“Is there anyone from Texas out there?” hollered the rodeo compere. Small sections of the crowd yelled acknowledgment. “Howdy y’all!”.

“Anyone from Minnesota here tonight?” A similar response from the crowd and a warm greeting from the compere: “How y’all doin’?”

“Any Californians out there?” Roar of approval and enthusiastic foot stomping from the audience. “Hey you Californians, welcome to America!”

“And welcome y’all to Cody, Wyoming, Rodeo capital of the world!!!”

Being at a rodeo felt just so delightfully and stereotypically American. Gutted I didn’t have my cowboy hat with me. And you’ve gotta love how the US claim global dominance in a field that barely exists outside its boundaries. Still, we were in cowboy country and we were embracing it.

I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from a rodeo. From bucking broncos to bull riding, and steer wrestling to barrel racing, it was certainly entertaining. There were some spectacular falls and more lassos than you could shake a stick at.

But the highlight of the night was when all the kids in the audience (aged 12 and under) were invited into the arena. The host patiently explained what would happen next. Two cows with red ribbons attached to their tails would be released into the arena. The children’s task would be to remove said ribbons from said cows’ tails (while leaving the tails themselves on the cows). With a smirk and a raised eyebrow, I caught Darren’s eye as we wondered what they were really going to do.

Sure enough, into the stadium came two (not full grown) cows, flashes of red visible on their tails. Bring on the It’s a Knockout/Hunger Games version of Pin The Tail on the Donkey. The crowd of marauding kids ran like zombies on a mission to chase the cows down. And those cows weren’t hanging around.

I was quite relieved when two young boys emerged victorious, claimed their prize of a free burger & fries and just like that, the stampede was over. Wonder what the cows had to say to each other before they retired for the night?

The Wild West theme continued into our campsite, perched above Buffalo Bill reservoir just a few miles out of Cody, in Buffalo Bill State Park. Fab spot to spend a week, and we even inadvertently met up with another BaseCamp.

Some of our morning walks took us into what felt like the heart of cowboy country.

And we couldn’t leave Cody without experiencing the old town street gunfight, apparently “this free & entertaining shoot-out is listed as a ‘must see’ on the list of things to do in Cody”. We armed ourselves with a beer from the historic Buffalo Bill’s Irma hotel but even that couldn’t save what at best was a tragically amateur performance.

Nevertheless, I certainly felt like I came, I saw and I experienced Cody cowboy country.

Helena is the state capital of Montana, who knew. Formerly a gold rush town in the late 1800s, it is now an unassuming college town with a population around 30,000.

Notably, we arrived in Helena prior to Memorial Day weekend, when spring turns to summer across the US and with a flick of a switch every man and his dog want to go camping. For this very reason, we’d already made reservations for all of June. But for now, in Helena, we thought we’d be good.

We rocked up on Monday night after work to the Lewis & Clark County Fairgrounds. Side note, a fairground over here has nothing to do with roller coasters, Ferris wheels and bumper cars. It’s more what we call a showground in the UK. They often have a rural campground and are generally centrally located to boot.

Unfortunately for us, the campground was roped off and the place was deserted. We pulled over to consider what plan B might be. Out of nowhere, a security guard zoomed over in his car with flashing yellow lights. Uh-oh, are we in trouble?

The guy could not have been more helpful. He opened up the campground for us, explaining that they rope it off to stop the boy racers using it as a midnight racetrack.

For us, it turned out to be a very spacious, tranquil spot for the week.

Helena had its fair share of morning walks to choose from, with flat calm lakes and open meadows in Spring Meadow State Park, and a steep ascent up Mount Helena, with fantastic 360 views.

The co-working space was abuzz with the latest headline on the local news site: Two moose take a stroll through Helena fairgrounds. Of course not while we were in the vicinity, but maybe the BaseCamp saw them wander past.

Obviously, we made it to a couple of local craft breweries in Helena: Ten Mile Creek and Lewis & Clark brewing.

The Beartooth Scenic Highway climbs over 5,000 ft through the Rockies, winding its way through lodgepole pine forests with switchbacks to rival the most precarious mountain roads in the Swiss Alps. Not quite our most direct route south after leaving Helena but hey, this is supposed to be a road trip. And we were in luck, the road had just opened for the season the day before.

