The Unexpected
Adventure

I usually don't like to start an adventure story on a somber note — but I suppose to keep true to the path, that is how this one starts. 12 days ago I lost my father to a combination of ALS and pneumonia. My brother flew up from his home in Mexico and my aunt, uncle, and my dad's friends all traveled in for his send off. An experience I will never forget.

The timing was unfortunate. I had a trip planned to visit Zihuatanejo, Mexico since July. But for personal reasons and unforeseen events, I made the decision to cancel. I was upset — I had scored an international flight for less than $200, but when you get deals like that, they don't allow refunds past a certain point. Two days before I was supposed to get on the plane, I made the final decision to forfeit.

But I had promised myself an adventure. And I had promised to deliver adventure stories for the people who enjoy reading them. So I scrambled. I got my van to the mechanic, I got out a map, chose a few destinations, and threw some darts along the route to choose others. I planned and prepared a 3-week road trip in 2 days. So we will see how this goes. Let's go on an adventure.

Rise and shine — time to giggity get going. Well, almost. I shower and mosey about before taking my roommate to the airport. He also had a trip planned and the timing of the universe made it so I could save him a few bucks on an Uber. A delicious mocha with hazelnut syrup gets me perked up. Back home I finish packing the van. I install my new dash ornament next to Jack the Jackelope — Lil Ra looks happy as can be. I lock down the house and I am on the road.

About 50 miles out of Boise something hits me. I start crying a bit. A small flow of emotions comes through as I distance myself from town. I smile — it's good to cry sometimes. I've been holding in a lot. When the sadness trickle was over I got a burst of joy and happiness. As the sun was beaming into the van I continued down the freeway listening to music and podcasts. American Falls, Idaho — no actual waterfall. False advertising. But there is a really cool day use area at the reservoir and a sign explaining the original waterfall was removed to make way for a dam in 1925.

I find a small clearing tucked away in the forest near Yellowstone's west entrance for the night. My mind is spinning. I decide it would be a great night for a magic mushie therapy session. Before my fun I prepare the van and make sure all my tasks are done so I can focus on working through emotional baggage and frolic in the woods with the forest spirits. They hit way faster than I anticipated. After a few hours I've had my fill of the heightened states and return to the van. 33 degrees outside. My propane heater is a champ. After some reflection and reconciliation of emotions, I emerge from my little therapy session. I eat, write a bit, and figure out my organization in the van. A solid first day.

Under 25 degrees last night. I thank the area in the forest for having me and toodle down the dirt path. Destination: Yellowstone. Right before the western entrance I hit a small town in Montana called West Yellowstone. A statue of a buffalo. I look around and really enjoy the vibe — small mountain town, quaint, next level souvenir shops. The visitor information center is remarkably helpful. An older gentleman named Dan helps me out with a map.

At the entrance gate — only 1 or 2 other cars. The government shutdown meant no entrance fee. Lucky me. Two Ribbons Trail — a wooden boardwalk framing an area that burnt in the late 80s. The landscape around the geysers was something from a martian world — beautiful colors of micro life and sediment forming into a miraculous blend. Fountain Paint Pots: steaming hot water mixing with rock, breaking it down in a continuous cycle creating bubbly pools of hot mud.

Old Faithful. I just missed the eruption. Still an amazing sight. I walked to an off-shoot area with a bear warning. No one else was around. I decided I wanted to continue. As I am writing this it is safe to say I was not attacked by a bear. But it was a really cool experience. My senses were elevated as I slinked through the woods to the Solitary Geyser — and damn it was worth it. Serene. I continued to Observation Point — a sky view of Old Faithful. Gorgeous. I saw Old Faithful burst from a distance but couldn't react in time to get a picture. Beautiful.

Due to the government shutdown, only one campsite was open in the entire national forest — 30 spots, first come first serve. I took the risk. I got there. All the spots were taken and the sun was going down in 30 minutes. I get my map — no cell service in the park. I head toward the north entrance to a town called Gardiner. A Priceline hotel room. Overly priced for a 2 star Super 8, but honestly, I had an amazing day, so it was worth it. A local watering hole called The Yellowstone Mine. A Fluffy Cow Hazy IPA and an Old Faithful Pale Ale. Both pretty tasty. Some jalapeño poppers. I don't know why, but I've been enjoying a bit of spice today.

I did not sleep well. Tossing and turning. I check out and get some gas. Back toward the north entrance at Mammoth — I get an open campsite for the night. Happy day. A $25 campsite is much better than hotel prices around here.

