The End
After 165 days and 16,000 miles on the road, Jess and I finally made it back to Raleigh. We got in late Sunday and today began the dreaded process of unpacking our junk and readjusting to life without the threat of a bear attack. I’m happy to report the drive from Alaska to North Carolina played out like we hoped — safe, on budget, on schedule and full of big times. We’ve come a heck of a long way since our last post, so here’s a lightning round on our lower 48 travels.
MONTANA
Happy to be back in the land of cheap gas, we burned a couple carefree gallons to Columbia Falls, Montana, home of Jessica’s uncle Jim and aunt Bobbi. Having never met, we were unsure of what to expect… But what hosts they turned out to be! Jim and Bobbi were very gracious, providing gourmet food, a comfy room, handmade gifts, and an invitation to stay forever — an offer we considered but ultimately declined due to Jess’s allergy to dogs.
Magoo and Magee
In Glacier NP
Their newly-constructed backyard cottage
IDAHO
Fat and happy after two days with Jim and Bobbi, we continued our trip six hours south — past the cherry orchards, grasslands and one-horse towns of southern Montana — to Leadore, Idaho. Chasing the dot on the screen, we turned off the highway and began nervously twisting our way up eight miles of gravel roads in the dark to find my uncle Ted and aunt Jan, and Helena-based cousins Marc and Julie, waiting for us outside the trailer at elk camp.
“What are you, on Japanese time?” my uncle half-joked. Sorry again guys for the late arrival.
That night Jess and I watched the funniest episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm in the back of the subie. In the morning Ted, Marc, Jess and I donned camo gear and face paint, and set forth on an elk hunt. Uncle Ted was the shooter. Marc was the bugle and cowcall man. Jess and I were in the way. Together, we crept around the woods and attempted to lure elk by emulating the sounds of bulls looking to fight and cows looking to party. The action was slow for the first few hours. Late afternoon we drew a bull to within 60 yards, but despite our statuesque appearance, the wind was not in our favor, causing the beast to stop short and let out a chuckle as he turned tail and trotted back into the forest.
Near dark, we closed in on what sounded like the herd bull. Hearts beating like true love. Marc’s bugles were met with a thunderous response — a clear invitation to the octagon. But alas, darkness fell before Ted could get a shot and we begrudgingly retreated toward the smell of aunt Jan’s chicken enchiladas.
Neither Jess or I had ever been on an elk hunt, and it was an experience I’ll never forget. The fresh air, the family time, the thrill of the chase. Our hunting adventure with the Western Wotrings is one of my favorite memories of the trip. Thanks again for the wild times, fam.
WYOMING
Blowing kisses to Idaho, the 2nd wildest state in the U.S., we crossed over into Wyoming via Yellowstone and took a spin around the north loop of the park before exiting just three hours later. I hate that our Yellowstone visit was so brief. As with many places this summer, we saw it whizbang through a car window, despite our strong desire to get out and explore. Though frustrating at times, this travel style allowed us to see a lot of America — places we now know whether to explore more thoroughly in the future (Vancouver) or never go back again (Oklahoma City).
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Later that night, we stopped in Cody for a night with Jess’s aunt Anne. Over bison burgers and dark chocolate, we talked about Alaska and her close calls as an airplane pilot. Anne is a warm and interesting person and it was our pleasure to spend an evening in her company.
Anne’s gift is home decorating. As a former antique store owner, she has quite the collection, and it amazed us to see what she had done with the place!
SOUTH DAKOTA
In the morning we embarked on another nine-hour drive, this time to Badlands National Park in South Dakota. Our plan was to camp in the park, but after discovering the nearest campground was 26 miles from the park entrance, we backtracked to Buffalo Gap National Grasslands. Like public forests, National Grasslands allow primitive camping — so in the dead of night, we turned off the pavement and followed old tire marks through chest-high grass to the unofficial boundary of no mans land. There, we laid outside the car listening to coyotes and counting shooting stars before spending another night in the back of the subie.
We awoke to quite a sight. Unbeknownst to us, we had driven up onto a peninsula and were surrounded by 50′ cliffs! Had we driven much further, it would have been curtains for girdwoodsummer.
