You could be forgiven for thinking, given our epic journey to Anchorage, that outside of work hours we’d sleep the week away. But nope, not so. Having traveled further west, we’d shifted a time zone. Made things a bit rough in the mornings, starting work at 7am instead of 8. But on the bright side, it gave us oh so much time after work to play, and light ‘til late to boot.

First thing we did was hit up 49th State Brewing. More of a tourist spot than some of our normal breweries but there’s worse ways to celebrate making it to Alaska than beer and fish and chips. Nice deck too.

Funnily enough, the co-working office aka The Boardroom, shared the office space next door to the brewery.

And another coincidence, we bumped into a fellow Brit – JP, in The Boardroom, who was doing something very similar to us. That is, living and working in California pre-Covid, and for the last year, on the road traveling and working in co-working offices. Another digital nomad!

Anchorage doesn’t have to toot its own horn – it’s got plenty of trains to do that. And we were right next door to the iconic Alaska railroad, both at The Boardroom and the campsite, Ship Creek. So trains by day, trains by night.

The noise and the vibration you get used to. But I couldn’t help be a little jealous of the excited passengers as they boarded the train for a luxury scenic ride, full of anticipation. I reminded myself that our turn would come, we’d booked next week off on holiday 😃

We eased ourself into the post-work walking with a wander along the coastal trail in the city. The perfect way to get out and about without anything too strenuous.

Next day’s walk was titled Darren’s Revenge. Or might as well have been (the recent little US border detour was still top of mind). It was a 1,500ft climb up the FlatTop trail, involving some pretty steep scrambling, and maybe just a little whinging. The way down required much use of the previously perfected five points of contact maneuver (if in doubt, use your backside).

And finally we had a blustery walk along the shoreline in Kincaid Park, apparently the ‘most likely to see moose’ place in the city.

So there we were, having done our beach walk (no moose) and heading back on the bike path through the woods. And there, right there by the path, was the biggest bull moose I’ve ever seen, with a pair of very impressive almost cartoon-like moose antlers.

There was a group of people gathering on the far side of the trail, giving the moose plenty of space, and the same on our side. While he was certainly more interested in munching than checking out the gawping snap-happy tourists all around, it didn’t seem right to encroach his personal space just so we could continue with our walk. But tramping wide through the undergrowth wasn’t a viable option either.

Instead, we stood and watched and waited. And waited. Thinking, how long do we have to wait before the moose moves along?

At which point, the gathering tourist armies on both sides silently and mutually agreed, if they could pass, so could we. No dramas, no disasters. And as Forrest Gump would say, “that’s all I have to say about that”.

And did we make it to a proper brewery? You bet we did.

Me, I’m in the dog house. “You let yourself down, you let the side down, you let the school down”. I’m Bradley Cooper on the phone at the beginning of the movie ‘The Hangover’, with a remorseful, almost tearful “I effed up”. Allow me to explain…

The normal split of responsibilities on our road trips is pretty straightforward:

Darren = forward looking, meaning all the planning – route planning, sorting out co-working spaces and booking campsites. Oh and driving.

Me = backward looking, meaning writing the blog (and a more detailed journal), sorting photos and collages, and doing the one second everyday video. In keeping with the backward looking theme, when Darren’s reversing the BaseCamp, I help (or hinder) by making sure he doesn’t hit anything.

However, when Canada came into play, the planning bit just got a whole lot more complicated, not to mention time consuming. So I got put in charge of whatever it took to get us over the border. No pressure! From researching Covid testing options to finding a testing location that met all the criteria, obtaining and uploading an abundance of documentation, to checking border crossing options and wait times, that was all me. I even phoned the border crossing we were planning to go through to check and the official patiently explained to me (as you would to a moron) that the border itself had never actually closed down. In the end, all went smoothly and I was massively proud of myself, pat on the back for me.

Job done, I then realized we would have to go through the same rigmarole again after Alaska (to drive back through Canada) and got stuck into planning that with gusto. Maybe there was an inbuilt assumption that I was also owning the border crossing to get IN to Alaska. Unfortunately (in my defense), there was no explicit discussion on this.

Along with my Covid research for Canada, I did check on the testing requirement to get into Alaska, just in case (didn’t need one). I might even have vaguely googled the Alaska border crossings, and didn’t note anything of concern. But it didn’t get the same love and attention as the Canada border crossing did, as I just assumed it was a done deal – after all, by re-entering the US, we’re going home.