Along the way to some waterfalls I see a trailhead. Something told me to check it out. Hellroaring Creek Trail — back country, no safety guarantee, warnings of wildlife. I didn't change my shoes. So I do this whole hike in my Sketchers loafers. A little way into the hike, my Randy senses spiked. I look up. A buffalo standing about 30 feet away from me, eating some grass. I am excited, terrified, giddy, and cautious all at the same time. He was massive. I speak to him in a gentle voice. I ask him if I can continue down the trail and he snoots and nods. So I walk past him and get a picture. I was so happy.

A suspension bridge over a gorge. A dense, spooky ravine where I could see animal prints I was supposed to stay away from. It opens up into a golden plain. Standing in the heart of the backcountry of Yellowstone, I take a minute to appreciate the beauty. Over some rolling hills I finally see the creek. With a name like Hellroaring Creek, I was hoping for a bit more, but this one was about the journey. On the way back: cow elk on the path. Mating season. I wait, talk to them for a bit. They let me get about 10 feet away. Another blessing. Ten minutes from the van, another buffalo — grazing on the trail path. I get super close. Beautiful, majestic, gentle giants and I was honored.

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone. The lower falls observation point — 600ft decrease of elevation in 3/8 of a mile. Steep. Beautiful. Of course there was a guard rail. Of course I jumped over it to sit on the edge of the falls. The upper falls — same story. I couldn't get as close to this one's edge, but it was still a rush. I stopped at all the lookout points. Inspiration Point. Looking down into the canyon, it moves your emotions in many ways. For whatever reason the composition of that specific area was a different kind of special. A glacial boulder — it even had a sign. I had to get a picture.

I was speeding home in the dark and almost hit an elk on the side of the road. Would have been the end of that poor animal and definitely the end of the van. After that close encounter, I eased off the speed and took my time.

A chocolate raspberry coffee with 2 shots from the Mammoth Lodge. Magnificent. The Mammoth Hot Springs — not the kind you can sit in, the water is too hot and acidic, but the mixture of minerals, volcanic heat, and ground water have created a wonderful sight. The Mud Volcano area: Black Dragon's Cauldron, Dragon's Mouth Spring, roaring and pushing water up from the vents deep underground. Yellowstone Lake — breathtaking and very windy. I collect a cool rock from the beach area.

I tip my hat to Yellowstone National Park and pass through the exit at 1:21pm. I drive through the mountains and country until I reach Cody, Wyoming. A local joint called The Silver Dollar for a burger and a beer — it was clear I was not a local. They were very kind after they all looked at me in a very judgmental way. That's normal on these kinds of journeys.

A small mountain town called Ten Sleep. I love it here. The vibes were on point — mainly known for mountain climbing and the local bars were proud of it. Driving quickly up the mountain, I find a spot off the highway that leads down to a fire pit right next to the river. The previous campers had left enough firewood — I didn't need to use mine. Blessings. My first campfire of the trip. As I sit next to the fire in my Ninja Turtle pajama pants and my Zelda beanie, I write this entry. I hear the gentle roar of the river. This has been a great day.

Day 5 was mostly a travel day. The caves I wanted to see — Jewel Cave and Wind Cave — were both under controlled burns due to the government shutdown. For those that don't know, the NPS intentionally lights fire to the forest floor to promote continuous growth. The fire reduces brush and dead debris to ash and carbon that the strong, healthy plants consume to grow. I understand this, but because it robbed me of a cave visit, I was pissed about it.

Hot Springs, SD saved the day. I expected a hot spring to soak in. There wasn't one — just the town's mineral springs feeding it from underground. But then I start looking around. This town is beautiful. A small waterfall and a river in the middle of it. Seven springs. And then I see the statue on the roof of a gazebo — a woman holding a pitcher of water. This symbol represents the biblical image of Rebekah, or the Greek mythological image of Iris — same symbolic meaning, two different languages. I have seen this symbol in my visions many, many years ago. So this hits me hard. I fill my water bottle with this magic water.

Day 6: Evans Plunge — an indoor mineral pool. I sit in the mineral spring-fed hot tub. It was heavenly. The Mammoth Site: a life-size recreation of a Colombian Mammoth dressed up for Halloween. The dig site is huge — the bone bed littered with fossils left in place for tourists to see. Still an active dig site. Then the Fossil Finder, where I meet Frank Garcia. Frank is an absolute badass — worked with the Smithsonian, found 12 new species of animals, has his own ABC documentary and a published music album on Spotify. The most impressive fossil: a massive sea-dwelling mosasaurus hanging from the ceiling with its head sloping down to a center display. Truly remarkable. We talked about Eisenhower, Area 51, JFK, and the mob. He showed me newspaper articles to his connections. Needles Highway: one beautiful view after another. I climbed way further than I had planned but got caught up in the beauty and the challenge. A cross of light in the sky at one of the pull-offs. I try not to put too much of that in my stories because it's hard to digest for readers sometimes.