All that remained was to find a boondocking spot for the night (ideally somewhere slightly warmer than the Beartooth pass), and chill out by the river.

Early start to hit Yellowstone the next day, to hopefully get there before the multitude of other holiday weekend tourists. It was below freezing, and for some reason Darren chose to de-ice the truck windows in his t-shirt.

The Lamar Valley in Yellowstone never disappoints. More than its fair share of bison and at this time of year, cute little calves lolloping along trying to keep up with the herd.

No wolves on our hike in the valley, but plenty of bison and pronghorn deer.

After an hour’s drive into the park and a six mile hike, it was time for breakfast. Found a quiet spot, and out came the grill.

With the remaining drive south through the National Park, that’s when we hit The Real Yellowstone. Otherwise known as The Bison Traffic Jam. Anyone would think they own the place.

Because the nature of our nomadic lifestyle revolves around finding co-working offices (not to mention breweries), we inevitably find ourselves in proper campgrounds. Some times we get lucky camping in a state park by the lake, but then you can’t beat a good boondocking spot in the middle of nowhere.

After leaving Whitefish, we found ourselves an awesome remote spot for the weekend. On the far side of the river: Glacier National Park. On our side of the river: National Forest land, home to the most perfect rustic camping spot, right on the riverbank, surrounded by nature.

With a little stone fire ring already in place, Darren thought it would be a shame to waste it, even though it was still pretty warm out.

And then the sky itself caught fire.

After a week of nightly rumbling, screeching and earthquake-like vibrations in Whitefish, it was such a relief to not be within earshot of those damn trains. Although as far as a good night’s sleep was concerned, the local mice had other ideas. So much smaller than a train but just as mighty. Been there, done that, not going to regale you with any more mouse trapping stories.

Talking of wildlife, we spotted a moose the next day on our way into the park.

The scenery on the way into the park was rugged. The stalwart tree remnants of a 2001 forest fire stood sentry, like proud steel-grey spears of invisible soldiers.

Polebridge was the only two shop stop town between us and Glacier NP. Like a one horse town, only smaller. It consisted of 1) the Polebridge Mercantile, proudly established in 1914, selling huckleberry bear claws and other freshly baked goods along with anything else you might want, including locally made Montana mustard or a stuffed mountain goat head.

And 2) The Northern Lights Saloon.

And so, Glacier National Park, here we come. (Again)

The previous weekend we’d done one of the most stunning bike rides ever, in Glacier NP. This weekend, the hike we did in the park could be categorized as not the most stunning hike ever, in fact maybe even the most underwhelming hike of the trip.

It started off promising, with lovely views as we set off from Bowman Lake. Little did we know they were the best (pretty much the only) views we’d get on the whole walk to Lower Quartz Lake and back.

The main problem was fallen trees. To the extent it felt more like an obstacle course than a hike.

The smaller/lower ones (unfortunately a tiny minority), you could merely step over. Job done, no big deal, what you whinging about.

Most however, required various levels of clambering, arms and legs akimbo, trying to avoid the snapped off branch stumps and knots in precarious places. I am not bendy, supple or good at climbing. I am also not quiet when it comes to expressing my dissatisfaction.

Yet other ‘Tree Blocked Trail’ obstacles required limboing under or crawling under, getting way too up close and personal with the other creepy crawlies on the forest floor. At least I had the upper hand over Darren here, my short legs and frame for once an advantage.

When all else failed and it was impossible to go over or under, the only remaining option was to go around, bushwhacking through the jungle (technically the forest but it felt as dense, impenetrable and inhospitable as a jungle).