Our plan was to drive northwest from Whitehorse, up the Klondike highway to Dawson City (not to be confused with Dawson Creek at the start of the Alcan), the most northerly point of our trip – level with Greenland. From there, we’d continue into Alaska via the Top of the World border crossing until we hit Anchorage. Total mileage for the weekend, approx 800.

After getting a couple of hours driving in on Friday evening, and setting off at dawn on Saturday, we rolled into Dawson City around lunchtime. Only to pass a sign that mentioned, as if in passing, that the Top of the World border crossing was closed. I assumed they meant closed to Canadians (as the US has yet to reciprocate the border opening for Canadian citizens), and casually went about my business, using up the last of my Canadian pennies on blueberries at the Farmers Market and stocking up on Canadian salt & vinegar crisps to get me through three weeks in the US.

Imagine my horror when we double checked at the Visitor Center and they told us nope, the Top of the World border crossing really was proper closed. (“You’ve let yourself down…”). Ever wish the world would swallow you up whole?

There’s seriously not a lot of roads up here. Our only ONLY option was to drive from Dawson City back to Whitehorse (a mere 330 miles) and take the Alcan into Alaska from there.

Darren’s meltdown was relatively minor considering!!! To put this in perspective on the mileage:

For my American friends, it’s like planning to drive from Santa Clarita to Denver, Colorado over the weekend. You’re a little confused on navigation and drive as far as San Francisco before realizing you’ve gone the wrong way. At that point, you have to retrace your steps to Santa Clarita. And then you still have to drive to Denver in time for work on Monday. Hitting a four hour traffic jam along the way.

For the Brits, it’s like driving from London to northern Italy via Scotland. Yes, that’s right, you read it right. It’s only when you reach Gretna Green that you realize that’s not the way to Italy, doh! And all this, towing a caravan.

Welcome to our world.

The roads this far north in Canada were quiet for sure. But you’ve got to take into account the frost heaves and pot holes that could swallow you whole, the intermittent gravel roads during construction where you have to wait up to 20 minutes for an escort car, not to mention the wildlife and scenery distractions.

I’m sure at some point, maybe in the far distant future, we’ll recite this as a “That one time, at Band Camp” fireside story. “Remember that time we went to the top of the world and back for blueberries. Best blueberries I’ve ever had in my life!” But for now, I think I’ll just keep my head down.

In the meantime,here’s some pictures from our weekend road trip: Whitehorse to Anchorage, via Dawson City. 1,410 miles.

Canada is a b-i-g country. It’s just shy of 1,500 miles to drive from Revelstoke in British Columbia to Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory. No way we wanted to do that over a weekend, so we took the Friday off to give us a bit of breathing room and braced ourselves for a lorra lorra driving.

Getting a few miles in on Thursday evening gave us a head start. We started with a stunning drive through Glacier and Yoho National Parks and made it just before dark to Banff National Park in heavy rain.

The planned side trip to Lake Louise in the morning was blown out, we figured we wouldn’t see much with the low cloud and the rain in the dark. But as it started to clear, we were reminded that the drive along the Icefields Parkway from Banff to Jasper has to be one of the most stunning routes anywhere.

Driving, driving, driving. With a few coffee and biscuit stops along the way.

My 7,000 steps a day continued to motivate me to get out and about during some breaks. This particular one started as a moose mission and ended by finding an abandoned camper trailer, and getting the hell out of there in case there was a dead body. Oh, and there was no moose.

The sky morphed from moody swirling mist patches into fluffy British clouds and blue sky. I guess it’s fitting as we were at the same longitude as the UK.

600 miles after leaving Revelstoke, we rolled into Dawson Creek on Friday evening.

Dawson Creek is otherwise known as Mile 0, because it’s the start of the AlCan, or Alaska Canada highway. Originally built in 1942 in just eight months, due to wartime emergency, I think it’s come a long way since then. Huge milestone for us as it cemented our ‘destination Alaska’, which we never thought would be an option for us this year.

Day one on the Alcan started with some banal farmland – bales of hay, fields of cows and horses. I think I expected to be immediately thrust into the wilderness. As time passed, the scenery did start to get more rugged, and we went through the tiny town of Wonowon. Took us a while to realize it was so called because it was at Mile 101.