IOWA
Back in the car — our newfound appreciation for life counterbalanced by our boredom with South Dakota — we cruised neutrally another nine hours to Grimes, Iowa — home of Jess’s old college roommate Libby. Libby and her husband Clint hosted us for two days of childlike fun. While Jess and Libby played catch-up, I played catch with Graham and Carson, and taught ’em a thing or two about the fine art of Mario Kart. Newborn Hayden supervised from the high chair.
In the morning Libby dragged us to the spin class she leads at the Y. After losing a few hundred calories, we promptly found them in the form of loose meat sandwiches at Midwestern staple, Maid-Rite. Mmmmm, loose meat.
ILLINOIS
From Iowa we cannonballed a state over to Jess’s hometown of Galesburg, Illinois. Here we stayed two nights with her grandparents and her cantankerous aunt Pattie. Although mostly sweet, Pattie has been known to spit venom. In what amounts to my closest brush with death this summer, one evening Pattie picked me out of a crowd of relatives and locked eyes with me for a good five seconds before saying with grave seriousness: If you smile at me one more time, I’m gonna dump this Pepsi on your head.
I kept my smiles to myself.
During our stay, we poked around Galesburg a bit, but mostly hung out at the house with family and friends. It was fascinating to watch her grandma bounce around the house in hipster cut-offs as she cooked, cleaned, tamed aunt Pattie, told great stories and generally made our stay there comfortable. I say she drinks Red Bull on the sly. Either way, kudos to you, Carol. Thanks again for everything.
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Drive, drive, drive… podcast, podcast, podcast…
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OHIO
On day 19 of our drive home, we checked into the downtown Cincinnati Hilton for our last hoorah! of the summer — the wedding of lifetime buddy Laura Brown and Rinnesance Man Brent Rinne. Since forever, Laura has been one of my hometown buds, part of a group of friends from Bedford, Michigan that has remained remarkably tight over the years and snowballed to include some of the funniest, most down-to-earth people I know. After going the summer without seeing them, it was great to be around familiar faces and celebrate the marriage of two people we all love and admire.
The wedding was held outside at the Cincinnati Observatory, with a spillover reception in town. Brent and Laura absolutely crushed it, dreaming up creative little touches and giving the weekend a natural flow, all without the slightest boasting of their efforts. The wedding was a sum of their talents, and their hard work was widely appreciated.
Everything was going fine… that is, until the werewolves showed up.
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Sunday morning, with hangovers the size of Alaska, we loaded into the car for one final nine-hour push to home. Around West Virginia the farmlands of the Midwest gave way to the recognizable hills of Appalachia, and soon after, through dirty water marks and bug guts, Jess’s townhouse appeared in the windshield, marking the end of the road for us. With emotions swelling, I killed the engine, and together we stepped out of the car and onto familiar ground, for the first time in a long time. What a journey.
Banff and Jasper
From the end of the Alaska Highway, we continued our journey east through another stretch of wild country. Seas of yellow farmland whizzed by as we motored down a deserted highway toward Jasper National Park. The park entrance is a place where travelers like us normally hand over their inheritance in exchange for entry — but thanks to friends Mark and Sue Bryer, who purchased a park pass on a similar journey from Alaska last month, we were able to flash a borrowed piece of colored plastic and roll freely into this outstanding part of the world.
Jasper and Banff are abutting National Parks in Alberta, Canada — covering a combined 6,700 square miles of rugged mountain terrain. After b-lining down the Alaska Highway, we decided to slow our roll and spend a few days enjoying an area that comes highly recommended by pretty much everyone.
That night in Jasper we hit a few restaurants and bars, notable only for their high prices. With every hotel and B&B in town booked, we wound up at Whistlers campground for another night in the tent.
Signs everywhere warned us that mating elk can be dangerous. This guy let us escape with our lives.
The following morning, we merged onto the Icefields Parkway — a road advertised in brochures as the most beautiful drive on earth. Even with sky-high expectations, the scenery blew us away. I won’t beat you over the head with my Thesaurus. Just go see it for yourself some day.
