Riding out the (Natural) High

 Owen and I have been on some pretty incredible adventures this year, and we knew the motorcycle trip to Alaska would be hard to top. Luckily though, I had a few trips up my sleeve and we have been able to spend the past two months riding out the high.

Over Labor Day, we headed to northern California to backpack the Lost Coast Trail, a 25 mile section of coast so rugged that they diverted Highway 1 around it. We took a shuttle to the start of the hike so we could do it as a point-to-point trip, with our car waiting for us at the end. On day one, we got out of the shuttle, took our first steps on the sand, and just kind of looked at each other, like, this can’t be the trail? Beaches are for swimming, sunbathing, reading, maybe going for long walks, but backpacking? We weren’t so sure.

The realities of hiking on the sand

Once we got over the initial feeling of being totally out of place, we were pumped because it was so different than any other backpacking experience we’d ever had. We explored an abandoned lighthouse, searched for starfish, and slid down sand dunes when we lost the trail. As the sun set, we scoured the bluffs for a flat spot to camp, and almost gave up hope, when we stumbled upon the ideal site.Turns out, it came with a catch: there was zero protection from the wind that blew in during the night, and between listening to the tent fly whip around and anxiously hoping that nothing would snap or tear, we barely slept. Thankfully the Hubba Hubba (actual tent name) held up just fine.

Epic night one camping spot

On day two we encountered the first of two major sections of the trail that are impassable at high tide. Luckily, we timed it right and avoided the perilous fate of being battered by a rogue sneaker wave or trapped between cliffs and ocean. We did have some issues following the trail, though. It wasn’t always obvious when to stay on the bluffs and when to climb back down to the beach, and at one point we found ourselves needing to rock climb down a short section, which I’m pretty certain was not part of the official route. Nevertheless, we continued onward and by the end of the day found another great camping spot, complete with our own “infinity pool.” By that point in the trip we smelled pretty ripe so we stripped down and washed off in the pool. Not five minutes after we dried off and put our clothes back on, a group of hikers walked down the beach.

Enjoying the view while trying not to roll my ankles

Our infinity pool in the sunset

On day three we navigated another section that was impassable at high tide, and this one was a little more interesting. Even though we arrived nearly right at low tide, there were a few rocky outcrops that we had to time with the waves and run through to avoid getting wet feet. The last few miles of the hike were challenging for a different reason: sand, sand, and more sand. While most of the trail is interspersed with dirt paths and rock hopping, the final stretch had zero firm ground. The only thing that kept us going was the fact that there was a tub of peach rings in our car, waiting to be devoured.

A much needed rest

By the middle of September, once our screaming calf muscles recovered, we were feeling antsy again so we planned a last minute motorcycle camping trip out to the Sierras. The last time we had left for a motorcycle camping trip, it was for our 18 day trip to Alaska, and I was worried we might not survive. By comparison, this short trip felt like a walk in the park. We rode on Ebbetts Pass Scenic Byway, and that afternoon we actually did go for a walk in the park, in Calaveras Big Trees State Park, to check out giant sequoias. We continued through the mountains and found a quiet place to camp in Stanislaus National Forest.

Calaveras Big Trees State Park

Enjoying the twisties on Ebbetts Pass Scenic Byway

Since we were in no rush the next morning, we goofed off and practiced picking up the bike after laying it carefully down. Newsflash: I cannot lift that motorcycle even one centimeter off the ground. Owen, on the other hand, lifted it with relative ease. I guess I’m not the muscles of the relationship after all. Early morning temperatures in the 50s slowly rose to the 90s on our way home, so we cooled off with the best burgers and icecream from a small roadside diner called Jimtown Frosty.

Departing camp

We found fall colors!

The last couple years I’ve become enamored with the mountains out west, but a part of my heart will always belong to the Jersey Shore. When I was growing up my family spent a week every summer at Long Beach Island, but it’s been four years since we were all there together. So when I found out that my mom, dad, and sister were planning a beach week at the end of September, I knew I wanted to join. What sealed the deal was actually our trip on the Lost Coast Trail. Every time I heard the waves crash along the shore, it brought me right back to Long Beach Island. I booked my flight to NJ a couple days later.