To distract from this nonsense on the way back, we decided to count the fallen tree obstacles, coming up with a song with the relevant number in the lyrics. Play along with me then… 🎶

1, 2, 3, easy peasy, starting with Robbie Williams “She’s the One”, then Rolf Harris “Two little boys had two little toys”. Followed by “Three blind mice” (and Three Times a Lady… but quite honestly, once I had three blind mice playing on repeat in my head, it took a momentous effort to move on). Got stuck on six, and felt obliged to loosen the rules to allow ‘similar’ words. What should come to mind but Right Said Fred’s “I’m too Sexy for my …”

With cheat rules enabled, we fared quite well up to nineteen “N-n-n-n-nineteen”. After that, the trees were coming thick and fast, erm, the song lyrics not so much. Should have realized we were on to a loser, I mean who sings about 27, let alone 32. Yes indeed, a total of 32 fallen trees. That’s 8 per mile. Or a total of 64 damn trees to negotiate on the full out and back route. (🎵 When I’m 64…)

What we needed after all that palaver was a wee dram to take away the pain. Well, would you look at that, Glacier Distilling. Don’t mind if I do.

Totally looking forward to going to work on Monday if it means not climbing over/under/around any more trees!

Going To The Sun Road meanders through the rocky mountains of Glacier National Park, Montana, crossing through the Continental Divide via Logan Pass, at over 6,500ft elevation. It’s a bucket list item for many with exceptional views.

While some of the lower sections remain open year round, the higher elevation road is closed due to snowfall for most of the year. It doesn’t fully open to drive through the park until late June/early July, depending on weather conditions and ploughing progress. However, there’s a magic window of opportunity in the Spring when it’s part ploughed and open to bikes only. And we found ourselves there in just that window. Anyone would think we’d planned it.

No need for words, the pictures give the full picture. And there’s no shortage of pictures.

Just a hop, skip and a jump from Glacier NP in northwest Montana is the resort town of Whitefish. A cool place to spend the week, and no shortage of scenery and awesome walks here to fit in around work.

The co-working office in the heart of downtown Whitefish was a home away from home – it was actually called Basecamp.

Whitefish marked the two week point after our J&J vaccination and one week after the CDC announced that masks were no longer required for vaccinated people inside as well as outside. At this point, around 40% of the US population was fully vaccinated. But looking around, there was no way 60% of people were wearing masks. Maybe 5% tops.

So basically the CDC’s attempt to incentivize vaccinations by relaxing the rules for vaccinated people backfired. American businesses threw their hands in the air and their toys out of the pram and said we can’t possibly police this. Virtually overnight, it was as if Covid-19 never existed and masks were a thing of the past. Here’s hoping the third wave isn’t just around the corner.

Meanwhile, we settled into our shady woodland campsite at Whitefish Lake State Park. Nice enough little spot, apart from the slight issue of the trains. The train track was mere inches from the BaseCamp. Which meant inches from my head. Trains in the US are ridiculously long and run at all times of the day and night. Each and every one felt like a powerful earthquake, both inside and outside my head. In short, not a good week’s sleep.

And for the birthday boy, no birthday is complete without a brewery. One by one, Darren’s years-old triathlon and event t-shirts are gradually being replaced by brewery attire. He continued this trend with a little number from Bonsai Brewing Project.

Good birthday food and drink also came in the form of Amazing Crepes for brunch. And literally the BEST tacos outside of Mexico, accompanied by jalapeño margaritas.

I am getting so shamefully far behind with this blog, I can barely remember this far back! So this one could be relatively brief.

We breathed in the last of the salty Pacific North West air and left the ocean behind us for the rest of the trip. As we drove east through Washington state, the Snoqualmie Pass gave us a taste of fresh snow before we hit sunnier skies, continuing into Idaho. Not the potato-laden Idaho of the south, think more mountains, lakes and trees-Idaho.

Just as I thought my tush was recovering from the Seattle bike ride a week ago, here comes another bike ride to put it to the test. A forty miler this time, not insignificant on a mountain bike, even if it was on paved bike paths. The Trail of the Coeur D’Alenes took us from Heyburn State Park, over Chatcolet Lake by way of a super cool mile long pedestrian/bike only bridge. Fantastic lake and mountain views the whole way.

The Cycle Haus coffee shop in quaint Harrison was a thankful sight along the way.

Our home for the week was Blackwell Island RV park in Coeur D’Alene – CDA for short. Lots of other RVs thought it was a good spot to hang out too, a bigger and busier campsite than our recent hangouts. Almost a lakeside view and lots of migrating north-bound Canadian geese for company (they can go where us mere non-Canadian humans can not).

Tubbs Hill was centrally located in downtown CDA, with lots of trails to choose from for our morning walks.