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Lake Louise yielded some pretty nice shots as well.
Later in Banff we treated ourselves to a room at Hidden Ridge Resort. Seven straight nights of camping was enough! And ahhh, the forgotten pleasures of home. Tempted as we were to lounge around and get our moneys worth, Banff was waiting. We rented bikes from the front desk and coasted down the hill into town.
I’d describe Banff as an upscale international mountain town, perhaps a Jackson Hole during the olympics, crawling with tourists and surrounded by pristine wilderness. Under a clear autumn sky we pedaled to as many TripAdvisor hotspots as we could — Bow Falls, the Fairmont, Cascade Gardens, Tunnel Mountain — before surrendering to the siren song of gift shops and $8.50 pints on Banff Avenue.
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All said, Canada did us right, providing the freedom of travel with the scenic pow to make our experience memorable. Parts of the country felt like Alaska, which helped us to hold onto a state of mind we’d grown to love this summer. But dammit Canada, you cost us a fortune and deprived us of contact from the outside world. Entering Montana on Tuesday brought a welcome sense of comfort, a feeling punctuated by the words of the customs agent, welcome home.
Driving the Alaska Highway
Greetings from Columbia Falls, Montana. Last night we reentered the United States after eight days in Canada and arrived at the lavishly-decorated and Scottie dog-inhabited home of Jess’s uncle Jim and aunt Bobbi. I’m writing this post from their back porch as I make note of the lack of road signs and adjust to life outside the car.
The majority of our past week was spent traveling the Alaska Highway — the 1,422 mile road that connects Dawson Creek, British Columbia with Delta Junction, Alaska. In the spring we traveled this road to reach Alaska. This time, armed with knowledge from the trip north, we changed our travel style to save money, opting for cooler meals and roadside camping, rather than patronizing the ghastly expensive businesses along the way. The Alaska Highway is profoundly beautiful, but those views don’t come without a price. One gas station wanted $1.66/litre, which after factoring in conversion rates and credit card fees, came out to around $7 per gallon!
Alas, even on a budget, some things are worth paying for. Much like the drive up, the drive down featured life-list scenery, nonstop sunshine and Serengeti-caliber wildlife. In one 30-minute stretch we saw eight bears! Also rampant: caribou, buffalo, raptors and stone sheep. Jess and I took turns driving, averaging about seven hours per day in the car. At night we camped aside lakes and rivers and cooked dinner over the fire in total privacy… at least from humans.
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Today is day 9 of the 20-day trip back to Raleigh. We spent the past three days in Banff and Jasper National Parks, two unbelievable places I’ll share here soon.
Leaving Alaska
Tomorrow marks the last day of our summer in Alaska. In the morning we’ll double-check the roof cargo, throw the last of our things in the car and begin the 21-day drive back to Raleigh. For the trip home we have many fun things to look forward to — visits with family and friends, a wedding in Cincinnati, stopovers in U.S. and Canadian National Parks, and all the excitement that comes with discovering new places. But leaving Alaska is going to hurt. We came here with plans of leaving at the end of summer, but without knowledge of what living here would be like or how difficult it might be to leave.
And leaving will be difficult. I realize the hyperbole on this blog may have tested our readers’ patience. But to me, living in Alaska makes every day feel like a Saturday. It would have been impossible to document the summer without letting that enthusiasm seep in. We came to Girdwood without knowing a soul, without a place to live, and without work — and in those regards, we totally lucked out.
We found a gorgeous place on craigslist for dirt cheap. A newly renovated A-frame cottage on the bike path surrounded by raspberry bushes and mountain views. The loft was perfect for visiting family and the moose meat in the freezer was an unexpected bonus.
I found a job — a good job — one that allowed me to play outside, get some exercise and meet lots of interesting people. At only 25 hours a week, the money wasn’t great, but my schedule allowed us plenty of time for traveling. Plus, working for an adventure outfitter meant we had access to a variety of outdoor gear, a benefit that made many of our adventures here possible — a perk we certainly would have missed had I taken a job as a bartender or something.