Some awesome scenery as our drive took us past the Northern Rocky Mountains Provincial Park and through Stone Mountain and Muncho Lake Provincial Parks. The scenery kept on giving, although some bits were a tad obscured by the rain spattered windscreen. Hopefully we’ll get to see some of those on the way back.

You’ve got to keep your eyes peeled for wildlife all the time. Light on good pics but we actually did see deer, elk, bighorn sheep, moose and bear.

By late afternoon on Saturday, we rolled into Liard Hot Springs Park campsite and took the last spot. Hot stinky soak in the drizzle, don’t mind if we do!

As always, so nice to get back and cozy in the Basecamp, with a glass of red and a chickpea chorizo stew bubbling on the stove.

Sunday morning, it was barely light as we set off on the road again. We ran straight into a big herd of bison. Including some frisky little ones that got distracted playing and had to run to catch up the ever moving herd.

The next milestone was entering the Yukon. Proper northern Canada now.

And a few more scenic stops along the way:

And then perhaps the most famous milestone on the Alcan – the Sign Post Forest at Watson Lake. Very cool. It was started in 1942 by a homesick GI and has been added to ever since. It now expands over a few acres. I wonder if our backyard tin tacker display is destined for something similar.

So yes, we had our fair share of wet weather as we made our way north through Canada. But the closer we got to Whitehorse, the clearer and bluer the sky became. We rolled into Whitehorse, Yukon, to end our Alcan road trip weekend in such an awesome boondocking spot overlooking Long Lake.

We’ll be doing Whitehorse on the way back as well, so we’ll skip that for now and the next post will jump straight into the next driving leg to get us to Anchorage, ALASKA!!!

We didn’t get far over the border into Canada. We’d been so busy prepping for the big anti-climax of the border crossing that we hadn’t thought any further than that. Thrust into the radio silence of no phone signal, it was a case of relying on our wits to find somewhere for the night. Otherwise known as trying to find a subtle pull in away from the main road that didn’t have a No Overnight Parking sign.

For our entire trip so far, we’d been playing tag with smoke from the many wildfires. We had a few oppressively thick days in Tahoe, followed by some intermittent respite in Bend, only to be thrust into smoky grubbiness at the end of our week in Liberty Lake. California to Oregon to Washington, and it didn’t stop there.

I can only imagine that the scenic drive through British Columbia must be quite awesome if you could see it. Our journey north to Revelstoke involved a little ferry ride, although the view left a little to be desired.

Picture this: start with a typical British overcast day where the sky is a homogenous grey-white. The smoky sky is kind of like that, only sometimes brighter, with a red tinge to it instead of grey. No depth or definition, just bland, opaque, disconcerting. Move your eyeline down to the horizon and if you’re lucky, you might make out layers of hazy mountains. At its thickest, the bright smog cloaks and obscures them. Other patches are just misty, but in a foggy ‘where’s my glasses’ way, not a swirling mysterious way.

And then you have the sun. Remember the warnings about not looking directly at the sun? On this occasion you could – it was a perfect circle of muted orange, turning to red as it neared the horizon.

Despite the smokiness, we had a full Sunday to play with before work, and we weren’t going to waste it. We took the gondola up Mount Mackenzie, at which point Darren and I parted ways. Off he went on some crazy downhill mountain bike adventure.

As for me? Didn’t I have a lovely time, I hiked up another 2,000+ feet up the Stoke Climb to Sub Peak, marveling at the wildflowers and wildlife along the way.

After the breath of fresh air at the top of the mountain, I was horrified to find how much worse it had gotten when I came back down.

The air was almost chewy, thicker than it should be, in a post-apocalyptic way (ever read The Road?). The red tinge had morphed into an orange glow, to the point where we had to check we weren’t actually surrounded by a fire, versus it being hundreds of miles away. Yup, no immediate danger, although I’m sure the air quality index was off the charts.

Never have I ever been so glad to see rain. I know it’s not really about ‘washing away’ the smoke in the air, but the rain did a pretty good number on hosing down the ash on the truck. And it sure felt like a turning point. For a start, we transitioned from outdoor grilling to indoor one-pots.

I’d been a bit concerned that we wouldn’t even get to see Revelstoke. But as of the next day after the deluge, we were reunited with blue sky and proper clouds, ahhhh.