In contrast to the bustling friendly co-working space in Bainbridge, R Mutual Space office in CDA had all the privacy we could want, as we had our own office. Other co-workers were few and far between. Probably a good thing as the only ones who took up residence for a day in the next office had guns holstered on their belts and chanted prayers before starting their meeting.

Didn’t manage to get a photo from our visit to Jeremiah Johnson brewing company in CDA, other than this. Can attest to their beer though, especially the Mountain Man scotch ale.

Looking for a change of scenery on Friday night, we drove a little further north to a small town called Sandpoint. There were no No Camping or No Overnight Parking signs at the City Beach, which was in walking distance of a couple of breweries. We had read some reviews that warned of boy racers using the car park to do laps, but things were relatively quiet as we snuck back into the BaseCamp after visiting the breweries, trying to keep a low profile.

In the morning, Darren squinted through the front window, trying to work out what foreign object lay on the back of the truck. Oh, it’s an egg. Or what remains of it. Seems the local sport is target practice, throwing eggs at trucks.

Ho hum, could have been worse, tis but a flesh wound.

One of the main draws of the Olympic peninsula in the Pacific North West is Olympic National Park. One of my favorite hikes ever lives here, along Hurricane ridge with sweeping mountain, rainforest and ocean views dropping from both sides of the ridge. Should have done our research though… this early in the year, it’s still snowbound. We were vaguely optimistic about getting a view from the car park perhaps. Unfortunately, the weather had other ideas, and a three hour each way drive was looking less attractive in layers of heavy cloud.

We settled instead for a hike in Miller Peninsula State Park. Ticked the rainforest box, and brought us out onto a very cool pebble beach with a view not that different to Port Townsend actually.

Our late lunch reward was Dungeness crab. I’ve heard of Dungeness crab and for some reason I thought it was from Scotland. Turns out Dungeness is a little town right here in Washington. More to the point, it’s the name of the local species of crab. The crabmeat was sweet, delicate and delicious (although personally I could do without all that faffing with nutcrackers for the crab legs, had to have a bit of help from my friends, thanks Darren).

We spent a night at North 47 Brewing, one of our Harvest Host hosts (albeit it was really just more of a public car park with a reduced chance of being moved on overnight by the police).

Darren and I had a big discussion as to why the brewery was called North 47, which resulted in me getting a derisory revision lesson on longitude and latitude. A bit of googling revealed that even though it felt like we were super far north in the US, we were still 2 degrees south of Paris! Who knew.

In fact we’re so far north in the US, we’re practically in Canada. We could almost smell Canada. We could certainly see it. Unfortunately Canada hasn’t relaxed its stance on not letting the riffraff in, so no Alaska road trip for us. 😢 Guess we’ll just have to put up with the Pacific North West, sigh, hard life.

Our last week in the PNW was spent on the small rural island of Bainbridge, a stone’s throw from Seattle. Over the last five years, I’ve been up to Seattle to visit our corporate offices almost once a month, so it’s like a second home to me. After a year and a half of pandemic-driven absence, it felt quite nostalgic to be back.

At the weekend, we took the ferry from Bainbridge to Seattle with our bikes. There was quite a hairy point at boarding where we were directed up the short steep ramp to the top deck with no notice. Heart in my mouth, I downshifted at lightning speed and by some slim miracle, I stayed wide-eyed, upright and in motion. Not my favorite bit.

Once we got to Seattle, the ride was mostly along bike paths, thumbs up. Although someone up there inadvertently set the wind chill to ‘Alaska’ setting, very glad I had my new bike jacket.

Like all good bike rides, it involved pizza and beer. Serious Pie delivered on all counts with their fennel sausage pizza. I have to say though, as a Brit I still struggle with pie. Pie is not pizza. Pizza is pizza and pie is pie. The word pie conjures up first savory: meat and potato pie, steak and kidney pie, I could go on. Failing that, you have pudding: apple pie and any other selection of fruit pies (which should of course be accompanied by custard). But pizza as pie? How did we get here?

The Office XPats office on Bainbridge was fun. Who’d have thought they would have a co-working space on a little island? Not only that, we weren’t the only ones there. It was a friendly atmosphere and they even had a happy hour (to put this in context, in 9 months of co-working this was our first happy hour!). During which, we were turned into minor celebrities for our traveling lifestyle. Not only that, we featured in their member newsletter.

