After emptying an apartment in Portland and officially moving into Dandy, my first big stop was Crater Lake National Park. I had spent years intending to visit but always seemed to be traveling too far east or west while heading in and out of town on road trips.

Knowing snow steadily fell well outside normal winter months, late June felt like a reasonable time of year to find warmer weather and less snow. The temperature was as expected. Cooler than lower elevation areas in the state, but enjoyable with an extra layer of gear.

The snow, on the other hand, had barely melted and intermittently flurried as numbers on the elevation marker ticked up.

A paved lot was mostly plowed and available for parking, coming in from the north, providing my first view of the lake. The bluest color I have ever seen in nature. So extraordinary, it deserves a dedicated future post.

Several miles of driving on the same road revealed peak snowpack. Dandy stands just shy of ten feet (with the cross bars and solar panel), and the snow was well above us.

I had never driven on a road with tall snow walls on either side. A somewhat claustrophobic experience, having no idea how many more miles were closed in ahead. Turned out to be only a few, allowing my knuckles to mostly relax on the steering wheel.

Another surprise was only seeing two other people, despite spending hours in the park.

One encounter was steps away from the first parking lot. He was walking down from the lake view as I was heading up. Smile wide, shaking his head, he said my mind was about to be blown. It was.

The second person was in a car heading the opposite direction on the snow surrounded road. We briefly locked wide eyes, in disbelief. As if silently asking each other whether the calendar still planned to read July the following week.

If memory serves correctly, one more snowstorm came through the park a few days later, before winter officially ended.

The entire drive along Crater Lake was full of wonder and excitement. Paving the way for an unforgettable introduction to calling the great outdoors home.

As always, thank you for being here.

Spring is calf season in Yellowstone. Energetic light brown baby bison curiously explore the valleys this time of year. A much larger and cautious mom is almost always nearby.

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As the first day of a brief visit in the park ended, I slowly drove along the Madison River. Toward the west entrance, Montana, and a restful night of sleep.

A herd of bison came into view, walking beside the river with a handful of little calves in tow. Having only ever seen one or two babies at a time, I decided this moment was worth a delayed exit from the park.

I knew several convenient pullouts and small parking areas were ahead. Stopping in the largest one seemed logical since it had the best incoming view of their likely path.

Trying to contain my excitement, I hopped out of the car and found a safe spot to sit by the grass. Giving the bison ample space to roam.

Patience paid off, in so many ways.

The bison swam across the river in pairs, chased geese while drying off, and walked along the valley floor. Getting closer with each activity and step. Knowing this was a unique experience, I took long breaks from capturing photos to enjoy their delightful playtime with my own eyes.

Between giggles and big smiles, this happened. Mom came to a standstill, and baby went in for a drink. One mom and nursing bison calf soon turned into two, then three, until all the little ones were being fed.

One by one, each calf finished and began playing while the moms leisurely continued onward. This sweet calf nursed for about fifteen minutes before running off to catch up with the rest of the herd.

Just another evening stroll for these moms and babies. An extraordinary, once in a lifetime memory in nature for me.

As always, thank you for being here.

An evening drive to capture sunset photos landed me in a scenic but curiously full dirt parking lot.

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One Friday evening, while living in Arizona, I found myself wanting to be closer to the setting sun. In all honesty, I needed to go for a drive to get lost for a bit.

A few minutes later, I was in my car driving toward the sun, still visible above the desert horizon. My familiarity with nearby roads quickly faded and the goal of driving somewhere new was easily met.

Paved roads turned into dirt roads. Cookie cutter neighborhoods shifted to the increasingly lost beauty of original, old homes. Everything was a discovery, all of fifteen miles from the front door of my house.

Almost an hour later, I began to recognize the surrounding area. Tucson Mountain Park and the western district of Saguaro National Park were along these quiet roads.

My final “closer to the sun” destination ended up being Gates Pass, on the western side of Tucson. I had been meaning to take a drive through the area, having heard about the lovely views from friends and park rangers.