Perhaps the best part was that my parents had no clue I was coming. Kelli knew, though, and in the hours leading up to my arrival we went into full-on spy mode to make sure my parents wouldn’t intercept any texts and spoil the surprise. My favorite texts: “Soar eagle soar!” and “Eagle has flown over the nest.”  Kelli coaxed my parents on a bike ride to a nearby bakery minutes before I rolled up in my rental car. When my parents saw me, my dad said something along the lines of “What the hell am I looking at?” and my mom stopped completely in her tracks and would not stop crying.

The 48 hours I was at the shore could not have been more perfect. We went on no fewer than five bike rides each day, some so leisurely that we got passed by runners, others under the cover of darkness in which we pretended we were in a biker gang. We played a fierce game of mini-golf, bundled up for long walks on the beach in the wind, and even investigated a haunted house down the street with binoculars. No proper trip to New Jersey is complete without enjoying a bagel, so I made that my last meal before heading back to the airport. Hell, if I wasn’t traveling so lightly I would’ve filled my entire bag with bagels.

During my very first trip to Yosemite, we stopped at a popular overlook and lined up to look through binoculars at the Half Dome cables where hardy souls were hiking up the steep rock. After that trip, I vowed to go back and hike Half Dome myself. Well, nearly two and a half years and three unsuccessful permit attempts later, Owen and I finally arrived at the park on a Saturday morning in October, permit in hand, to conquer the thing. If you’ve never heard of Half Dome, it involves a long and grueling hike, capped off by scaling 400 feet of slick, nearly vertical rock using nothing more than two cables and all the upper body strength you’ve got.

We planned to hike Half Dome as part of a 3 day, point-to-point trip through the park. Because our route was point-to-point, we relied heavily on the graciousness of others, meaning it would not work unless we could successfully hitchhike one way. We’d gotten a ride once before in the park, so we had a decent game plan. We went to our spot and even brought pen and paper with us to make a sign. It worked! Within 15 minutes we got picked up by a retired guy from southern California. There were a couple of red flags at first: Owen had to kneel in the back of his van because there was no seat for him and the driver stopped multiple times to take photos, sometimes for 20 minutes or more. There was also some miscommunication about his route and we actually got out of the van at one of his photo stops to try to get another ride. But finally we figured out that he was in fact driving right by our trailhead, and it was smooth sailing from there.

The first day’s hike was easy but we had a bit of a surprise: it snowed! For a few minutes, I was in blissful holiday mode, daydreaming of Christmas trees and crackling fires. When we stopped to make camp though, and my body cooled down, I went into survival mode and wolfed down dinner as fast as I could, knowing my warm sleeping bag was waiting for me.

First snow of the season

Night one campsite

Day two was, in my mind, a trial run for Half Dome. On the agenda was Clouds Rest, a mountain which is known for having a decent amount of exposure leading up to its summit. I figured if I couldn’t handle Clouds Rest, there was no way I’d be able to deal with the exposure on Half Dome. Luckily, I passed the test: the drop-offs didn’t bother me and I easily made it to the summit, where we ogled at the granite wonderland around us.

Approaching Clouds Rest

One of the many reasons why I love backpacking is because I can pig out, take naps and still feel superbly accomplished at the end of the day. After descending from Clouds Rest on miles of switchbacks, we did just that, snacking on cookies and then dozing off in the sun. There is nothing finer.