Got our rainforest fix in here on Bainbridge too. Grand Forest turned out to be just that.

While not directly on the waterfront like Port Townsend, the Fay Bainbridge Park campsite in Bainbridge wasn’t too far off. Salty sea air, a pebble beach and driftwood, lots of it. Fun for chilling, for grilling, and strolling.

The campsite was also the perfect place to catch up with fellow Brits who live on Bainbridge island, Richard and Lynne. If there’s one thing that’s lacking in our lives right now, it’s genuine in-person human connection. We layered up and braved the elements for a bbq and catchup. Such a fun night, despite the unintended yet inexcusable error in spiking drinks (all me, sorry again!)!

Probably the biggest milestone on the trip so far was getting our Covid vaccination. Eligibility in the US had just opened up to all adults, more importantly all states were on a level playing field and no need to be resident in the state. We booked online for the Johnson & Johnson vaccine, turned up at the pharmacy at the allotted time, offered up the sacrificial arm, and Bingo. Free to live a normal life. Well almost, just need a two week incubation and for the rest of the world to catch up.

Port Townsend is proper old school. As a Victorian seaport, It’s one of those quaint charming places that make you feel like you’ve stepped back in time. (And of course I’m singing Kylie now). There are no chain stores here – this place is full of one man band boutiques selling jewelry, books, antiques and ice cream. They have a shop that sells nothing but spices and tea. And not forgetting the record shop. You know you’re onto a winner when they have a record shop. While exploring this unique town, you might also want to check out local shops that offer more info on ear plugs for those seeking a little extra comfort during their adventures.

Port Townsend definitely over-indexes on art galleries and vintage clothing. The alluring sign in one of the shop windows offered Nautical, Victorian, Steampunk and Pirate. And I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a fancy dress shop. Eclectic, unique and retro-uncool yet cool, I’d say it’s impossible to not like PT.

We started off with a treasure hunt come trivia hunt, really just an excuse to wander purposefully instead of aimlessly around downtown PT. As part of this you had to take and upload certain pictures and the app would recognize the correct object in the shot (or who knows, maybe it could be a picture of your gran on the toilet and it would still tell you Congratulations! and give you the next clue). I have to say there was a fair bit of cheat googling going on.

After various find this building, name that building, things were looking up when we were told to find some sea otters (could the app have an in-built wildlife tracker?). After a bit of directional searching, we found them. Port Townsend’s equivalent of The Little Mermaid. Statuesque, quite endearing but definitely not going anywhere.

Later, as we strolled around the campsite, a family of not one, not two but five sea otters crossed our path. Real ones this time! They slunk along, dancing intertwined, rolling over each other like acrobats in a circus act. I looked up the collective noun for otters. Turns out it’s a romp of otters, which sums them up perfectly. All they were missing was a backdrop of comedy Benny Hill music.

Our camping spot for the week was just the best. Our site was right on the waterfront, and we were able to park the BaseCamp facing right out onto the ocean. Kept me busy trying to capture the awesomeness of the sky in the BC windows.

One of my favorite things about the BaseCamp is cooking with a view. I pottered around the BC kitchen, while Darren braved the elements in his Seabourn jacket. I ventured out now and again for photo opportunities.

We had no clue there was a blue SuperMoon coming – now that’s what I call nice timing. There we were enjoying the dusk light, watching sea birds bobbing, kids frolicking and couples strolling hand in hand along the beach. And then this big bold globe rose from the horizon right there.

In addition to its random array of shoppes, PT also had a couple of breweries, a waterfront pub with British-style beer garden, and a winery. We manned up and did the lot.

Sitting outside PT winery, I had my eyes on the fire pit all evening. Gave the evil eye and ‘move along’ vibes but nope, nothing was shifting her from the prime spot…

I consoled myself with more wine and crisps. The most expensive crisps in the world. $12 crisps. I’m now getting spammed and stalked on FaceBook by the Wine Chips brigade yet I can’t help but drool at the memory.