And just like that, Revelstoke appeared before our eyes…

And the BC was stoked to be in BC 🙂

The choice of location for our last week in the US (before our – fingers crossed – international travels) wasn’t just centered around the normal campsite/brewery/co-working triangle. No, this time there were additional factors to consider – namely, proximity to the Canada border, and availability of Covid testing facilities. Oh and preferable avoidance of rampant wildfires (easier said than done given the extent of fires in the western states).

We lucked out at Liberty Lake, Washington – it ticked all the boxes, including being close enough to Spokane for the nose tickling test. But first, we had to pass through the Yakima valley, which happens to specialize in grapes of the wine variety. Harvest Hosts came up trumps with Hyatt vineyards, which we had to ourselves overnight once the daytime punters left.

After the rather upscale spacious offices in Bend, the unimaginatively named Liberty Lake Co-Work was friendly, welcoming and refreshingly down to earth. The personal touch makes such a difference – within hours of our arrival, there was a personal greeting on the whiteboard.

Our go-to hiking trail from the Liberty Lake Regional Park campsite took us through reclaimed wetland, courtesy of the local beaver population. Given no actual beaver sightings, and the reluctance of marshy lowlands to look photogenic, you have to go some to get a nice picture. Or just find the one decent spot and take the same picture on different days and times.

I’m still pondering to this day on the breadcrumb nay bread slice trail we found on our last morning. We saw the first bread clue on an interpretive sign. It was in pristine condition, neither the birds or the beavers too interested then. As we continued, the trail became gamified as we wondered where the next slice would turn up, a kind of sliced bread hide and seek. Alas, we ended up where we started back at the campsite, no fairytale cottage to be found.

Our camp spot overlooked a little meadow, which had some frequent and very entertaining visitors.

Liberty Lake had its share of local drinking establishments, and of course we like to support Drinking Local. Trailbreaker cider had a lovely outdoor lawn area, family and pet friendly, with a wide variety of cider. Unable to choose, I got a selection ranging from citrus cucumber to blueberry sage to habanero peach. In the end, it was their bog-standard Dry & Crisp that won the day.

Snow Eater brewing was also a winner, with their impressive range of imperial IPAs, Belgian tripels and aged stouts.

In amongst all the Liberty Lake fun and games, we had big time Canada prep to do. They might have opened their border, but only to the most determined persistent hardcore people who were prepared to research the requirements, read the small print and obtain and upload all the necessary documentation.

Given our most direct route crossing closed at 4pm, we opted instead for the remote outpost border of Cascade-Laurier. This one closed at 8pm so after work on Friday we rocked up at 7pm, with a leisurely hour to spare for the expected interrogation and additional Covid testing. We needn’t have worried. We were the only ones there and my prep paid off. The official seemed more interested in whether we had any animals in our trailer.

All hoops safely jumped through, we breathed a sigh of relief. And as we drove on into Canada, it truly sunk in – we beamed from ear to ear. We were no longer on The Little Loop or the 2021 Mystery Tour. We’ve got Alaska in our sights and it’s time to Go Big or Go Home.

Bend, Oregon, we missed you! Outdoor recreation paradise and world-class brewery nirvana. We said we’d be back, we just didn’t expect so soon 😀 And so quickly, our week just flew by. This post too!

Back at The Camp for cornhole and barbecues.

The Haven co-working office was the largest, most contemporary, most buzzing place we’ve worked at on our travels. Too kool for school and way too cool for us. There were different zones for different needs – with or without background music, with or without phones/video calls, diner-like booths, boardroom style tables, high top standing desks.

The kitchen was decked out with everything you could want, including snacks (to buy), coffee, and beer on tap. The furniture was impressive, the river views even more so.

The only thing about overlooking the Deschutes river was that you could constantly see people kayaking, rowing, stand up paddleboarding, tubing, swimming, fishing, running, dog walking, you name it. Basically doing anything other than working.

Seeing other people have so much fun, we made sure to get out and about before or after work. No trouble getting the steps in this week!

We got our bearings hiking up Pilot Butte, an old volcanic cinder cone with views of the city and the mountains.

As we walked along the Deschutes river trail at sunrise, a splashing sound alerted us to a frolicking beaver. No pic unfortunately but we were able to watch him mooching around and diving under water, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

We also made sure to fit some of those awesome Bend breweries in. But we didn’t spend every evening walking to the brewery, oh no. Sometimes we biked it 😝

It’s been a long time coming but a few weeks earlier, Canada announced they would soon be opening their border to US Citizens (not us) and US Permanent Residents (YAY, that’s us, whoop whoop!) on 9th August. Change of plans from our initially scheduled Little Loop trip which had us circling back through Idaho and down to the Tetons.