A small dirt parking area appeared along a paved road, with a few cars parked around the edge. I pulled in, grabbed my camera, and climbed onto the hood of my Jetta. Since the parking was intended for a few nearby trailheads, I assumed the other cars belonged to hikers making their way back before the sun went down.

As the last bit of daylight began to squeeze over mountain peaks, more cars arrived. I shrugged, knowing night hiking can be a fun activity. Though, mountain lions would cause me to pause before hitting a quiet, dark, desert trail.

Satisfied with my photos from this impromptu drive, I packed up my camera, slid off the car, and hopped inside. Delighted with my new sunset spot, I broke the desert silence with the turn of an ignition key.

When my headlights lit up the other cars in the parking area, I noticed steam on the closed windows. Every single car was occupied. Because this was, apparently, make out point.

I laughed the whole way home. And chose a different parking location for future visits.

As always, thank you for being here.

Snow covered saguaros are a rare and beautiful sight. One I’m grateful to have experienced while living in Arizona.

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With no plans for the weekend ahead, I allowed myself to sleep in on a winter Saturday morning. The house was colder than usual when my eyes opened for the day. Stepping into fuzzy slippers, the blanket from the foot of the bed immediately became my snuggly cape.

I instinctively walked toward the east facing window to let in light and mountain views. As the blinds began to peek open, I saw what appeared to be snow. Not a little dusting. A proper snowfall. My hand stopped turning and grabbed the pull string for a rapidly unobstructed view.

Snow was covering everything in sight. The yard had a blanket of white powder. Desert trees were doing their best to balance blossoms and snow. Birds were walking around, playfully confused. And the Rincon Mountain peaks were beautifully snowcapped.

I suddenly had a little pep in my step walking through the house, realizing if my yard was a winter wonderland, saguaros at the same elevation were likely holding snow, too. What a beautiful sight that must be.

WAIT. There are saguaros less than a mile from my doorstep. Go SEE them.

The pep in my step moved to a full-on hustle. Stacking layers of clothing, gathering camera gear, grabbing a snack, finding keys, and switching slippers for boots. I was tripping over my own feet trying to get out the door.

The late morning sun was putting in the work to warm everything up and snow was melting. Quickly.

A few minutes of driving and I was in the mountain foothills, surrounded by saguaros. Welcomed by lingering clouds and a gentle glow around each cactus. Thankfully, there was still enough snow on the arms to capture a few photos.

As I stood beneath the saguaros, pressing the shutter button, clumps of snow fell to the ground. Narrowly missing my head as I jumped out of the way. Onlookers probably thought I was doing a little happy dance on the trail.

Within an hour, the saguaros were free of snow. As if winter never came for a visit below the mountain peaks.

I began setting an alarm each morning. Just in case.

As always, thank you for being here.

A leisurely road trip from the Southeast to Southwest rapidly turned into an aggressive sprint over a few days, thanks to undercooked chicken nuggets.

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The original plan for my first road trip across the country, while moving from the Southeast to the Southwest, involved a mixture of scenic national parks and fun city stops. With Mom as the passenger princess, we had ten days of wiggle room before her flight home to check places off her bucket list.

The night before our departure, I ate chicken nuggets from an undisclosed restaurant and ended up with violent food poisoning. Thank goodness we just cleaned the bathrooms, because I lived on the cool tile floors for three days.

Since a moving truck with all the furniture (and everything else) was already on the road, my mom putzed around an empty house while also taking care of me. Counting down the days until the lease ended and keys needed to be turned in. Sleeping on an air mattress incapable of staying inflated.

On day four, instead of departing Nashville, we finally pulled out of the garage in my packed to the brim Jetta. I turned in house keys through a slot in the realtor’s door while chugging ginger ale. We grabbed gas in town. Then stopped at a trusted restaurant for fresh cooked rice and chicken. I ate four bowls while my mom applauded my efforts and laughed over our travel progress. We were all of ten miles in and the sun was beginning to set.