We planned to summit Half Dome for sunrise, so that night we camped as close to the base of the mountain as we legally could and turned in early. The next morning, before our alarm had even gone off, we heard laughter echoing in the forest: Half Dome day hikers getting an early start. I knew it was go time. After a couple dark miles under a blanket of stars, we finally arrived at Sub Dome, the last part of the hike before the cables. Beyond Sub Dome lay the cables, and three headlamps were bobbing in the dark climbing what looked like a vertical face. This whole trip, I had been telling myself that Half Dome couldn’t be nearly as steep as it looked, and I told myself that one last time as we powered up Sub Dome. At last we reached the cables, and stopped only briefly to don gloves before we began the climb. It turns out that I was wrong about one thing: the climb was even steeper than it had looked.

Angles in photo are steeper than they appear

We survived, in case you were wondering. But as someone who isn’t a huge fan of heights, climbing the Half Dome cables was one of the scariest things I’ve ever done. We talked to a few people after the climb, some of whom were doing it for their second or third time, and they shrugged it off like it was no big deal. I watched one guy practically slide down the cables because his shoes had so little traction, and he was totally unfazed by it. I was not one of those people.

What mostly kept me going on the climb up was how much regret I knew I’d have if I chickened out. Owen and I climbed in a methodical rhythm, stopping every 15 feet or so when we reached wooden boards. I knew if I stopped too long to rest I’d psych myself out so I hauled myself up as fast as I safely could, with a couple complaints from Owen to slow down.

As the cliche goes, oftentimes the journey is more important than the destination, and that’s how I felt when we reached the summit of Half Dome. Yes, we arrived right at sunrise, and yes, there were 360 degree views of granite washed in early morning light. But no summit view could compare to the adrenaline I felt on the climb itself. Of course, in the back of my mind, I knew we had to climb down, and I didn’t want to put that off forever. Luckily, Owen was on the same page so after an hour up top we gathered our courage and got back on those cables. The key to my success on the downclimb was refusing to look down. I focused on the rock in front of me and nothing more. Finally, when Owen gave the green light and we were only 20 or 30 feet from the bottom I turned around, looked down, and knew that we were going to make it. The day wasn’t quite over yet- we still had several hours of hiking ahead of us to make it back to our car, but it didn’t really matter. We had conquered Half Dome!

Atop Half Dome

I freaking did it!

Finally daring to look down

Since then, we have kept busy pretending that it’s fall here by going apple picking, baking apple pie, and drinking apple cider, but in reality it still very much feels like summer. As we have come to learn, in California sometimes you just have to create your own seasons.

The upside of having no seasons: blissful trail running year-round

To Alaska and Back, the Long Way Round

The questions Owen and I got asked the most on our recent motorcycle road trip were: where are you from, where have you been, and where are you going? The short answer is that we started in San Jose, CA, drove up the west coast to Bellingham, WA, took a ferry to southeast Alaska, drove on the Alcan Highway through Canada, stopped at Jasper, Banff and Glacier National Parks, then hightailed it back to San Jose, traveling 4,500 miles over 18 days. The long answer? Get comfortable, and dig in!

Owen and I have been racking our brains trying to remember how we first got the idea for this trip. We know it started as a joke, but about six months ago, when we booked the ferry, it turned into a reality. As with all adventures we definitely had fears going into it, ranging from the practical, like what if the bike breaks down and what if our bodies can’t handle all the riding, to the wildly outrageous, like what if we get eaten by bears? Although we’d been planning this trip for months, it had not fully sunk in yet, and it came as something of a surprise to both of us when our departure time rolled around and we discovered that we were about to drive a motorcycle to Alaska.

We left after work on a Thursday in the beginning of August and the first night went well, despite being questioned if we had “shit or peed” in the parking area that we stopped at to eat leftover pizza for dinner. After honestly denying both, we were given the all clear to proceed. I also had a minor altercation with a dragonfly when we arrived at our campground late that night.

