We’ve spent three months on the road, mostly in the Pacific Northwest. From our origin in Colorado, we’ve journeyed through Wyoming, Montana, and now the lovely state of Washington.
Let’s review, shall we?
Is It All a Dream?
It’s early July. The sound of my wife’s jarring iPhone alarm pulls me out of some restless, bizzarro dream state into the reality of our naturally cool basement master bedroom. As much as I’m enjoying the critically important mission to stab this giant lizard in the hamstring with a light saber and save Lincoln, Nebraska with my eleventh-grade anatomy teacher—who, by the way, said I wouldn’t amount to anything—there’s some things that need to get done today.
Eight hours later and the second run to the storage facility is complete. The next group of impatient, college-age hangovers with half-assed mask etiquette lunges for our Public Storage moving cart as we slide that janky thing against the wall. Why are there three carts for a storage facility the size of a city block?
Jesus man, moving is the worst. What the hell are we doing?
What we’re doing is preparing to sell our house and hit the road in our 90-square-foot A-frame camper.
I’ve Told You Some Things
I won’t rehash the parts of this trip that I’ve already described.
I told you about our first semi-disastrous week near Lander, Wyoming.
Then we did a nice little check-in about our first month on the road.
And finally, I talked about the reality of life on the road.
Where Have We Gone?
Everyone loves a good map, and I can see it in your eyes that you do too. Here’s an approximate map of where we’ve hung our hats, although this doesn’t come close to capturing all our side trips and various scurrying about. We love a good scurry, too.
From our last check-in, we traversed southwest and western Montana, heading through the Pacific Northwest. Our criteria? You know, the usual: beautiful places, beautiful boulders, no serial killers, and a reasonably strong LTE signal.
Bitterroot Valley, Montana
We spent nearly three weeks in the Bitterroot Valley, south of Missoula. The valley forms a long north-south passage from I-90 and Missoula, broad in the north and becoming gradually narrower towards the Idaho state boundary. The western flank of the valley is particularly dramatic, where alpine peaks of the Bitterroot Range rise suddenly and abruptly from the flat farmland and river basin below. Cutting perpendicular across this western front is a continuous series of east-west-trending, steep rocky granite canyons. At the base of each of these canyons, crystal clear and ice-cold streams weave through colossal boulders, brimmed with the occasional twisted, ankle-shredding brambles.
Bitterroot Climbing
Climbing is prominent in several of these impressive canyons, including Kootenai, Mill Creek, Blodgett, and Lost Horse canyon. Due to my penchant of late for time seated squarely on my ass on a pad, I spent the majority of my time exploring the abundant bouldering of Lost Horse Canyon, which is worthy, if not a bit disjointed.
Hamilton, Montana
The town of Hamilton, situated in the center of the broad valley about an hour south of Missoula, is also an interesting case study in contrasts. While Trump MAGA banners and even several Confederate flags ripple proudly in the breeze, the town also sports a dare-I-say, ever-so-slightly cosmopolitan vibe, fit with cute little coffee shops, questionably expensive groceries, and sandwiches with sprouts on them. The juxtaposition might be due to the fact that Hamilton houses the Rocky Mountain Labs, a biomedical research facility under the National Institute of Allergies and Infectious Diseases. The mish-mash of science and culture with, well…um, other things…is, well…fascinating.
Spokane, Washington
Traveling west to a new time zone and a new state, we land our first semi-awkward encounter of staying at someone’s house. Of course, there’s nothing about our interaction among people that made the experience awkward, but simply the strange dance of Pandemic Dayz.
You see, we’ve been trying to do the “right thing” and keep our distance. Until this moment in early September, we’ve embraced virtually no indoor activities with other human beings, save for delightful visits to the grocery store and other errands now known as “essential.” I know there’s a difference of these opinions on these matters (looking at you state of Wyoming), but hey, I don’t need no trouble.
Anyway, our old friends invited us to stay with them, provided we were careful and vigilant about our exposure prior to arrival. We mulled it about. We’re careful. They’re careful. Let’s do this. What can I say? Anyway, too many words on this subject already.