But the biggest win this summer was finding Girdwood. We originally targeted Juneau, but arbitrarily changed our minds after reading an email from a friend of a friend touting Girdwood, a town neither of us had heard of. In hindsight our decision was not unlike throwing a dart at a map, but ultimately turned out to be huge. Let’s be honest, Jess and I would have been happy pretty much anywhere in Alaska. But Girdwood was perfect. It was small and gorgeous and it felt like home. Of all our Alaskan travels, Girdwood was my favorite place. And that’s saying a lot given the appeal of places like Homer, Seward and Denali.
But despite all that good fortune, Alaska and I were destined to get along. The state is immensely wild and beautiful. Even more than I had imagined. Every place to live presents some sort of challenge. The challenges people face here align with my leanings toward independence, endurance and love for the outdoors. But leaving Alaska is not a departure from those values. In fact, this experience has brought into focus what truly matters and the kind of man I want to become. When circled on a calendar, this trip represented a big idea. Despite my apprehension to leave, I view returning to Raleigh as fulfillment of that goal and momentum toward whatever unconventional idea comes next. There will be an encore.
As for work, I’m returning to Raleigh without a job. A harsh reality that looms larger by day. My job here was transformative in that I found work I actually enjoyed, and now that I’ve gotten a taste for that, I’ll be reluctant to take a job that doesn’t enliven me. My goal is to find something outdoorsy that challenges my sales and marketing chops and allows me to dabble in writing, photography and design. I believe the dream job is out there — now my job is to find it.
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Tomorrow I’ll be sad to see Girdwood in the rearview. But Jess and I have a mountain of stories to share and a stronger relationship to build on. We left many dear friends back in Raleigh that we can’t wait to see. I’m starting to fantasize about the pork nachos at Raleigh Times Bar. Live music, cell service and reasonably-priced fruit await us.
We’ll continue to post updates from the road. But for now, so long Alaska. We love you.
Alaska Highway
Greetings from Alaska! After six days and 1,700 miles through the appropriately-sloganed Super, Natural British Columbia and Larger than Life Yukon Territory, we arrived Thursday in Tok, Alaska, sled dog capital of the world, and small junction town splitting those finishing the Alaska Highway in Fairbanks with those taking Highway 1 south to the more populous part of the state. Yesterday, after burritos for breakfast, we took the sign for Anchorage and embarked on our final 380-mile push to Girdwood.
As for the past week in Canada, wow — ultra wild, dreamboat scenery. At Powell’s in Portland, we purchased Dalby’s Guide to Driving the Alaska Highway, a helpful book we referenced often for camping and dining recommendations, historic tidbits and offshoot excursions along the way.
From the No Country for Old Men motel in Prince George we drove five hours to Dawson Creek, mile 0 of the Alaska Highway. At a cupcake shop in town we weighed our sleeping options for the night. It was rainy and 40 so camping was out. The only reasonable hotel in town was the the curiously-priced Alaska Inn at $55 a night, so I walked the two blocks down Main Street and popped in for a look. The front desk, which was also the bar, was manned by a woman who resembled Rosanne Barr plus a thousand twinkies and a few cage match losses.
Me: Any rooms available tonight?
Bartender: I got one. It’s $55, uh, I mean $62. But even I don’t go up there anymore, on account of the people and stuff. The rooms are pretty nasty and I think there might be someone living up there.
Me: {Looking like she just answered my question in Chinese}
Man in Bar: You want crabs?
I walked back to the cupcake shop and took a sip of my now-cold coffee. The baristas looked nice enough, so I approached them with our quandary. As I was shrinking as their blank faces, the only other people in the place, a youngish couple with a baby sitting behind me, spoke up and cheerfully offered their fifth wheel for the night. We accepted instantly and drove around the corner to the trailer, which was equipped with a queen-sized bed, bathroom, electricity and iPod-connectivity. It was perfect, and even more miraculous, it was free. We owe Frank and Laura a mountain of gratitude for their kindness and hospitality. People are great sometimes.
Quick aside on the cost of living in Dawson Creek. We grabbed Frank a six-pack of Heineken at a convenience store, and I’ll be damned if it wasn’t $22 after the -10% U.S. conversion and 5% international service fee. Everything in Dawson Creek costs a mint, travelers beware.