Our route was essentially a big loop and we chose to go clockwise, taking the ferry to Alaska early in the trip. That way, there was less time for something to go wrong and cause us to miss the ferry. Friday passed in a blur of smoke, as much of northern California and Oregon were on fire. The plan Saturday was to get an early start so we could fit in a quick detour to Mount Rainier National Park, then give ourselves plenty of time to make it to the ferry. What we didn’t account for was traffic. We hit national park traffic, Seattle traffic, Blue Angels traffic, and god knows what other traffic. Mount Rainier was one of the most stunning mountains I’ve ever seen, but unfortunately we had about 30 seconds to take it all in before we had to continue on so we wouldn’t miss that damn ferry. At 3pm, when we were supposed to be boarding the ferry, we were in standstill traffic 70 miles away.

The bike, all loaded up, at Mount Rainier National Park

Endless snowy peaks

After the fact, Owen and I found out that we were both brainstorming backup plans in case we did actually miss the ferry. There weren’t a lot of options though- the ferry leaves only once a week. It was one of the most stressful days of the trip, but in the end, when we arrived at the ferry an hour and a half after we were supposed to, and the ticketing guy acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary, we knew we were getting to Alaska after all.

The moment we realized we were getting on that ferry!

After all the stress, the ferry ride itself was the perfect antidote. We literally had two and a half days to do absolutely nothing. The ferry we took was part of the Alaska Marine Highway system, sometimes referred to as the “poor man’s cruise.” Activities included watching documentaries and eating popcorn in the movie lounge, doing laundry in the bathroom sink, reading books, and just staring out at the coast. We loved every minute of it. The route to Juneau travels through the Inside Passage, so we were never far from a coastline.We saw humpback whales, dolphins, bald eagles, glaciers, hundreds of miles of rugged, forested terrain, and a few remote huts nestled in the woods. We even got off the ship at the first port and explored Ketchikan, Alaska for a few hours. As per usual, we barely made it back on the boat in time (14 minutes before departure). 

The views from the ferry never got old

Creek Street in Ketchikan

I had traveled on the Alaska Marine Highway system a few years ago, and I had seen people camping on the deck. Since then it had been my dream to take the ferry from Bellingham up to Juneau and sleep on the deck. We reserved a cabin just in case, but on night one we set up our tent and sleeping bags right on the deck. It worked for a couple hours until the wind started. We made the executive decision around 2am to take our tent down, afraid our poles were going to snap or the tent fabric was going to rip. Somehow we managed to take the tent down without it blowing into the ocean, and we tried for round two, this time just plopping our sleeping bags right on the deck. The wind thwarted this attempt too as our sleeping bags just flapped in our faces. Finally around 7am we admitted defeat and retreated to our cabin to nap for a couple hours. We had learned our lesson and on nights two and three we slept soundly in the cabin.

Our broom closet of a room ended up being perfect for what we needed: sleeping, storing gear, and drying laundry

We arrived in Juneau early in the morning and we had assumed we’d have a couple hours to pack up our stuff and unload the motorcycle since the ship would be in port til midday. We woke up to an announcement over the intercom: “All passengers departing in Juneau must report to the car deck immediately.” Our stuff was strewn everywhere in our cabin, but this was the fastest we packed up on the entire trip. We rushed off the boat, a little disoriented, into the rain and mist of Juneau. We drove out to the “end of the road” (there are no roads that lead into Juneau), and saw bald eagles and a black bear! But by the time we drove back to town, we were frozen and my gloves had soaked through. I had a low moment in a Safeway bathroom, and questioned whether we were actually prepared for this. The day improved though: we holed up in a coffee shop and thawed out for a couple hours, then I splurged on new mittens that were actually waterproof. Feeling revived, we explored Mendenhall Glacier. We were rewarded generously for facing the rains again: we saw salmon and a black bear chasing them through the creek while her cub observed from a tree. Day, made.