We knew it would be cutting it fine to drive all the way up to Alaska and back before I had to be back in the office in September, but we figured I could always fly back if needed. And then the Delta variant gave us a helping hand in extending our office closure until January.

And so Alaska, here we come! Just one more week to bide our time (and get our Covid tests) until the Canada border opens…

All of this work hard, play hard, burn the candles at both ends lark can get a bit tiring. The smoke from nearby California wildfires was oppressive, the midsummer heat was stifling and on top of that Darren was feeling under the weather. So much so that in an abundance of caution he took a Covid test – which luckily came back negative, phew! Turns out we both just had a touch of Lazyitus.

So for our week at Lake Tahoe… our days were spent at Tahoe Mill Collective, a co-working space by the Truckee river, with a coffee shop next door. And most evenings were spent at our campground – Granite Flat, also on the river.

The river played a part in our evening chilling out (on the one non-smoky day). Armed with beers, camping chairs and mossie spray, we took ourselves not just down to but in to the river.

And as we were sat there, just sitting in the river, into my head popped the catchy rap chorus from KLF classic Mu Mu Land (actually I looked it up, it’s really called Justified and Ancient):

“Sitting in the river, Sitting in the river, Sitting in the river of life (Hey!)”

Yes, I know it’s really “Fishing in the river” but close enough to get my weird lyrical mind going.

I guess we did do some walking and a paddleboard session, so the week wasn’t a total write off. The first hike took us from Incline Village up through the forest to Monkey Rock. So often you need more than a pinch of imagination to see whatever the so-called namesake is supposed to resemble (I seem to remember a certain Rabbit Ears pass, even Bugs Bunny wouldn’t have recognized it). So how delighted was I that Monkey Rock actually looked like a monkey.

And how much did it get me singing Robbie Williams’ ‘Me and my Monkey.’ (“If your monkey’s got that kind of money son, then we’ve got a monkey bed”).

I took myself up the Tahoe Rim Trail for a view, while Darren took the more serene option of gliding around on the lake.

And now talk about coincidence. I know like minded people tend to do like minded things, but seriously…? Due to the fires, our route to Tahoe was diverted via Reno, Nevada, and we took the opportunity to call into the REI outdoorsy store there. Just as we walked in the door, so did another customer, and we heard someone say “Darren???” Which is funny because we don’t know anyone in Reno, Nevada, and nobody knows us.

Turns out that’s not true.

You may or may not remember around 18 months ago, we did a coast to coast trip across Costa Rica under our own steam (biking, hiking, rafting and kayaking), with a small group of like minded people. Two of those people (who don’t live in Reno but over 30 miles away near Lake Tahoe) had ventured to the REI on a stifling Sunday afternoon, something they did maybe twice a year. And arrived at the exact same time as we did.

Blown away by the coincidence and overjoyed to bump into our long lost friends, we arranged to meet up later in the week. Meet up we did, at our campsite, although I’m absolutely gutted we didn’t get any photos from our bbq. We were just too busy catching up. Still, Richard & Ann, it was fantastic to see you again, we had a blast! Some things in life are just meant to be 😃

Mid-way through our last road trip, my FitBit awarded me a 7 day step streak. Granted, I have it set at 7,000 steps a day rather than a more challenging 10,000 steps. (Please don’t judge, my overall average is well over 10,000 steps a day. But it’s just that, an average – heavily weighted by the proper hiking days.)

So I don’t need a stretch goal, I need something that will push me to do something, anything, on those days when I would otherwise do nothing other than sit at a desk all day. I didn’t even know a step streak was a thing. OK then Fitbit, game on: if I could do a 7 day streak, I could do a month. If I could do a month then I could surely try for two. And so my Fitbit came to exert its power over me.

Some of the hardest days were when we were road tripping. 700 miles in the truck is apparently no excuse for not hitting 7,000 steps on foot. Which means every opportunity (every single stop!), I took myself off for a little mooch around. Around and around the gas station, pacing up and down, back and forth, and doing laps in the pet exercise area of random rest stops.