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The next day we began our trek up the Alaska Highway to Fort Nelson. Outside Dawson Creek, farms give way to forests and the scenery becomes a tunnel of spruce, muskegs and ice-covered lakes. During the entire Alcan we encountered remarkably sparse civilization. Houses, cars and people were in short supply, and in some stretches we drove an hour without seeing anything but trees and pavement.
Six hours after leaving Dawson Creek we arrived in Fort Nelson, a dusty nothing of a town that boasts a handful of run-down gas stations and boarded-up restaurants. Dalby suggests driving the 1,500-mile Alcan in five days and spending the first night in Fort Nelson. But uninspired and drunk on discovery, we continued two hours up the road to Liard River Hotsprings Provincial Park.
According to the park:
These springs could accurately be called thermal springs, hotsprings, mineral springs or all three. Thermal springs have water which is 5 celsius warmer than the average air temperature; hotsprings have water warmer than 32degrees celcius; and mineral springs contain solids in concentration higher than 1000 parts per million. The origin of these springs is unknown but may be related to a major geographical fault that parallels the valley on the south side of the Liard River.
We picked a wooded site near the outhouse and set up camp. The hike to the springs takes only five minutes, but Jess and I made it in three after reading about a couple who was killed by a grizzly on the trail a few years back. Having cheated death, we arrived at the hotsprings and set our eyes on a forested, lima-bean shaped lagoon, roughly 4′ deep and the size of a college touring bus. The temperature of the water ranged from lukewarm to scorching hot, with the hottest corner marked with a rock altar for those brave enough to add a pebble to the pile. We melted in the warmth as we chatted with other travelers, who like us, had made their way from somewhere else in the world to that very place in time. Twas magical moment, yall, one I won’t soon forget.
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The next morning, after a delicious stuffed green pepper at the lodge across the street (prepared by a chef who had cooked for the Queen of England, nonetheless), we continued north through the Canadian rockies to Whitehorse, Yukon Territory. Along the way we stopped in Watson Lake to check out Signpost Forest. What started as a single sign commemorating the journey for a Illinois man in 1942 has snowballed over the years to include thousands of signs from creative travelers. My favorite sign: Alaska to Argentina by bike.
Later in Whitehorse we grabbed a site at Caribou RV Park and headed into town for Chinese food. That night we returned to find the only other camper in the park sitting around a fire with the campground host and a buddy. We joined the ragtag bunch and swapped stories for a while before heading to the tent for a bitter cold nights sleep.
The following morning we arose early and returned to town where I replaced two blown headlights in a coffee shop parking lot. New lights in place, we threw the leftover Chinese under the hood and drove the final stretch on the world famous Alaska Highway to the U.S. border, where we were greeted with a smile and $4.72 a gallon gas prices.
Seattle, Vancouver and Beyond…
After a pair of cloudy days in Portland, we continued up the coast to Seattle, where we checked into the eclectic Green Tortoise hostel and walked around the corner to a sold-out Buke & Gass and tUnE-yArDs concert at The Crocodile.
The next morning we arose to cook-your-own pancakes, then after a brief, coffee-fueled stroll around emerald city, we were back in the Subie headed for Vancouver. At the border we were greeted by a friendly waterboarding from customs regarding my shotgun. No, I have never been arrested. No, I have never changed my name. As a matter of fact, yes I knew Kate Middleton’s grandfather had ties to Calgary. After nearly an hour of interrogation, we were permitted to enter the country.
Vancouver is a dreamy outdoor metropolis, a cultural kaleidoscope bursting with groomed bike paths, finely landscaped streets and striking views of the mountainous coast. As she is wont to do from time to time, Jess splurged and treated us to a nice hotel near 1000-acre Stanley Park, where we spent a cool Saturday evening ambling aimlessly about.