Mendenhall Glacier, Juneau

We did a decent amount of planning for this trip beforehand. We had a rough idea of the miles we wanted to hit each day, and we even booked some campsites beforehand. We had booked a campground to stay at in Juneau but neither of us were too amped to camp in the rainb so we checked into the first hotel we saw in downtown Juneau. It turned out to be the oldest hotel in the state of Alaska! Because we were staying in the oldest hotel, we had to go to the oldest bar in town. It was Owen’s birthday that day, so we celebrated with a huge meal and a couple beers, then wandered around the steep streets downtown. The highlights of our hike the next day were discovering the monstrous waterfall at the end of the trail and being asked by passing hikers if we were locals (the highest compliment in my book).That night, we got dinner with some friends I had met when I was living in Juneau a couple years ago, also known as The Awesome Family, if you remember from my old blog, and they kept Owen and I listening to their every word with their crazy stories of traveling around this wondrous state. 

Perseverance Trail

The trail ended quite abruptly!

The next morning we loaded the motorcycle on another ferry, this one to Skagway. This ride was a little different than our previous one, just a few hours long. After I attempted to do laundry in the bathroom sink and dry my clothes with paper towels (fail), I enjoyed the views of mountains, waterfalls, and glaciers. We arrived in Skagway midday and were so excited to get on the road to Canada that we forgot to exchange money or get gas. We made it to the next town without running out of gas, but even if we had run out, it wouldn’t have been a bad place to get stranded. That ride, from Skagway to Carcross, was one of the most scenic stretches of road on the entire trip. We didn’t even mind the rain because we had glaciers, emerald lakes, more waterfalls, and wildflowers to distract us. That night we found a funky campground to stay at with an impressive collection of old license plates and antlers. The rain stopped long enough for us to sit out by a lake and pretend it was actually summer.

Gorgeous stretch of road between Skagway and Carcross in the Yukon Territory

What surprised me the most on the next couple of days we spent driving through the Yukon Territory, British Columbia, and Alberta was how rugged and remote it was. The gas stations were essentially huge aboveground tanks with a hose or two coming out. They operated on the honor system: after we filled up, we’d go into the nearby cafe/restaurant, tell them how much fuel we used, and pay. It was still cold and raining on and off so we came to depend on these little outposts for some time indoors to warm up with hot drinks. We did come to a few larger towns and we always beelined it toTim Horton’s for warm, buttered bagels that we dipped in soup to satisfy our bread and butter cravings.

A neat roadside attraction: the Signpost Forest in the Yukon

About five minutes into our ride one morning, we saw a grizzly bear grazing on the side of the road, and the wildlife sightings never stopped. Throughout the rest of the trip, we watched a moose munching on lily pads in a lake, two caribou trotting across the road, several elusive black bears crossing the road, elk, a family of Stone’s sheep, bighorn sheep, and a mountain goat climbing a freaking mountain. We even drove through a herd of bison. There were also a couple false wildlife sightings: at one point, Owen thought a toddler was a sheep, and we both saw cows and thought bison at first.

Our first (and only) griz sighting!

After scanning every lake we passed, we were finally rewarded with a moose sighting

A couple months ago, I met someone from Alaska and mentioned our road trip. She insisted we stop at Liard Hot Springs. I noted it, but wasn’t really sure what this Liard Hot Springs was all about. Then, early in Canada, another motorcyclist called Liard the best hot springs in the world. You can imagine that our expectations were pretty high when we finally arrived at Liard, and it did not disappoint. The path to the hot springs popped out of the forest into this lush oasis, and the huge pool was surrounded by ferns. There was truly no better way to end a cold, rainy day of riding. If there was ever a point in our trip where we thought, forget our schedule, forget making it back for our jobs in time, we’re just going to spend months on the road, this place was it. We could have easily spent a down day at Liard, probably even a down week. Liard, we’re coming back for you.