Today was an extremely special kind of day. A little back story on why I've been so excited to see the big heads of South Dakota. My Grandma used to take me on road trips quite frequently in my youth. It is where I got some of my adventurous spirit and I still have the stories she wrote from them. Those stories inspired me to start writing and documenting my own adventures. Anyways, before she passed, she always said she wanted to make it to see Mt. Rushmore, but for whatever reason, she never did. We talked about it often.

Driving down the highway, I see a sign that catches all of my attention. Helicopter tours. I pull in and inquire. The pilot says they'd be good to go at around noon. I am bursting with excitement but tried my best to keep my cool. Two hours until my ascent into the sky, so I drive up to the monument to scout it out. I don't know if it was the song I had playing or just an emotional memory, but when I rounded the corner and first saw the mountain, a tear rolled down my cheek. I felt like I had completed something really important.

The Avenue of Flags. Flags from the states and territories of the United States all waving in the wind as you walk under them, leading to a view of one of the greatest accomplishments of modern times. Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt, and Lincoln all piercing the sky with their stoic expressions. It was breathtaking.

Back to the helicopter tour. My first experience in a helicopter. The take off is smooth. We coast through the air over the Black Hills — the Spires, several lakes, an old watch tower, Mt. Rushmore, and the current construction of the Crazy Horse sculpture. Then the turbulence hits. Since flight is different in a helicopter than a plane, gusts of wind push us around in the sky, corrected by the tail rotor, then pushed again. The pilot didn't seem worried, so neither was I. We are in the air for just under 40 minutes. It wasn't long enough.

I discovered I left the back of the van open the entire time I was gone — over 2 hours probably. Nothing was missing. Very, very lucky. Down the highway to a little town called Keystone: The National Presidential Wax Museum. Full scenes of historic moments and an audio tour for each president. Life and death masks — plaster casts of the subjects face to ensure proper depictions through time. This practice goes as far back as the ancient Egyptians. They still do it today.

Not much of an entry today. Unless visiting a laundromat and driving for 5 hours counts. Oh, and I received a $60 speeding ticket from a very nice North Dakota police officer. That was fun, and honestly, well deserved.

But I hit the final U.S. town before crossing into Canada. In Dunseith, ND, I met Wee'l the turtle. For those who don't know, I absolutely love turtles. This turtle was a gigantic metal sculpture made entirely of car wheels. It was quite a sight. Two lost dogs followed me around for a bit. Good puppos, but they scampered off after they realized I didn't have any food for them. I found a little camping spot a few minutes out of town. Looking forward to my invasion of a foreign land tomorrow.

The International Peace Garden sits directly on the border of the United States and Canada — a symbol that promises peace and dignity of both nations. All citizens of both countries for over 200 years have been able to live without war and aggression. Due to the time of year the flower beds were bare, the leaves falling off trees. Still beautiful, but I would imagine it is gorgeous in spring and summer.

Then the fun started. Apparently I look a little suspicious. They ask all the standard questions and a lot more that were maybe a bit invasive. So they call an officer to the station to create a level of scare and intimidation. Quietly laughing was not the right response. The customs agent kindly asks me to follow her into a holding room. And yes, they are as small and cramped as in the movies. They grill me as to why I'm there, if I'm meeting anyone, and why I chose this specific route. They ask to inspect the van. This was a task. For anyone who has seen the van, there are many compartments and a full kitchenette in the back. So this took some time. I asked if I could get a picture of them tearing my home on wheels apart — they were kind enough to let me. Canada doesn't mess around with foreign visitors. That kind of Canadian polite while being stern and professional. Three hours total. But on a happy note: my passport got stamped for the first time.

The highway drops me off in Boissevain, Manitoba. There I meet Tommy the Turtle — a humongous turtle statue holding both a Canadian and a U.S. flag. There is no transition between MPH and KPH. It just starts on the metric system immediately. And when I stopped for gas — 100kph translates to roughly 65mph, by the way — the decibel is in a weird spot on the pump so it seems like you're paying an astronomical amount. But it turns out to be about the same as home. A little town called Kipling in Saskatchewan had the world's largest paperclip. A ginormous red paperclip along with a plaque affirming it was a world record. When I asked for an IPA at the local bar, they looked at me as if I was a special kind of stupid. They suggested a Budweiser. As to not be difficult, I reluctantly agreed.

Day 10: No story today. Today was just for me. Happy Halloween everyone. Eat lots of candy.