Walking around the residential areas in Port Townsend revealed tidy houses with grassy sidewalks resplendent with daisies. The gardens were well cared for, but I noticed an odd trend of wire fences around saplings and plants, some even had their whole yard encased. It didn’t take long to realize why.

Historic Ford Worden State Park was our go to morning walk. Fort Worden was an army base built during the turn of the last century to protect Puget Sound from invasion by sea. There was never actually a hostile shot fired from here, most of the guns were relocated to Europe in the First World War, the remainder supplementing the artillery for World War II. Perched on the northern tip of the Olympic peninsula, it made for good walking fodder.

More importantly, Fort Worden featured heavily in the 1982 movie An Officer and a Gentleman, which was filmed in and around PT. A movie I don’t think I’ve watched since the 80s. Which meant we had to watch it again.

I didn’t have high expectations. I get it, iconic in the early 80’s but could it stand the test of time. Darren and I got into a bit of a Top Gun/Officer & Gentleman war. All pretty similar to me, whereas according to Darren, this was just romantic drivel compared to Top Gun which is an iconic classic. (Best not go down the route of iconic classics or we’ll be watching a re-run of The Sound of Music!)

The verdict? An Officer and a Gentleman fared better than I thought. But the real win was seeing all the local Port Townsend scenery, from the paper mill where the girls worked, to the Tides Inn used for the ‘love scene’, to Fort Worden where the eager young aviation cadets including Richard Gere were based.

Quite honestly, Port Townsend looked kind of quaint and cozy back then. And it hasn’t changed a bit. All they were missing was a supermoon and some otters.

All is not lost Oregon, we love love LOVED Bend and Hood River ❤️ Happy to say we’ve moved on, put our unpleasant experience behind us, and we’re giving Oregon the second chance it deserves.

First up – Bend, our weekend pit-stop just an hour or so’s drive north of Klamath Falls. It impressed from the off by having an REI outdoors store. I was chuffed to bits to be the new owner of a yellow cycling jacket so bright you must be able to see it from space, along with matching helmet. No more enduring chilly temperatures in just a skimpy bike top for me!

Although I didn’t need the jacket for long before the sun came out on our (very tame and admittedly mostly tarmac) mountain bike ride.

Bend is renowned for its breweries, so we ditched the bikes (not making that mistake again) and tried to get round a few breweries on foot – reduced capacity Covid wait times permitting.

My favorite had to be Monkless Brewing, with its abbey theming, strong Belgian style ales and create your own flights. Gutted no tin tackers though.

Crux Fermentation was another strong contender. So good we went there twice (in two days). It helped that it was the closest brewery to our campsite. Crux had a beer garden the size of a park. It also had big, dark, punch-above-your-weight beers to add to our Basecamp cellar.

The downtown campsite in Bend was also a good score. It had a cozy community feel to it, centered around a communal gathering area with a fire pit and corn hole. Probably conceived pre-Covid, but what the heck, it’s outdoors. In addition to the RV sites, there were a number of renovated vintage airstreams and retro-trendy old-school caravans available to rent, so cute. Our little BaseCamp fit right in.

Such a fleeting visit to Bend. We left feeling there was yet more to see and explore (and more breweries to visit). Bend, we’ll be back!

Got ourselves a snow fix as we traveled through Mount Hood National Forest in the vicinity of 11,000ft+ Mt Hood (the highest mountain/volcano in Oregon). One of those almost slushy snow-bound walks, as the sun turned its attention to making spring happen.

Hood River

So Hood River gets bonus points for being over 80 degrees and sunny when we arrived (the city, not the river, I imagine the river’s a bit colder than that). What a contrast to the snow we’d just left. And perfect timing for the BBQ we’d planned at the campsite, with the intention of meeting up with one of Darren’s work colleagues. Somehow no pics, too busy eating and drinking, but good food, good drink and good company, nuff said.

The Columbia River forms the state border between Washington and Oregon. While we were working for the week in Hood River, Oregon (not actually a river), we were staying over the other side of the river, in White Salmon, Washington. Meaning each morning and evening we crossed the long narrow Button Bridge Road drawbridge from state to state.

In the US it’s not that unusual to live and work in different states, so you can imagine how the decentralized and state-individualistic Covid response has wreaked havoc here. Having said that, California, Oregon and Washington are relatively similar in their approach, and measures like mask wearing and social distancing were prolific, required and enforced.