En route to Liard Hot Springs

This was at 9pm- Liard Hot Springs was the place to be

Navigation was pretty easy those few days: we just had to follow one road, the Alcan Highway, also called the Alaska Highway. It’s known for having some pretty gnarly gravel sections but we had gotten lucky for most of our ride with pavement or packed gravel. Eventually, our luck wore out. Near Fort Nelson, BC, there was road construction and with all the rain the site had turned into a mud pit. A couple hours before we came through they were literally towing cars through. To make it easier for Owen to keep the bike upright we decided I should try to find someone else to ride with while we were waiting for the pilot car. I got denied by the camper in front of us so I tried the truck behind us. As soon as I walked up to the window, I regretted it. The guy was even grungier than us and there was litter scattered throughout his truck. He actually turned out to be this really nice guy from Australia though, and happily cleared the stuff off the passenger seat and gave me a ride. The downside of riding in the vehicle behind Owen, though, was that I had to watch him struggle through the mud the entire time. He nearly fell a couple times but always recovered.

Our black motorcycle luggage wasn't so black anymore

Our time in Jasper National Park was a turning point of the trip for us. By the time we finally rolled into the park, after a day of riding in the rain and cold, we were struggling. My journal entry that day said “Bike is completely covered in dirt and mud, and so are we.” We were again saved by a hot spring, this time one named Miette. It was not nearly as scenic as Liard but it did the job. The next morning, I was eager to explore the park and rushed us to get ready. Owen had a meltdown when he couldn’t get his glove on right, but the meltdown had nothing to do with his glove. It had everything to do with how exhausted we were from the rain/driving/moving campsites/long days/being dirty/having wet clothes, and we vowed to have some down time, find a laundromat, and take showers. Later that day we rode the Jasper SkyTram, then hiked the final mile to the summit of Whistlers Mountain. The hike was exactly what we needed: we relaxed in the alpine sun and took in the views. Later that night, we finally found a laundromat and they even stayed open late for us. We didn’t take showers, but we were already feeling like new with our clean clothes. 

Whistler's Mountain

Endless views, even with the smoke

It was a struggle to let our laundry dry out with all the rain

By the time we arrived in Banff National Park, it was smooth sailing. It had finally stopped raining, we had a home base as we were camping in the same place for two nights, and we were much more realistic about how much we could do and see in one day. We gave ourselves an entire day to drive the Icefields Parkway, the scenic route between Jasper and Banff, and were rewarded generously with waterfalls, wildlife, and eerily beautiful views (lots of Canada was on fire, so everything had a smoky, post-apocalyptic look to it).

Athabasca Falls- a quick pit stop on the Icefields Parkway

Near the Columbia Icefield

The next morning, we overslept by accident, so by the time we arrived in Lake Louise to start our hike the parking lot was closed because it was completely full. One perk of being on a motorcycle? You can find a parking spot almost anywhere. We eventually left the crowded shores of Lake Louise behind as we hiked along a glacial creek and through the forest. After three and a half miles, we reached the Plain of Six Glaciers Teahouse. There are no roads to the teahouse- the only way to reach it is on foot or on horseback, which made the fact that they had tables, menus, and waitresses even more impressive. It was cash only, so we pooled our Canadian coins together and split a lemonade and a piece of buttered bread. Many hikers turn around at the teahouse, but I’m so glad we continued on. The trail ended at the base of the Victoria Glacier, and we could not take one more step safely in any direction. It was one of the most epic hikes we’ve done.

Lake Louise 

Plain of Six Glaciers Teahouse

En route to Victoria Glacier

Hiking on a knife edge to the base of Victoria Glacier

Earlier in the trip, someone had mentioned that part of Going to the Sun Road in Glacier National Park was closed because of a wildfire. Since we were heading there the next evening, we couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer: we holed up in a Tim Horton’s to snag free WiFi and checked to see if it was true. Our fears were confirmed. Half the road was closed, and even worse, Lake McDonald Lodge, a luxurious hotel we had splurged on for our night in Glacier, had been evacuated. We pulled out all our maps, looking for an alternative route home or another park that we could stop at, but nothing caught our eye.

