Two-Up to Death Valley

Our most recent adventure involved lots of snow, freezing our assess off, and almost getting naked with Owen’s boss. But I should start from the beginning.

The road through Titus Canyon winds for 27 miles through a remote part of Death Valley National Park, and is not for the faint of heart. Naturally, Owen had been dreaming of riding the motorcycle through it. We had it all arranged: we would go over the long President’s Day weekend in February and even took Tuesday off to give us wiggle room if something went awry. Owen’s boss, Gustav (also known as Gus; pronounced “goose”), even decided to join us in his Land Rover to be our mule, carrying extra gear. 

Then it rained it Death Valley. See, it doesn’t rain often in the desert, so when it does, it can be pretty intense, with flash flooding and wash outs. Nevertheless, Titus Canyon was closed according to the National Park Service, when we checked the day before our departure. We left as planned on Friday anyway, unsure exactly what we’d do once we got there but excited nonetheless. We encountered quite the first day trip conditions. It rained almost the entire afternoon and evening, not letting up as we rode to Sequoia National Forest, about 100 miles outside Death Valley, and continuing on relentlessly as we set up camp and ate dinner. I credit the Habanero, my 0 degree down sleeping bag, for my amazing night of sleep despite the freezing rain.

The very first thing we did when we arrived at Death Valley the next morning was asked about the status of Titus Canyon Road. I had tried to keep my expectations low, but I was still bummed to hear it remained closed. We devised a new itinerary over Snickers bars in the parking lot. Owen and I had done some quick research a few days earlier and formulated a sketchy backup plan. Now it was time to put that plan into action. We had found some hot springs on our map in a remote valley in the northwest corner of the park and a quick Google search turned up some basic route info. I wasn’t sure what we’d find, or if there’d be any hot springs at all, but it was our best option. Off we went!

En route to Death Valley

The first obstacle was the road closed sign we came to. We were prepared though- in our research on the route people had mentioned that usually the road isn’t actually closed even when it says so. We blew through it with confidence. The second road closed sign had me feeling slightly anxious. What if the road was actually closed? I silenced the thought, and we continued on. At this point, the road started to get a bit more gnarly. Eventually, we pulled over to take a break and were soon joined by two older guys in an Econo van with Maine plates. The driver introduced himself as Tequila Pete. They asked if we were headed to the naked baseball game. Yes, you heard that right. The naked baseball game, they explained, was a rivalry between the Lower Springs and the Upper Springs, and there were about 100 people making their way out to the springs this weekend for a party and the game. I couldn't believe our luck! In an instant, I went from worrying that we’d arrive to find a dusty, dried up hot spring to devising a new plan that we try to make it there by nightfall.  

More of a suggestion than a rule 

Traveling in a caravan with Gus and some others

It wouldn’t be all smooth sailing though. According to Tequila Pete, a huge rock had fallen off the mountain and had made this road impassable until just a few days ago when some hardy souls chipped the side of the mountain out so cars could fit through. Apparently, this obstacle was just a few miles ahead of us. We traveled as a caravan until we came to it and thankfully all made it through fine. A couple dusty, bumpy hours later, we made it out to the hot springs at last! The most ridiculous part was that Owen and I successfully navigated the rocky, rutted road unscathed for 80-some miles and then got stuck on a big rock when we finally parked the bike.

Photo credits: Gustav

Gus emerged from his truck, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, sporting a Death Valley bandana purchased from the visitor’s center earlier that day, a Carhartt jacket purchased from a sporting goods store that morning, covered in dust, with a huge grin on his face. He explained with utter excitement that during the last stretch of road his hanging lights in the back of the Rover were swinging around so violently that he grabbed his knife, reached behind him, and started slashing around to try to cut them free. Then, he started hearing this loud banging noise and realized his axe, with all the rumblings of the road, had come dislodged from its perch on the outside of the Rover and was trying to cut its way inside. Needless to say, we were all relieved to have made it in one piece.