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Sunday we began the remote stretch of our journey through Canada. I’m writing this post from a ratty motel in Prince George, British Columbia, 500 miles north of the U.S. border and a mere five-hour drive to Dawson Creek, where tomorrow we’ll pick up the 1,500 mile Alaska Highway to Girdwood. I anticipate the next five days to be phoneless and mostly internetless as we make our way through some of the most isolated parts of the continent. We’ve traveled 5,000 miles thus far with another 1,700 to go. That’s a long way in a car, but aside from a little gut rot from Tim Hortons chili, I’d say we’re feeling pretty damn good.
Stumptown Suds
Lucky Labrador Tasting Room
Prompted by a recommendation from beer enthusiast and ex-coworker of mine Mike Brem, I decided to use this space to riff about the different beers I tasted during our two-day stint in Portland. And since my palate is amateurish, and my writing on the subject can be foamy at times, the descriptions below may read like a beer on an empty stomach.
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Mirror Pond Pale Ale
Deschutes Brewery – Bend, OR
Clean and crisp like a dress shirt, though not as genteel. Remarkably unremarkable. Drink, yawn, drink, proceed.
Hop Gold
Tugboat Brewing Company – Portland, OR
Harsh like Miss Trunchbull. The bitter finish of a portly marathon runner with the mouthfeel of a hiking sock.
Amber Lamps
Tugboat Brewing Company – Portland, OR
A sweet & syrupy melange; the color of a California raisin with dishwater drinkability.
Klickitat Pale Ale
Almeda Brewhouse – Portland, OR
A playful little beer. Cool and calm like George Clooney. Perfect for a rose garden croquet match; even better for the rematch.
Lombac Strong Draft
Lompoc Brewing – Portland, OR
Thick and rich and fancy. Traces of molasses warming over a douglas fir campfire.
LTD 05
Full Sail Brewing Company – Hood River, OR
Sweet and strong like Steven Seagal. Wish I could have kicked it with this beer a few more times.
Mori Moto Soba Ale
Rogue Ales – Newport, OR
This beer needs no chill, as it’s a hoppy cotton candy coconut party! No-doubter best beer of the trip. Subtle, strong and delicious. Ranks up there with two-hearted ale and Outback cheese fries.
Everybody’s Country Boy IPA
Everybody’s Brewing – White Salmon, WA
A nice shot of grass clippings.
Organic Golden Ale
Lucky Labrador Brewing Company – Portland, OR
Budweiser on steroids. A good birthday sixer for a bro who doesn’t like beer.
Stumptown Porter
Lucky Labrador Brewing Company – Portland, OR
The blood of an american gladiator! Drink while fighting zombies and/or listening to Megadeath.
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Cheers to our lovely hostess Britanie Kessler and her double cool friends for blazing the trail and welcoming us to Portland.
Idaho
My Uncle Ted is a mad scientist of the forest. His blue eyes pop and his gray mop swirls as he bounces around the living room on all fours reenacting stories from his seven years in Alaska. A bonafide outdoorsman, retired from the Air Force and U.S. Forest Service, Ted has a lifetime of experience in the woods — and a story for every topic, which he tells with earnestness and skill.
So you wanna hear about the time I shot a grizzly with my bow, which at the time was the largest brown bear taken in southeast Alaska with a bow or gun?
Yeah!
So Jan and I were flown into a remote part of Alaska, where I knew this mean grizzly would be packing on his last hundred pounds at the dogfish run…
We ate it up. Along with moose steaks, eggs, apple pie and buckets of coffee.
Ted and Jan live in Carmen, Idaho, which at one point was the last city in the U.S. to be more than 150 miles from the nearest McDonalds. Their house is authentic wild west, loaded with wildlife art, various weapons and a smattering of animal heads mounted to the living room wall. We spent two days shootin’ guns, four wheelin’ and hiking the snow-dusted mountains that fill every window in the house.
From their porch we spotted elk, mule deer, magpies, fox and pheasant.
On Monday, Ted and his dogs Anna, Candy and Bear took Jess and me for a hike in Badger Springs. Snow blew as we made our way to the summit, climbing through knee-high drifts and stopping occasionally to gawk at the continental divide. It was a memorable hike that yielded some pretty cool pics, which you can view here if you like.