Checking out our route options 

After all our brainstorming about alternative routes, we decided to drive to Glacier anyway, and check out the part of Going to the Sun Road that was open. It was so worth it! The road started along a lake and climbed up right into the mountains. The smoke made the mountains and glaciers look that much more epic. I was bummed that Lake McDonald Lodge had been evacuated but I wasn’t ready to give up my fancy hotel dream just yet. I asked around and found out that Glacier’s other historic lodge, Many Glacier Hotel, somehow had an opening! It had been eight days since I last showered, and my hair had taken on a life form of its own. I was so excited to shower I almost cried.

Bighorn sheep near Logan's Pass

Going to the Sun Road, Glacier National Park

Finally clean at Many Glacier Hotel

One of our fears was that the bike would break down, and thanks to Owen’s careful maintenance and probably a little bit of luck, we had no major issues. Halfway through the trip, Owen did notice that the back brake pads were worn out, but there wasn’t much we could do about it. It’s not like the Yukon Territory is teeming with motorcycle shops. We finally confirmed that a store on our route had the right part, only to arrive there 15 minutes after they closed. We owe a huge thanks to the employee at Big Sky Motorsports who let us in anyway and sold us the part. Next, the fun part came: actually changing the brake pad. We were an odd sight. In the back of a hotel parking lot I cooked dinner on our camp stove while Owen took his bike apart.

At that point in the trip, we had two days and over 1,000 miles to go if we wanted to make it back in time for work on Monday morning. Saturday we powered through 600 miles, more than we’d ever gone in one day, through wooded back roads winding alongside rivers, through dry canyons in 100 degree weather, and into the Nevada desert under the cover of darkness. We crashed at a cheap motel, then woke up the next morning to make the last push. I had a trick up my sleeve to get through that last day: I planned to read a book while on the bike. I know it sounds crazy, but it actually worked! I breezed through the last 100 pages of the Hobbit, no problem. That was the only reason I didn’t completely lose it when we sat in CA traffic the final few hours.

My first thought when we finally got home wasn't anything life changing or memorable, it was just, I can’t wait to take this freaking gear off! We both wear waterproof jackets and pants, full face helmets, gloves, and boots, which was great for when it was 50 degrees and raining in Canada, but not so great for most of the ride that day, stopped in traffic in 100 degree heat.

Our route. Apparently it takes 1,380 hours to walk it. (It's the only mode that would allow me to include the ferry portion on Google Maps.)

This trip was filled with so many favorites that it’s impossible to pick just one. One moment I will never forget is sitting on the dock of a lake in Canada, eating mac and cheese straight from the pot and watching the sunset. It was there that I heard the call of a loon for the first time. Sure, it wasn’t as epic as hiking to a glacier, or as scary as seeing a grizzly bear, but there was just something so piercing and beautiful about its call. It was a special moment in its own way. Another favorite moment was riding on Highway 12 along the Lochsa River in Idaho. The way the road curved somehow put me in this flow state where I had absolutely zero thoughts running through my head, and I was just totally absorbed in the scenery and in the road. It was kind of like the motorcycle version of a runner’s high. It was on that stretch of highway where we met two other BMW riders, one with stickers all over his boxes of the epic rides he’d done. They both had a ton of experience, so we tried to soak up all we could from them. The cool part, though, was that they wanted to learn from us too. They checked out how we had the bike set up, how we’d packed, and even took our photo. When we started this trip, we didn’t really know what the hell we were doing, so for them to be able to learn from us was an honor.

The first thing Kelli asked me after we got back from the trip was “Are you and Owen still engaged?!” While we did encounter some challenges, we had so much fun together. We bought headsets before the trip so we could talk to each other on the road. We kept yelling “Magadan!” to each other, because in the documentary Long Way Round about two motorcyclists that do an around the world trip, one yells to the other “Magadan!” after they navigate the challenging Road of Bones and finally arrive in Magadan. Come to think of it, that documentary was probably one of the motivating factors for our trip. 

It's been a couple weeks since we finished, and it still hasn’t completely sunk in that we did it. Just yesterday, Owen incredulously said “I’ve been to Alaska!” as if he was discovering it for the first time. I’m OK with that though, because we get to continue reliving it. Until our next adventure, that is.