I can vouch for that

Wild burros

We took a quick tour of the area trying to get the lay of the land and then decided where to stake out our claim. Not long afterwards, our neighbor wandered into our site and without so much as an introduction, produced a drink concealed in a paper bag, announced he was conducting a survey, and asked would we like to try some? In the interest of not getting roofied our first night at the springs, I politely declined, as did Owen. Gus happily took a swig though and it turned out it was just a margarita that our neighbor was trying to fine tune. Completely harmless and just trying to make friends, as were the rest of the folks that we met in the hot springs later that night. It's a good thing they were all so friendly, because with all the people out for the weekend, the hot springs were quite packed. I tried not to bump into anyone as we stumbled around in the dark looking for an open seat, especially given the fact that most of them were naked. (Owen had made the executive decision that it was not in our best interest to get naked in front of his boss and I agreed.) Conversation mostly revolved around two topics: what route people had taken to get there, and what route they were thinking of taking to get home. There were three main routes in, and we learned about our other two options: one was completely socked in with snow, and the other had these crazy steps of some sort. Sounded like we had chosen well!

Photo credits: Gustav

Path to one of the soaking tubs

On Sunday, we all enjoyed our down day, though in slightly different ways. Gus stayed at camp to tinker with an infrared camera he’d brought from work while Owen and I went off to explore the surrounding area. Midway through our hike, Gus radioed to us that a park ranger stopped by and announced that bad weather was coming in, and anyone with a two-wheel drive vehicle should leave immediately, or they’d risk not being able to make it out over the pass which would be covered in snow soon. Motorcycles are one-wheel drive, so we were definitely screwed. Regardless, we did not leave. We did not feel like leaving, especially before the baseball game. Instead, we cracked open some beers, wandered over to the game, and cheered on our team. The players weren’t naked, luckily, but some of the cheerleaders were half-naked. Lower Hot Springs rule! (Our team won.)

I wish I could claim credit for making this, but it's almost cooler that we randomly came across it

Photo credits: Gustav

The bad weather never actually came, at least not in the Saline Valley, but by Monday morning it was time for us to make the trek back to pavement (what off road riders refer to as "the slab"). The 80-mile ride out was precarious at times given the snow, huge rocks, steep climbs, etc. but ultimately successful.

First time riding on snow

We made it back to the pavement!

We had two options to get home: the predictable route back the way we came through the Central Valley, or the unknown route, on Highway 395, which skirts along the eastern edge of the Sierra Nevada, and then we’d detour through Lake Tahoe. I voted to ride Highway 395 with two caveats: the road had to be clear of snow and it couldn’t be too cold. We checked the conditions and gave Highway 395 the all-clear. As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and it turns out we didn't know what the hell we were thinking. Ultimately, Owen and I spent the next day and a half freezing our asses off, adding on a 5-hour detour into Nevada to avoid chain-up restrictions in California, and riding through areas that had, like, 20 feet of snow on the ground. Gus blazed all the way home Monday night, apparently just sneaking through a gate right before they closed one of the mountain passes in South Lake Tahoe, but Owen and I opted to recuperate in a cheap motel Monday night to warm up. The next day, in between bouts of freezing cold, Owen looked so scary he made a little kid cry! I kind of want to just leave it at that but I should explain: we were warming up in a McDonalds and when he put his helmet back on, the little girl at the table next to us started bawling. Apparently she has a fear of people wearing masks…

Highway 395: beautiful but menacingly cold

Feeling very out of place on a motorcycle on Route 80 through Tahoe (note Owen's duck tape hand guards)

In the past year of riding two-up together, we have come a long way. Exactly a year ago, we rode out to Death Valley to tackle our first dirt road together and though we survived, we were doing all the wrong things. We're by no means experts now, but at least we're not getting wrecked by washboard anymore. Death Valley, we'll be back for you next February, and I can't wait to see what's in store!

