolled over 40,000 miles, which meant it was time for an oil change, tire rotation, and a general check-up before heading deeper into the trip. I had hoped to find a local shop somewhere in Minnesota, but most of the smaller places couldn't get me in on short notice. That meant driving a couple of extra hours to a larger town where I could get an early morning appointment at one of the chain service centers.
I parked at Walmart for the night, rolled out of bed in the morning, and handed over the keys. While the van was getting some much-needed attention, I took care of myself too. I hit the gym for an upper-body workout and some cardio, deliberately avoiding leg day because I know there are some incredible hikes coming up and I'd rather not be wobbling my way through them. I also enjoyed some red light therapy, a massage, and one of those long showers that somehow feels extra luxurious when you've been living out of a vehicle.
With the van happy and the water tanks refilled, it was finally time for the five-hour push to Theodore Roosevelt National Park.
One thing I've been surprised by on this trip is how much easier the driving has felt than I expected. When I planned everything, I assumed I'd get tired of long driving days and want frequent stops. Instead, a lot of these roads have been beautiful two-lane country highways rather than endless interstate miles. I've been making much better time than expected and actually enjoying the drive.
As I got closer to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, the landscape started changing. Then I got my first real glimpse of the badlands.
I immediately turned off my audiobook.
I couldn't focus on it anymore.
Instead, I just kept saying things like, "Wow," and "Oh my God," to absolutely nobody.
Because of the time change, I actually arrived earlier than expected and reached the park around 5:00 PM. That gave me enough time to drive the South Unit Scenic Loop before sunset, and I'm so glad it did.
I don't really have enough words for how beautiful this place is.
Every few minutes I was pulling into another overlook because each one seemed to reveal an entirely different landscape. Massive rock formations, colorful layers of badlands, rolling prairie, pockets of trees—there's so much variety packed into one area that it never stops feeling new.
Of course, I spent most of the drive watching for wildlife.
The park delivered.
I saw several bison, a herd of wild horses, and more prairie dogs than I thought could possibly exist in one place. At one point, a large wild horse was standing right in the middle of the road. I slowed to a stop and just watched him graze. No temptation to honk. No desire to rush him along. I'm the visitor here. He's home.
And he was a big boy.
The prairie dogs were hilarious. There were thousands of them. Seriously, enough that it felt less like a wildlife sighting and more like an infestation. Apparently they're named prairie "dogs" because their calls sound like barking. I don't hear it. To me they sound much more like tiny birds chirping. I've got a video, and you can judge for yourself.
I eventually made my way up to one of the highest overlooks in the park before ending the evening at Painted Canyon. As the sun started setting, I wandered out onto a rocky outcrop, found a comfortable spot to sit, and simply watched the light change across the landscape.
No music.
No audiobook.
No distractions.
Just one of those rare moments where everything feels quiet and exactly right.
What's funny is that today wasn't supposed to be about exploring. It was supposed to be the practical day. The maintenance day. The day where I took care of errands and made progress toward the next destination.
Instead, it became one of the most memorable days of the trip.
Tomorrow will be a much busier day with actual hiking and exploring, and my original plan was to leave tomorrow evening and start making my way toward the next stop.
Now?
I'm not so sure.
This place is incredible.
I may end up staying an extra half day just to squeeze in one more morning here because right now, the biggest problem I have is that I don't want to leave.
I absolutely love it here.
One final little adventure before calling it a night: I found a dispersed camping spot about a mile and a half off the highway and decided it was too good to pass up. Getting here was an adventure of its own. The dirt road was rough, full of ruts and potholes, and required a lot more patience than speed. Not going to lie—it was equal parts creepy and exciting. There's something about slowly bouncing down an isolated dirt road toward a place you've never been before that makes you wonder if you're making a great decision or a terrible one.
Thankfully, it turned out to be a great one.
So tonight marks my first true wilderness overnight of the trip. No parking lots, no nearby businesses, no traffic noise. Just me, the van, and a whole lot of open space. Right now I'm sitting here with my little USB lights glowing, winding down for the evening and getting ready for an early start tomorrow.
It's quiet.
It's peaceful.
And after a day that was supposed to be all oil changes, tire rotations, and errands, ending it out here under the North Dakota sky feels pretty perfect.Meer informatie
North Shore
2 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ⛅ 46 °F
Last night after the dunes I just kept driving for a bit, found a Planet Fitness, and did a very light workout to “balance out” what was basically sand-based suffering earlier in the day. Also got some red light therapy in and a hot shower, which honestly helped a lot. Legs were still questioning my decisions but slightly less aggressively.
Then I found a Walmart, pulled over, and that was it for the night. Easy setup. No drama.
Woke up around 6am and just kept moving.
Driving through Wisconsin was honestly kind of ridiculous in a good way. Just rolling green hills everywhere, super peaceful — one of those stretches where you don’t really need music because the drive itself is doing enough.
The bridge crossing from Wisconsin into Minnesota was pretty cool too. Just this huge bridge over the lake with really pretty views, and then all of a sudden you’re in another state and immediately hit a stretch of some of the ugliest roads I’ve seen on this trip so far. But only for a short time before it switches back into those lakefront views again, which are just… consistently stunning.
Then things started shifting toward the North Shore.