Lake Tahoe wasn’t so different. At this point I was up to a 99 day step streak and no way I could fizzle out now. I ended up having to circle the campground in the evening, the other campers staring at me wondering what happened to my dog. Reluctant to have to face the campground walk of shame again, come Friday I took advantage of a lunchtime lull in video meetings. There was a bike path by the Truckee river, just steps from the office and perfect for a quick wander.

So there I was, pootling along, cursing my Fitbit, when I heard twigs cracking and a rustling in the bushes. Eyes left and sure enough, right there in front of me, out popped a big black bear. Gobsmacked.

Me and him, we had words. If there’s one thing I do know, it’s not to surprise a bear, you have to let them know you’re there (maybe the bear should have read the corresponding chapter about not startling humans). We had a little chat about my One Second Everyday video and how I could make him famous. He was a bit shy but I could tell he was seriously contemplating his starring role. Then he got distracted by the bin.

This being a bike path, a couple of cyclists approached, prompting him to run away towards the river bank. After exclaiming how cool this was, the cyclists watched him for maybe 20 seconds before getting bored and going on their way. Not me though, me and my bear buddy had unfinished business.

He didn’t flinch as he stepped into the cold river and swam about half way across. He tried his luck at fishing, thrusting his snout deep into the water in search of rainbow trout.

I could have stayed all day watching him. But by this time he was so over his movie audition. He was also unsuccessful in his fishing attempts, so he gave me one last look to say goodbye and off he went on his way.

Delighted with my bear encounter, I reassessed my love hate relationship with my Fitbit. Without it, I would never have forced myself out for a little Friday afternoon stroll. With my 1SE video in the bag and my steps ticked off, it was time to get back to work.

As I sat at my desk, dreamily reliving my audience with the bear with a smile on my face, there was no stopping the music this time:

“Fishing in the river, Fishing in the river, Fishing in the river of life (Hey!)”

Behold the three crested crown of Mammoth, for it signals awesome outdoor adventures in the Eastern Sierras. And Mammoth is the first stop on what is very likely our last Covid freedom trip before a more permanent in-person in-office location is required.

Mammoth Mountain, at 11,053 ft elevation, is the big one. Skiing mecca in the winter, and mountain bikers’ paradise in the summer, thanks to the multiple chairlifts and cable car. And then there’s the little known Mammoth Mountain Trail, which weaves its way up 2,200 ft to the top, a trail for hikers only. That’ll be me then.

There was welcome shade from the Tamarack pines on the lower section of the trail, and I had to be extra cautious about bikes whizzing past at various criss-cross intersections. As I climbed higher, the terrain became more exposed, and the panoramic views more jaw dropping by the step.

As I was hiking up, Darren took the easier way up the mountain on the gondola, and whizzed down on his mountain bike. Bumped into each other about half way.

I kept on the lookout for bears or deer but nothing doing. And then I heard the tell tale tinkle of a cowbell. At our campsite, we’d come across some goats with tinkling bells around their necks – presumably the goats were deliberately placed there to help keep the grass in check. So I assumed they must need the grass grazing up here too. Hmm… which was funny because it was already pretty short. I scouted eagerly for goats or cows. How stoopid did I feel when I realized the bells were just from the mountain bikes!

The last time we were in Mammoth was right at the end of our first Covid escape trip, back in September 2020. But July gives us more daylight to play with, meaning we can do stuff after work (especially when we’re too lazy to do it in the morning).

A lot of bang for your buck gorgeousness on the Convict Lake loop walk:

The Mammoth Rock trail isn’t bad either:

And then there’s cycling round the bike paths in Mammoth…

… which predictably finished up at Mammoth Brewing.

Camping was split between an in-town campsite at Mammoth, a lovely open National Forest campground at Convict Lake, and a secluded forest boondocking spot.

The Fort, Mammoth, boasted not just one but two co-working options: one downtown, handy for the coffee shop and brewery. And the other up near the Mammoth Mountain ski lift. Spent most of our time there trying not to look out at the mid-week bikers and hikers and drool.

June Lake rounded off our Eastern Sierra week. Darren’s paddleboard got an early airing and my legs got a huge shock to the system, the first run I’ve done since Hawaii. It felt amazing, I was on fire (listening to Robbie Williams and the Spice Girls). In the same way you think your dancing is way cool after a few beers.

And then we celebrated my 50th plus one week birthday, with an awesome meal at Bleu. Because why not.