Like Bend, Hood River had such a great outdoor vibe to the place. And what a spot for a co-working office, virtually right on the waterfront, spilling out onto a picturesque walking trail we made use of before, during and after work.

As always, we tried to get out and about for a few other walks.

The highlight of our pre-work morning activities had to be the bike ride we did along the historic Old Columbia River Highway, which runs parallel to but above the much newer Columbia River Highway. I presume the original one wasn’t called ‘Old’ until they built the new one.

Courtesy of the state park, this road is open to bike traffic only, and at that time in the morning we didn’t have too much company. Much of the trail was through trees, with teasing glimpses of the Columbia River occasionally revealed far below. Imagine how awesome it was to emerge to this viewpoint.

Leaving the giant forest of mythical proportions behind us, we moved on to the next US state in the trip: Oregon. First up was an overnight stop at a Harvest Host alpaca ranch near White City (remember, city doesn’t necessarily mean city) in southern Oregon.

The alpaca is the smallest member of the camel family, but about as far from a camel as you can get on four legs. Gentle and adorable, they look at you coquettishly with their big dark eyes and long long lashes, like butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths.

Stroking an animal is well known to be therapeutic. Stroking an alpaca… well, it doesn’t take long to feel the warm glow and inner calm. Is it a domesticated baby llama or Jessica Rabbit in a fluffy white costume? Or maybe just a cuteness overdose on steroids.

Bit of background for you… alpacas are sheared once a year, their shaggy coats are used to make yarn and subsequently lots of other things like cozy socks and woolly scarves. And so we bought some cozy socks and a woolly scarf, and whiled away the evening in the (very peaceful) company of Andean alpacas.

Next up, Crater Lake – deep blue water in a sleeping volcano. Just a quick trip but long enough for the must do pics and to feel the chilly air at 7,000ft pierce the lungs. The snow on the surrounding mountains gave such a striking contrast to the sapphire water, the views were breathtaking.

Still enroute to our work-week destination, we explored some of the non-alpaca related delights of the Rogue Valley. Which amounted to some great hiking, especially around Table Rock, a volcanic plateau with great views of the surrounding area.

The Rogue Valley is also the home of Rogue Creamery, a cheese shop of heavenly proportions. Established in 1933 and still going, they offer a wide range of their own hand-made organic cheeses plus a selectively picked range of outstanding cheeses from around the world. They even have the good business sense to sell all the fancy goodies you could possibly need to create the perfect meat and cheese board. That’s dinner sorted then.

I later realized: we had bagels with jalapeño cream cheese for breakfast, a Rogue Creamery grilled cheese sandwich with Branston pickle for lunch, and a cheese charcuterie board for dinner. Cheese, cheese and cheese. I don’t think I’ve ever had cheese for every single meal in a day before. Isn’t it supposed to give you nightmares or something?

Or maybe a sense of foreboding for our time in Klamath Falls.

We did a couple of nice enough walks along the Link River trail in Klamath Falls, the section of the river joining Upper Klamath Lake and Lake Ewauna (never did see much in the way of waterfalls mind).

And then this happened. My cheese nightmare became reality.

Yup, someone had taken it upon themselves to trash the truck window to break in. Shock, anger, denial, disappointment, frustration. You go through the motions.

Finally comes relief. A realization that it could be so much worse. They took my handbag, which gave them a whole $3 in cash. You’re welcome!

Unfortunately, the car window cost a bit more than that. As for my Green Card replacement, that was $540 and a whole lot of hassle (moral of the story, don’t carry your Green Card in your wallet). But… at least they didn’t steal the truck, then we’d be screwed! And we didn’t have the BaseCamp with us, so no issues there.

I spoke to sooo many call centers over the following days, now there’s a challenge! The hassle of dealing with replacement credit cards was not something I relished. But what was much worse was the violation. That feeling that someone’s breached your personal space and your personal property. Not a nice feeling, actually.

For me, the glass was the manifestation of this violation. And there was glass everywhere, making it impossible to think of anything else until we got it cleaned up. Feeling desolate and broken, me, Darren and the F150 limped into the self car wash place after work and pulled up at the vacuum station. I was dispatched to go get tokens from the attendant.