We grabbed ginger ale on the rocks to go and started driving west. Five hours later, after crossing into a state no longer bordering the Atlantic Ocean, we decided it was time for a full night of sleep. In a proper bed.

Over the next three days, we aggressively drove 1,800 miles. Mom regularly watered the one plant making the move. There were “homemade” conveyor belt pancakes each morning. Unforgettable gas stations. Scorpions in restrooms. A dust storm that resulted in a questionable detour through mountains. Tissue box balancing acts. And my Jetta died as soon as we parked in front of the new house (a catalytic converter sacrifice).

The most anticipated stop on our original itinerary was the Grand Canyon. I really wanted Mom to experience a place that lived on her bucket list for decades. So, approximately four hours after arriving I suggested we rent a car, drive to the Grand Canyon, then come back in time for her flight. There was just enough time to make it work and she was all in!

On the lonely stretch of road to the South Rim, in complete darkness, we met at least 100 elk migrating through the area. Unbelievable. We arrived in our room overlooking the canyon around midnight. Slept a few hours, bundled up, and made our way to the rim to watch sunrise. Truly spectacular.

We spent the day driving the entirety of Desert View Drive, stopping at every single overlook. Out and back. Stunned by each new vantage point. Not far from where the day began, we watched the sun set as colors danced across canyon walls. A remarkable and amazing day.

We eventually found a highway and started driving back to my new home. A very unique spaghetti themed restaurant fed us dinner along the way, for the second day in a row. After forgetting to fill the gas tank in the city, we stumbled upon a random but massive pumps only gas station, with literally nothing else around. We kept asking each other if it was real. Gas flowed and payment was accepted. We were satisfied. On a future road trip I discovered a store, restaurant, and bathrooms were eventually built nearby.

To round it all out, the morning of Mom’s flight was spring forward Sunday and none of our alarms went off. When we woke up, our phones displayed different times. After consulting the internet, we were relieved to learn the earlier time was correct. Saying goodbye still felt rushed.

In the end, only one thing went according to plan. An unforgettable road trip with Mom. We talked, laughed, shed a tear or two, and created memories we still bring up to this day.

As always, thank you for being here.

For every beautiful campsite inside a national park or forest, there were paved parking lots with harsh overhead lighting.

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Parking Dandy outside big box stores and gas stations, with fellow vans and RVs nearby, was a regular occurrence while living on the road.

Only one night landed me in a huge lot all alone. It would be a lie to say I slept soundly. Instead, I rolled around in bed, knowing I was in a safe area and had permission to park, but also quietly wishing another road warrior would roll in. After a few hours of restless sleep, I woke around 2:00 am and noticed my wish had been granted. A small RV parked several lanes over.

Have you ever wondered what it might be like trying to sleep across from an active sawmill? Extremely loud. Little sleep. Options were limited and daylight was running low, so I accepted a noisy night ahead. At least my nieces and nephews enjoyed seeing videos of massive logs swinging in the air the following morning. A win in my book.

The most memorable night was outside Québec City. There were no fewer than 50 vans and RVs, of every size, parked along the entire perimeter of the parking lot. As luck would have it, a concert was going on nearby. We were entertained well into the night by live music and even better company. Couples were dancing in front of their big rigs. Groups of friends sat in circles, strumming along with their guitars and ukuleles. I giggled on the phone, describing the scene to my mom.

Most nights were quiet and uneventful. A discrete nod here and there. Small talk while popping out of vehicles to go use the restroom or stock up on whatever may be needed the next day on the road.

I never experienced the dreaded knock on a window, telling me to leave. Asking permission before parking for an overnight stay certainly helped.

Even though a campground beneath the trees was always preferred, free parking on paved lots allowed me to travel for longer periods of time on a small budget. The tradeoff proved to be well worth the unconventional sleeping locations along the way.

As always, thank you for being here.