Big shout-out to Ted and Jan for being first-rate hosts. We had a great time in Idaho, and couldn’t stop gushing about them as we made our way down their long, curvy driveway and on to Coeur d’Alene.
Great Sand Dunes National Park
Of the many fascinating places we’ve seen in our 10 days on the road, none compare to Great Sand Dunes National Park in southern Colorado. Rather than choosing the park by recommendation, we chose it based on its proximity between Santa Fe and Denver, and after a lengthy Q&A on dune camping with the park ranger, we obtained our free backcountry permit (thanks National Park week!) and departed the visitors center on foot for a night under the stars.
We were instructed by the ranger to hike the 1.2 miles over High Peak, and any part of the 30 square-mile dunefield beyond was ours for the night (we obtained the only backcountry permit written that day). Having swapped our water purifier for water bottles, the hike to High Peak was harder than I expected. But the payoff was unforgettable beauty, and after a sunset photo shoot, we tumbled down the other side and set up camp.
The wind that blew that night was from the lungs of Hercules. Sand swirled and covered everything inside and outside the tent.
The next morning, after dusting off some Starbucks instant coffee and a couple of mama Swanson’s delicious apricot and coconut granola bars, we left camp in pursuit of the tallest sand dune in North America. Star peak was only one map mile away, but given the high altitude, the difficulty of sand hiking and the zigzag route necessary to reach the top, it was a mile that having traveled it automatically gifted us a free pass to consume a mountain of something cheesy that night in Denver, which we did with gusto.
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It’s worth emphasizing just how truly amazing this park is. I’ve been lucky enough to experience many great outdoor adventures in my 29 years, but this place is something special. You should go some day.
New Mexico
Tuesday we arose at Turquoise Trail campground — an arid, cactus-littered, definitively New Mexican campground outside Albuquerque — and drove 15 minutes to the peak of Sandia Mountain. From the 10,678’ summit we hiked a couple miles down the beautiful La Luz trail and got our first sweet, sweet taste of Big West Mountains.
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Later that afternoon we packed up and drove an hour north to Santa Fe. After grabbing a cheap hotel room downtown, slugging a few gulps of spiced rum and donning our newly-purchased wigs, we walked to Corazon and caught a favorite band of mine Titus Andronicus.
Bricktown
Quick update from the road. This morning while Jess worked from a coffee shop I knocked around Bricktown, Oklahoma City’s entertainment district. A nice enough area I guess, with no shortage of Budweiser bars and velvet rope dance clubs. But when you only have a few hours to explore, I’ve found that a city is a city is a city. And me, I’m a mountain man, which is why I’m happy to report that we just entered mountain time zone midway through today’s nine-hour haul from OKC to Albuquerque.
Memphis, Hot Springs
From the Smokies we continued our journey west to Memphis, Tennessee. We arrived on a windy, clear night and pricelined a hotel downtown for $75. Craving a hearty meal after two nights in the woods, we powerwalked to Charlie Vergos’ Rendezvous: World Famous Barbeque where polished off a highly-recommended and highly-enjoyed rack of BBQ ribs. The next morning we roamed the city for a few hours, taking in a corvette show on Beale Street, an African festival, and a windy walk along the Mississippi before jumping back in the car and splitting for Hot Springs, Arkansas.
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Lake Ouachita, the largest lake in Arkansas, is surrounded by Ouachita National Forest and Lake Ouachita State Park — a clean and quiet park situated on the eastern side of the lake, featuring 103 campsites, including this hot little number:
After pitching our tent we drove 30 minutes into Hot Springs for dinner and a night at Oaklawn Casino. Hot Springs is a charming little mountain town, not unlike Asheville in beauty and feel, nestled among the tall trees and natural water springs of Hot Springs National Forest. Most prominent in the city is bathhouse row — a line of posh bathhouses that provide luxury spa services based around the highly-marketable mineral water pumped in from nearby hot springs. Jess treated us to a spring water bath at Quapaw Baths, a warm and satisfying break from the action that gave us time to reflect on the long road ahead.
JESSICA SWANSON - CB radio pirate, under-the-hood sous chef, car fitness coach, not the navigator
girdwoodsummer.wordpress.com 