To my surprise, the attendant furnished me with a handful of tokens and wouldn’t accept a penny for them. He was abashed and apologetic that something like this had happened in his town. In my emotional state, this simple gesture brought a lump to my throat. Five minutes earlier I was convinced that all of humanity in the locale of Klamath Falls was evil. Now, with a few tokens – worth probably, ironically $3, I felt a renewed sense of hope.

And so we paid it forward by leaving a couple of cans of beer for the guy. He was made up, certainly not expecting it, and we were relieved to have a glass-free car and to be moving on. While we wouldn’t entirely rule out a return trip to Klamath Falls, we’re certainly in no rush.

We tend to think of San Francisco as Northern California, practically discounting anything beyond there. But there’s more, much more to Northern California than you think. The entire state running north/south along the coast is about 900 miles, almost 400 of which are north of San Francisco. No wonder there have been various moves to try to split off the north and south into different states, these areas are worlds apart.

As we took a chunk out of those Northern California miles to hit up the ‘lost coast’, long gone were the palm trees, bikini clad babes and tanned lifeguards. Instead we had rugged coves, rocky outcrops and wild waves. The quaint undeveloped towns of Mendocino, Trinidad and Fort Bragg perched on the cliff tops were quite a contrast from the population-dense cities of SoCal. Not so much blue sky up north either.

Our co-working space for the week in Fort Bragg was called the Little Red House. Very fitting. Teeny tiny, it really was like someone’s house, with the interior opened up into office space. And the outside was red. There was a little sun trap in the front porch/conservatory area, with a comfy sofa and a tiny TV-dinner style table. Guess where I spent most of my working days, languishing in the sun like a cat 🙂

Camping in Fort Bragg for the week was handy for the office, a little bit packed in overlooking the bay but awesome ocean views just steps away. Nicely contrasted with a night in Mackerricher state park, less views but more wiggle room. And ooh, a fire pit.

No shortage of walks along the coastline, many straight from the campsites.

And not a bad spot to while away the sundowner hour with a beer.

A rather more unusual stretch of coastline was Glass Beach in Fort Bragg. So named because it was previously the site of a dumping area for trash from the early 1900s to the 60s. Over time, the biodegradable stuff biodegraded, the metal was looted, and this was before the widespread use of plastic bags. What was left was primarily glass and pottery, broken down by the relentless ocean waves into small shiny glass pebbles. The forces of nature then washed up the dazzling array of gems to form an enchanting colorful beach.

Unfortunately, years of tourism have subsequently taken their toll, with visitors each taking just a few of the gleaming souvenirs, rationalizing that it wouldn’t make much of a difference. What was left for us to see was a long way from its former glory, but we still thought it was pretty cool as the early morning sunlight lit up the opaque whites, emerald greens and burnt ambers of the trash glass.

The California Redwoods are the tallest living organisms in the world. To see is to believe. These things are ridiculously tall, I mean crazy stupid tall. To give you a sense, they can grow to 115 meters. Which is taller than Big Ben (the clock tower, not the bell). Higher than the Statue of Liberty. Three quarters the height of Blackpool tower. Or the rough equivalent of 26 double decker buses stacked on top of each other. Yes you read that right. And in terms of age, the Redwoods can survive over 2,000 years.

The very oldest and the very tallest are very well kept secrets to avoid vandalism, so I think the ones we saw weren’t quite that tall or that old. Still, it took a while after leaving the area to readjust our tree size expectations – all other trees seem, well, just so small!

Our campground was called Elk Country RV Park. That sounded promising, I was excited at the prospect of maybe spotting the odd elk mooching around the meadows or skulking in the forest.

As we drove into the campsite itself, I did a double take. No need for binoculars here.

We had one last chance to eke out the coastal experience before heading inland for a few weeks. Humboldt Lagoons State Park was just a couple of miles from our campsite. It was bracing, it was windy, it was f***ing freezing. But we were damn well going to embrace it. What better excuse to get those Seabourn jackets out – they got very little wear during our Alaska cruise but here they were coming into their own. Hah, Alaska’s got nothing on Northern California!