I was literally on the phone with my sister when I hit it and had one of those immediate “okay I need to stop RIGHT now” moments. Still mid-conversation, just scanning for anywhere to pull over because the lake + road + cliffs situation was doing way too much to just casually drive past.
First real stop was Gooseberry Falls State Park.
That place was really fun. Upper falls, lower falls, the bridge area — everything is kind of connected and really easy to just wander through. The best part is how open it all feels. No real barriers or separation, just rocks, water, and people doing their own thing.
You can walk right up to the falls, get hit with freezing spray, and technically if you were committed enough you could probably end up under it. I was not that committed, mostly because I was not dressed for “accidental waterfall immersion,” so I just did the normal thing: touched the water, immediately regretted how cold it was, and spent the rest of the time jumping around rocks instead.
It honestly made me think how fun it would be with my nieces and nephews there — just total chaos, kids running everywhere, everyone slipping slightly but in a controlled way.
From there I went to the lighthouse stop, which was… not great.
Split Rock Lighthouse State Park was under construction or something, and the viewpoint was just kind of rough. Overgrown, blocked, not much to actually see. A lot of weeds doing most of the visual work instead of the lighthouse. Probably a great stop on a normal day, but today it was very much a “drive up, look, leave” situation.
After that I went to Tettegouche State Park and that one brought everything back.
The cliffs there are actually insane. Straight drops into Lake Superior, huge open water, and that constant feeling of “this is beautiful but also you could absolutely mess your whole day up if you stop paying attention.”
Did a couple hikes — Shovel Point and then High Falls. Shovel Point was mostly just standing on the edge thinking “wow” repeatedly, and High Falls was more forest, river, and then suddenly loud water again.
That whole park kind of surprised me. I wasn’t even fully sure I should include it when I was planning the route, just one of those “I’ll be nearby anyway” stops. But I’m really glad I did. The rock formations especially reminded me of how much I used to like geology, which I honestly hadn’t thought about in a while.
Also everything is just… cold. Like aggressively cold near the water. Not sure if it’s the lake effect or just Minnesota being Minnesota, but it definitely wakes you up. It felt weird because it was actually a pretty warm day, but as soon as you step closer to the lake or out of the wooded areas it’s suddenly like a different climate entirely.
Next stop is Theodore Roosevelt National Park, which is about a 10-hour drive away. So the plan is to make it roughly halfway today and stop in one of the bigger cities near the Minnesota border so tomorrow I’m right where I need to be.
Tomorrow is basically a maintenance + reset day. 40,000-mile service stuff, oil change, all that exciting adult car responsibility. Probably another Planet Fitness stop for a shower/workout situation, maybe groceries, water refill, then continuing the push toward Theodore Roosevelt National Park.
Anyway — Lake Superior is way more dramatic than it has any right to be.Meer informatie
Indiana Dunes National Park
1 juni, Verenigde Staten ⋅ ☁️ 59 °F
My trip officially began last night when I left Wellington and headed west a little after 9pm.
About an hour and a half into the drive, I reached the point where I knew continuing wouldn't be safe. I pulled into a Walmart parking lot and had my first night sleeping in the car on this journey. Surprisingly, I slept great, I thought maybe excitement and anticipation would keep me up but no. Well... right up until I woke up 15 minutes before Walmart opened and desperately needed a restroom.
After a quick stop inside, a new battery for my car remote, and a few more hours on the road, I arrived at Indiana Dunes National Park.
The drive itself was part of the experience. I stayed off the turnpike and took the slower roads. It was peaceful, quiet, and exactly the kind of start I wanted. I listened to an audiobook, sang along to some music, and enjoyed the rare gift of having nowhere to be except where I was going.
At the park, I bought an annual National Parks pass. Admission here was $25, and with all the places I hope to visit over the next few weeks, the $80 pass seemed like an easy decision.
My first stops were West Beach and the Dune Succession Trail.
When I saw that the trail was only one mile long, I thought, "Perfect. Easy start."
It turns out one mile of soft dune sand is very different from one mile anywhere else.
The sand was incredibly fine and deep. Every step sank. Every uphill section felt like climbing a staircase made of powder. By the end, my feet were cramping, my legs were shaking, and I was reminded that taking a two-month break from my regular long walks may not have been my best idea.
There was a longer trail I desperately wanted to tackle, but sometimes the wiser choice is knowing when to stop. This trip is nearly three weeks long, and I don't need to destroy my legs on Day One.
Instead, I spent the rest of the morning wandering more slowly and simply enjoying the landscape.
I found myself thinking about my dad. This area is so close to where he once lived, and I wondered if he had ever visited these dunes and what he might have thought of them.
One story in particular stuck with me. The park tells the story of Diana of the Dunes, a woman who left Chicago in the early 1900s because city life, corporate expectations, and conventional living weren't for her. She came here to live among the dunes instead.
Something about that resonated deeply.
In my own way, I feel like I'm doing something similar right now. Stepping away from the routines and expectations of everyday life. Trading schedules and obligations for open roads, wild places, and a little more connection with nature, with God, with the universe—whatever name you prefer for that quiet thing that reminds us we're part of something bigger.
For now, I'm enjoying a packed lunch courtesy of my sister before getting back on the road. Next stop: the North Shore. First, though, anoother stretch on the road, a refuel, and a Planet Fitness break for a light workout, a shower, and maybe even a massage chair.
Day One is off to a good start.Meer informatie