Day 11: I wake up in Calgary, Alberta. A big city with a lot of diversity in people and in architecture. Good Earth Coffeehouse makes a damn fine mocha. The Calgary Tower — 626ft tall. They had a section of the floor that was glass, with the view of the street over 600ft below me. I've seen them on videos but had never experienced one. So as I was prancing about on the glass, dancing in the anxiety of the vertigo, I was able to get a few good pictures. Banff National Park. An hour and a half drive but some torrential downpour — the locals didn't seem to mind blasting down the freeway with little to no visibility. I had some fun integrating into their customs. After the rain slowed it revealed a beautiful and powerful mountain with clouds at different elevations. The town of Banff: a resort mountain town beautifully built right alongside the forest. I had a beautiful talk with the forest before heading back.

Day 12: The rain turned to snow overnight. I woke up to beautiful snow-capped mountains. Johnston Canyon: a well-maintained trail with a guard rail the entire distance up to the upper falls. One gorgeous sight after another. A small cave to pass through before seeing the lower falls. I met a great dude who happened to be a tattoo artist. After the upper falls I saw a sign: the Inkpots, 3,000m away. Under 2 miles. I start the path. The trail after this point was more natural — rocky, snowy, icy through the deep woods of Canada. I fell into an active meditation on my hike there, talking with the forest, working through some things. So when I got there I didn't even realize I had just hiked almost 2 miles. I snapped back in and looked at the beautiful multi-colored underground pools resting on a hillside. Each pool was a different color depending on the speed of water flowing up through them. I followed a little trail off towards the sound of a river and came up to a magnificent clearing. I scampered about and then I needed to start back. I had hiked for about 5 hours total. A pub burger and a pint that evening was amazing.

Day 13: It is the day I leave Banff. I'm not feeling any urgency as this place is amazing and I don't want to go. I start driving towards Osoyoos. On a very steep uphill part of the road, the battery light starts flashing. My alternator in the van blew. I am upset. I know it can't travel far and I don't want to be stuck needing a jump in the middle of the woods. I make it to a town in British Columbia called Sicamous. I find the local mechanic — he diagnoses the van and quotes me a not so unreasonable price. They can't get the part until morning. Brothers Tavern: good food, good beer, and a great flavor of local people. I like to people watch, and there was a lot of entertainment. The people were welcoming, nice, and had their own seasonings of Canadian goodness. Authentic Canadian fish and chips and a yellow dog IPA. The mechanic let me stay in his parking lot for the night.

Day 14: The mechanic had the part delivered at 9am. While waiting I walked around town and learned that this town has a lake monster named Shuswaggi. I have to investigate more. Although I didn't see the lake monster, the local shops did an amazing job of selling me a t-shirt with him on it. Their lake is larger than Loch Ness, so I suppose it would stand to reason it could house a cryptid. I love stories like this. Poutine at a local diner called G&Gs — seasoned french fries, cheese curds, slathered in brown gravy. Delicious. Comfort food to the max. Val the mechanic and I talked for a bit — he had lived in the states for several years. We traded some money so I had a bit of their colorful money here for a souvenir. I get on the road immediately. I have some time to make up.

Day 15: Rain, grey sky, mountains peeking out from behind clouds. Pretty in its own way. I make sure I've cleansed the van of anything that might hold me up at the border. I go to start it. Click. Nothing. My face turns to dread. Fortunately the mechanic had just forgotten to tighten the negative battery terminal down. A few quick turns of a bolt and I'm on my way. Crossing back into the U.S. was under 20 minutes this time as opposed to the 3 hours going in. A true testament to the U.S. mindset vs the Canadian mindset. The customs agent essentially said "you were probably searched going in, so you're probably good. Have a good day sir." Driving through northern Washington is beautiful. Multi-colored trees and grasses of the season complimenting the mountain sides on an earth-toned canvas. Gorgeous.

Day 16: All of Mt. Rainier was closed due to the government shutdown. A nice little campsite and a few good movies made it a good night. Day 17: I wake up from a weird-feeling campsite and just packed up the van and headed out. Maybe the universe course correcting me to ensure I get a good final week. Mt. Hood National Forest. I land on Mirror Lake Trail — a pleasant hike, only a few rough spots where the rain made it challenging. With the fog and the little rivers and scenes along the way, it felt like I was walking in an enchanted forest. The lake: a beautiful reflection of the trees against the grey sky, read like music. The walk around the lake went ok until one of the floating boards completely submerged as soon as I put my weight on it. As did my right boot. Cold and soggy boot for the rest of the hike. This didn't distract me from the beauty though. I camped by Frog Lake in the dark — driving around Mt. Hood back roads in what felt like midnight at 6pm.