We really enjoyed our time here. Maybe it was getting out of the camper for the first time in a month. Maybe it was seeing old friends and meeting their incredible kids; getting a social interaction beyond our 2-people-and-a-dog existence. We cooked big meals together and ate dessert every night, a rarity for us all. If you guys are reading, we can’t thank you enough for your generous hospitality.
A Brief Aside
Mrs. CC and I were unexpectedly impressed with Spokane. My only previous experience with the town was from the winter of 2007-2008, when I worked a bottom-of-the-totem-pole job as a driller’s assistant for an environmental consulting company out of Portland, Oregon. I recall traveling to Spokane across endless expanse of pale brown and wind-blown plains, occasionally punctuated by small outcrops of reddish-brown to black basalt amongst a moody gray sky. You know, the kind of day that puts you in a bad mood for no good reason.
On the job on a military base outside of town, some low-level officer with a well-defined jaw barked orders about our protocol while on base, pointing to an otherwise nondescript part of a parking lot where we were to drill the first of several 60-foot holes that day. Never mind the blowing snow, sub-freezing temperatures, thin and mud-soaked coveralls, or hands on steel. My protocol at that time was to get the hell out of that job.
And We’re Back!
Anyway, this trip was different. My wife and I were no longer contractually obligated to drill a single hole, and as such were free to explore the town and the surprisingly lovely rolling hills of pine and basalt pillows of the Columbia River Plateau. I was able to climb briefly at Deep Creek on fantastic steep and featured basalt. No other place have I been able to convince myself that climbing on basalt is fun, with maybe a few exceptions. This place is Type 1 Fun by any metric. I only wish I could have spent more time here.
Olympic Peninsula, Washington
After months of mountains, pine, cold streams, the small sense of security brought on by bear spray, we decide that a week or so of ocean life is in order.
This little ecosystem is incredible, and a noteworthy departure from almost every other place we’ve been in the last three months. I’d scheduled this unexpected departure with a week-long rest phase from climbing, knowing full-well that there are better things to do along the coast than break holds on bad rock and fall on barnacles.
Upon pulling our trailer to our camping spot on the shore of the Dabob Bay of the restricted Hood Canal, the smell of the ocean—a smell missing from my life for many of the past years—immediately transforms me into a psyched little child. I’m down to the beach with an equally psyched “Snickers” in the lead. Dogs are apparently not allowed at this beach, I will soon find out. My head nearly explodes as I realize that oyster beds are everywhere. Furthermore, I’m fully within the bounds of the law to harvest and put them in my mouth, so long as I leave the shells at the same tidal orientation to promote future growth.
The Hood Canal is a fjord, carved by glaciers during the Late Pleistocene, part of the labyrinth of coastal waterways of the Puget Sound. That’s all I’m going to say on the Hood Canal.
Eating Sound and Other Activities
Basically, we do what one does on a sound in the Pacific Northwest. We eat a lot of seafood: Dungeness crab, rockfish, salmon, shrimp, clams, and I ate a lot of oysters (Mrs. CC is dubious). We frolic in misty, moss-riddled forests and make desperately futile attempts to pull wretched, rotting sea things from our dog’s mouth in crowded, public settings – often in the presence of young children.
We explore tide pools and World War Two era bunkers; small, sleepy fishing towns and deserted, rocky beaches.
The Arrival of Smoke
And then the smoke came. Seemingly overnight, a thick and noxious haze drifted north from the major wildfire regions in California and Oregon, blanketing our quaint little world in a poisonous, yellow smog. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen – the sun was hidden from view. Even buildings several hundred yards away were obscured completely.
You see, we’ve been battling with wildfire smoke, and even concerningly close fires themselves since Montana. But this was something else entirely. With nowhere to go and no air filtration system, we were forced to take this one squarely on the chin for about three days. We hunkered down, settling for mellow walks to break up the monotony. I sunk into a funk of frustration and a feeling of isolation amongst a pale-yellow sky and occasional hack to clear my throat.