Our grand tour of California, plus a bit of Nevada just for kicks

The Fourth Season

Normally, my process for writing a blog post goes something like this: I patiently wait as my 8-year-old computer groans awake, type out a first draft while nearly burning my thighs from the computer overheating, and then pray that nothing will crash as I make final edits. Well, so long sucker! I’m typing this out on a new (refurbished) Mac computer that Owen got me for Christmas! No more scorch marks on my thighs, no more crackling and popping noises emitting from the exposed wires on my charger, and no more sweet talk to make my computer live to see another day. It served me well but I’m excited for the upgrade.

It’s been awhile since I last posted, and our adventures over the winter have slowed but not stopped. I’m excited to share a couple of our recent (and not so recent) escapades.

All the way back in November, I helped pace my friend, Maggie, during her 100-mile ultramarathon. “Pacing” means I ran part of the race with her to make sure she didn’t wander off in the wrong direction, fall asleep on the side of the trail, or stop eating and drinking. By the time my shift came around to run with her, at 11pm, she had already covered 70 miles. For those of you that are Harry Potter fans, remember the scene in the sixth book where Harry has to force Dumbledore to drink the poisonous potion, and Dumbledore begs and pleads Harry to stop? That’s kind of what my experience pacing Maggie was like. Especially when I had to force her to eat yet another freaking Gatorade gel. There were some bright moments though. We saw the glowing eyes of a deer just feet away from us, we watched in awe as a runner glided through the night alone without a pacer, and we cheered with relief as we came upon aid stations. Plus, I’m happy to report that she finished the race, thanks in small part to my help.

This photo was taken around midnight, about 80 miles into my friend's race

For Thanksgiving we visited Owen’s brother, Pat, and his wife, Grace, in Colorado Springs. The highlight of the trip was a hike up into the mountains above the Air Force Academy. I use the term “hike” loosely. The trail was covered in snow and ice, so while we were able to will ourselves up the mountain, the descent got a little interesting. Everyone in our group of six had slightly different strategies for getting down. Two people carried hiking sticks and held them like canoe paddles to slow themselves down. I assumed a crouched position and slid down on my feet, grabbing trees and branches to steer. Grace’s youngest brother slid down on his back. And of course, Owen somehow hiked upright, as if there was no ice whatsoever. He was followed by Penny, Pat and Grace’s dog, who would look back at the rest of us every so often as if to say “What the hell is taking you so long?”

Garden of the Gods- another highlight of our Thanksgiving trip

Penny patiently waiting for Owen to catch up

On the way home from Colorado our flight was delayed by six hours, so we were bored as hell in the airport. As we were wandering around to kill time, I almost ran into someone who looked just like my friend Madeline. Now, we’ve all seen look-alikes of our friends, but this person looked so eerily similar to Madeline that I incredulously said aloud “Madeline?” Turns out, it actually was my friend! We hugged as I held back tears because we hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year. All my anger about our delayed flight disappeared on the spot, and we spent the next couple hours catching up over lunch with her and her boyfriend.

Crossing the Rockies on our flight

I’ve been tossing around the idea of doing a long solo backpacking trip, but for all the camping and backpacking I do, I’d never actually spent a single night alone in the woods. I finally mustered up the courage to do a short solo overnight trip back in December. Looking back, it might not have been the best time of year to make my debut. It got dark at 5pm, and for hours I had nothing to do but read a book (A Walk in the Woods, of course, but I had to skip over all the scary sections about dangers they encountered on their hiking trip). The bottom line, though, was that I did it. I also discovered a nice perk of going it alone: you can have the entire pot of mac and cheese all to yourself.

Evidence of my solo trip

I hiked quickly to make it to camp before the sun set 

Back in December, we went on a most unusual excursion to the Esalen Institute in Big Sur. We've been hearing about the allures of this mystical place for years: it’s an exclusive wellness retreat, but it opens its hot springs up to us plebeians (aka the public) every night from 1-3am. We finally scored hard to get reservations for the hot springs, and followed the precise instructions to arrive at 12:45am and park and wait on the highway. At 1am on the dot, a guide from the resort escorted Owen and I and about 20 others through the dark grounds of the resort. The hot spring baths were perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. It was so dark I could barely see, which was probably a good thing given that the baths were clothing optional. If you're wondering, yes, some people actually did get naked, though Owen and I did not, at least not this time. I have a feeling we'll be back though. For two hours, all we did was lounge in the hot baths under the clear night sky, watching shooting stars and listening to the waves crash below us. This might be one of the most woo-woo things I've ever said, but it's completely true: As we floated, weightless, in the water, our minds floated off into a state of nirvana. Much more effective than my meditation app...