Day 18: The sun blasted into the van through my curtains for an alarming but beautiful morning. Blue sky. My first clear weather in a few days. Frog Lake in the daylight was peaceful and worth it. On to Willamette National Forest. Sisters, Oregon — always a great experience. A small local museum with a supposedly Viking mummy once on display at a Barnum circus. Koosah Falls: every bit as beautiful as I remembered from years ago. A wonderful concoction of beef, chili, and cheese sauce for dinner around the campsite.

Day 19: Hot springs — a single pool rested between a mountain and a river, with moss, leaves, fell trees, steam and bubbles coming up from the pool. No one else there. I enjoy my morning soak and watch a fly fisherman downstream, mesmerized by his flow and technique. Then up to Koosah Falls and beyond. I climbed a waterfall. The lava rock that formed the area cooled in such wonderful patterns while the river carved its path through to make a beautiful landscape. I wandered along the river for hours until I got to a part I couldn't cross safely alone. I thanked the forest spirits for sharing this experience. I found an easier path back down. I built a fire, cooked some cheese and broccoli soup, and watched Tomb Raider. Tomorrow: the Tamolitch Blue Pool.

Day 20: The Tamolitch Blue Pool. 2 and a quarter miles in, I come to the first view of the pool. Magical. No picture of this place will ever describe its beauty. Tamolitch is an old waterfall that no longer is fed from a river above it — freezing cold water flows upward from underground tunnels formed by volcanic activity. I set up my mini chair, got my stove out and prepared my soup. A few groups found their way down while I was cooking. They were all very kind. After I had my fill, it was time to run around and explore. The lava rock bowl that houses the pool needed to be climbed. Most of it had grip, though the rocks were a bit slippery. One area was sheer vertical. I got stuck a few times. The feelings hit. I don't want to fall in freezing water but I'm stuck and can't change direction. After a breath and an intentional relaxation of my jitters, I found a good hold to swing from and plant my foot to change positions. Smooth sailing after that.

Let me tell you about the off-road capabilities of the 2005 Kia Sedona. The road to Alder Springs Trailhead was definitely meant for trucks. Rocks, washouts, dips, and holes for almost 5 miles. I almost turned back at the halfway point, but I felt somewhat confident in the van's abilities. Worth it. The trail slowly dropped into a canyon, opening up into large sedimentary rock formations. Many others had carved their names into some of them so I decided to have some fun and do the same. Further down it led to some grass and dense wooded area — lush and vibrant at the bottom of the canyon while the top was dry desert. A contrast worth seeing. I waded through the river — not too deep, but cold and strong. Two deer on the trail — they didn't mind me passing through. A wall of rock on the other side with trees and moss grown down, water flowing through the foliage, creating several lines of water dropping into the river. Really pretty. The rest of the day was spent driving. Not too far from home for the night. Two more stops just north of home before this trip is over.

I wake up with a lot of excitement. I decided to go up to Kirkham Hot Springs and camp in the area for my last night. A hot spring sounds so amazing to relax and reflect on my adventure. Coffee in hand, I make my way to the freeway. I make it about two miles.

"Clunk." I jerk forward as the van slows abruptly. It won't accelerate. I get over to the shoulder. "Click, click, click." Nothing. After a while, a tow truck gets the van to an AAMCO in Caldwell. They diagnose the van and refer to what happened as "the kiss of death." The timing belt shred, causing a piston to hit a valve. I am silent. It hurts.

I take a walk to clear my head. Naturally when I am in a position of such predicament, I do the only sane thing there is to do. I call my mommy. I would like to say that I have the most amazing mother in the world. She has bailed me out of hard places, she has been there every time I have truly needed help. So Mom, Virginia — thank you. When she answers I explain what happened. She tells me my step-dad Mike is on his way to rescue me.

I start emptying the van. The only way to fix it is to drop a new motor in — not very cost effective considering what it would have cost and the van's value. As I gut the contents of my baby, I am experiencing very hard emotions. I love this van. I built it. It has been with me through so much. Because I have stocked the van for almost every adventure situation, I have a fair amount of the parking lot covered with miscellaneous camping equipment. As Mike enters the lot, he sees my humongous pile of stuff. I see him burst up laughing. He asks how I am going to get all of it in the car. I laugh heavily at the task instead of crying. I meticulously pack and Tetris all of my bags and equipment into the car.

When it is time to go, I am disheartened. I take some last pictures of my home on wheels and look at all of the stickers I have accumulated. I have a moment to say goodbye, and we are off. We pull up at my house and unpack. I thank Mike again as he drives off. This was definitely not how I was hoping to end this unexpected adventure.