Leavenworth, Washington
Ah yes, Leavenworth. Talk about another place in contrasts. This lollipop, faux-Bavarian town is on one hand a Disneyland experience for adults, and also home to some of the best bouldering I’ve encountered.
We arrive here again in a thick, hazardous haze after departing the Olympic Peninsula. We’ve been excited about this stop for months. After unhitching at our month-long Airbnb, I throw on some Frank Sinatra, shuck a couple of oysters I snagged on the way out of the coast, and settle into the next phase of our journey. The Airbnb, while expensive, will allow us prolonged comfort outside of the camper. Also, it’s my first real opportunity to settle into a more focused climbing experience.
I love this place. I sort of don’t want to leave. The crisp mountain air, the deep green and clear Wenatchee River, endless, gritty granite boulders. Even the apple orchards that stretch in all directions across the rolling basalt plains of the Wenatchee Valley have their own appeal. I feel an essence of the places I’ve called home the longest, my origins in western North Carolina and my second home in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. There’s an element of both here.
But What About Winter?
However, the changing seasons and yellowing of the leaves hints at what I know is to come: A Pacific Northwest winter. For those of you who haven’t spent, say, late October through March (or later) west of the Cascade Range, it gets a touch gloomy. Having spent the last eight years in Colorado, spoiled by 300+ sunny days a year, I don’t know if I can handle it.
I lived in Portland, Oregon for only a single winter, leaving immediately for grad school in sunny Arizona! Those days certainly mark a different time in my life and markedly different phase of my development as a person. That said, I haven’t forgotten all those gray, moody days. Sure, the coffee is good, but it’s maybe not that good. I’ve always maintained that the Pacific Northwest is the best place in the country, except for those winters.
The Daily Groove
I get the occasional question about how we spend our time. It’s really simple, actually.
The novelty of the road trip and trying to fill every minute with adventure wears off. Our lives have naturally returned to a more balanced approach of productivity, rest, activity (mostly climbing for me), and errands. Our daily routine is not so different from our life prior to this trip. Of course, the added benefit is that we get to experience this life in ever-changing environments, providing an undying sense of novelty.
In the morning, I work for a couple of hours or so, overdose on coffee, and then go bouldering for 3-4 hours. I spend the rest of my day either writing, doing mobility drills, taking long walks, or other clerical, non-unique adult stuff of the variety we all know. Some days we go on long hikes, and some days we watch it rain all day and listen to moody music. You and I aren’t so different, but I’m learning to treasure each day out here and recognize the impermanence of this moment.
This all sounds too bloggy, so I’m going to stop tell you about my day!
So Why Aren’t You Complaining About Remote Work This Time?
Until our stay in Leavenworth, the greatest inhibitor to a truly great experience is my wife’s job. For the first two months of this trip, she’s struggling to be an effective employee and find some semblance of enjoyment of life on the road, something I’ve discussed for those wanting to work on the road. And as you might imagine, as a work/life balance gets blended into a blurry and distorted mish-mash of frustration, we both experience the strain.
I said it before and I’ll say it again: be careful what you wish for if your goal is to work on the road, especially if your job revolves around a full-time need of the internet.
However…that situation is changing. For reasons I might soon discuss in more detail, Mrs. CC, much against her natural will, took a position of strength and submitted her resignation just last week. Essentially, she was given a choice to come back to the office (despite the pandemic) or go through a complicated and laborious process of becoming a contractor. Much to the company’s surprise, she is choosing to resign.
Here’s why my wife can comfortably walk away from her job.
I’m very proud of her, and I’m excited in how this journey will unfold now that we can more fully enjoy it together.
Onwards
And continue we shall. We’re currently debating extending our stay here in Leavenworth, or heading straight for Bend, Oregon. On the potential list is Joe’s Valley, Utah or Bishop, California (weather and wildfire pending), before we begin our journey east to North Carolina and Tennessee for the bulk of the winter.
What are we missing? Where should we go!?
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Thanks guys, see you next week.
excellent
Thanks Nick!