We made our annual pilgrimage to the motherland (New Jersey) for the holidays, and as always it was so worth it. Heck- the pizza, cookies, and bagels alone made it worth it. This year there were a couple special events: I got to experience the stereotypical wedding dress shopping at a boutique with my mom, sister, and grandma, but with a twist: they served the champagne in cans! Another unexpected twist came at the Santa Con 5 mile race my sister, her boyfriend, and I ran: milk and cookies at the aid stations! I gladly grabbed a cookie but I was not about to down a glass of milk during a run. We also got to spend a lot of time with Owen’s 2-year-old nephew who is obsessed with tools and tries to take apart anything he gets his hands on. I have a feeling him and Owen will get along very well as he gets older.

We haven’t lived in a place with a “real” winter in years, so we’ve been dying to get our snow fix. New Jersey didn’t have much snow but luckily the mountains in California have been getting blasted. Since I've moved here, I've looked on with envy at all the skiers and snowboarders exploring the Sierras. This year, I finally vowed to become one of them and brush up on my snowboarding skills. I’ve taken two lessons so far, and it’s been super helpful, plus really entertaining. I watched one woman literally cartwheel down the mountain, and I saw another woman’s snowboard slide all the way down the mountain...without her.  

Brushing up on my snowboarding skills

I've been making progress: on my birthday trip to Lake Tahoe a few weeks ago, I spent half a day snowboarding with Owen on blue (medium) runs with only a minor breakdown and slight fears about flying off a cliff. Plus, the views we got of Lake Tahoe were incredible, the type of views I imagined only the gnarliest skier on the blackest of black diamond runs would get. On day two of our trip, we shifted into lower gear and enjoyed a mellow cross-country skiing excursion in a National Forest, stalking dogs and enjoying adult beverages.

Still can't believe I had this view where I was snowboarding

I was freaking out about how gorgeous Lake Tahoe was in the setting sun

Taking in the National Forest

To be clear, snow in the mountains of California is normal this time of year. Snow in the Bay Area, however, is not. When it snows here, people lose their minds (myself included). So when I found snow on my trail run yesterday, I was whooping and hollering like a little kid! I heard that last week, when a major highway got snow, people were literally stopping their cars in rush hour traffic to get out and play in the snow. I've decided that the weather in the Bay Area is having an identity crisis. Since the new year, I've run in everything from sunny, 70 degree weather to torrential downpours to blizzard conditions.

January 12: hot and sunny

A gorgeous winter day on the trails

I can't get enough of the winter sunsets 

February 10: I found snow!

In between our travels, we have delved into the depths of wedding plan, and I’ve been frequently referencing the chapter in my wedding planning book titled “Oh! You Mean I Have to Plan This Thing?” Two recent major successes: we chose our menu and got a free boozy dinner out of the deal, and I confirmed my wedding dress fits me, after two of my coworkers came over to help me put it on- those things are tricky, and it's not like I could ask Owen for help!

Speaking of coworkers, as you may know, I work in local government which means I don’t get nearly the same perks Owen does working for a tech startup. Don’t get me started about the free meals, parties, and swag he gets. Recently, though, I had a work day worth getting envious over. In the name of team bonding, my team went kayaking and saw multiple baby sea otters, then explored the Monterey Bay Aquarium, and capped the day off with ice cream sundaes from a Ghirardelli chocolate shop. Take that, private sector!

Kayaking in the Elkhorn Slough (Photo creds to my coworker John)

Overall, it's been a great winter but I'm itching to go on a bigger adventure, so it's a good thing we have one coming up. Stay tuned!

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