With droopy eyes and hunger panes we made our way from Great Falls to Yellowstone. Hoping for a quick mug up we ducked into Livingston only to find a serious scarcity of parking spots. With clenched teeth we moved deeper into town only to stumble into the delightful French Hen.

Words like “labor of love” are tossed about way too easily. But French Hen is truly that. Birthed on June 6th of this year but conceived decades earlier, the French Hen is the go-to place in Montana for French delicacies. Owner Michele Libsack, who, when not raising cattle with her husband on a ranch, has attended culinary schools across the US and also Paris. She sees this place as a way to reconnect with Livingston while spending more time “off the tractor and into the kitchen.”

Her bakery immediately impresses for its tasteful decor and wonderful outdoor space. The coffee at the French Hen is also rich and her pastries are delicious which gives us just one more reason to come back to Livingston.

Trump is wrong. The border between Canada and the US is not just some “artificially drawn line.” It’s actually a twenty foot wide clear cut that extends the entire border from Washington/BC all the way to Maine/New Brunswick. Coming back into the US there was some sort of computer issue that caused a backup on the border crossing. So we waited a good fifteen minutes with our car’s fender clearly in the US but it’s backside within the no-man’s land. I got out of the car to stretch and had a pleasant conversation with a woman whose car was more clearly in-between the two countries. Behind her were several cars still in Canada. A very friendly and polite US border agent walked up the line of the cars (from the US then several yards into Canada) passing out water bottles and explaining the situation.

All border lines are of course artificial. When it comes right down to it we walk on nothing more than continents or islands separated by natural barriers that sometimes results in different languages and cultures. Who knows, maybe the US would be better off being annexed by Canada. They are much better at funding things like national parks and public education. And Canadians are just so gosh darn nice. But at the end of the day I would rather keep my country. I know they feel the same way about it too.

The International Peace Park spans two great countries and one amazing eco system of waterfalls, bears, hikes beyond description and other such cool things. We spent one night on the western edge of GNP and then five nights camping at the Waterton Town Site which has things like showers, three sided shelters for when it rains and soft grass more comfortable than a bed to sleep on. Two of those five days were cold and rainy. We didn’t care. The hikes were still great and the small individually owned coffee shops and restaurants in-town where fun to hang out in. The highlight of our stay maybe was the hike from Cameron Lake (where a shuttle dropped us off) to Cameron Falls which drops right by our campground. Twelve miles of high mountain lakes with a stunning mountain pass. Kicked our ass. But it was worth it.

We are now at a KOA in Great Falls, MT where Corey is sleeping in and I am about to go to town on the free pancake breakfast. Heading into the home stretch here but before this glorious summer ends we have some unfinished business in the Tetons to attend to. I would write more but my stomach is growling.

Pasco, Washington is a hard place to describe. Part of eastern Washington’s Tri-Cities region it comes seemingly out of nowhere from the surrounding golden brown desert. Hard to catch the exact vibe of a place when just driving through but I would call Pasco a mostly rural, no-nonsense Hispanic community set within an even more rural backdrop. Cafe con Arte then might be it’s aspirational heartbeat, a folk art haven where locals display their work. If some of that art has a political edge (like the romantic etchings of a crying woman titled “Fuck ICE”) then all the better. They make good coffee too. That and their nice outdoor space makes Cafe con Arte the ideal oasis for any desert drive by.

Immediately outside Bend the Cram Fire is currently blazing approximately 64,000 acres. Luckily no people or structures have been harmed but all yesterday it poured thick acrid smoke into the city. Nightfall felt especially apocalyptic as the fiery sunset was blanketed by a flint covered blanket of soot. Quick trips from our Airbnb to the car made us cough and our eyes stung.

The smoke greatly dissipated come morning as the wind blew the fire a different direction. The sky, while not entirely blue, was at least recognizable. Feeling recharged, we walked from our Airbnb to Shevlin Park to hike miles along a fast flowing creek. The multipurpose trails there were speckled with friendly folks doing Bendy things like mountain biking challenging single tracks as a family (with the youngest child, maybe ten, happily straggling behind in order to more cautiously skip over rocks and other such obstacles). From those we met along the way we learned that 1) Bend has always had a fire season and that 2) this season is getting longer each summer. If only we knew the reasons why then maybe we could do something to make it better.

Of course we know some of the reasons why the earth is warming quicker than it should. And of course we know some of the things we can do to help make things better.

But enough with my rants. Bend is truly a special mountain town/small city of about 100,000 outward focused people who all drive Subarus and wear Birkenstocks. People here also age gracefully, at least that is what the cool couple at the brewery told us. Transplants from other Oregon spaces they made sacrifices in order to live in their dream space. They stated that folks in Bend are just generally healthy to the point that you almost never see a heavy set person in town. I then stood up to prove them wrong.

From that same couple we also learned that it ain’t cheap to live in Bend (which maybe helps explain the local lean and hungry look). A small fixer upper reportedly starts in the mid $600,000 range. By our Airbnb, which is tucked on the outskirts of town by a really cool park, homes start around a million dollars. We might stay here forever if only we could afford this slice of heaven.

We celebrate our four week road anniversary in Bend, Oregon where we got a haircut (me), new prescription sunglasses (Corey) and an oil change (the car). Before that it was two lovely days camping at Crater Lake.

Crater Lake (America’s deepest lake) is nothing like Lake Tahoe (America’s second deepest lake). There is but one access point to Crater Lake and it involves a very steep one mile hike. Once there you can jump into the lake but not with a flotation device. The only other permitted aquatic activity is to take a boat tour which is maddeningly difficult to book (you can only book it 24 hours in advance and only on-line at a park which has very limited cell coverage). So you mostly drive around the rim and gawk at the crazy blue swirl contained within a 7000 year old volcanic blast zone. It is awesome. And also a bit crowded although sights away from the rim had a much more easy going vibe.

We did have a few odd moments at the park. Perhaps the oddest was being told the campground store and a nearby restaurant were being “evacuated” with no other further explanation. You do not want to hear the words “evacuated” when camping in fire season at a place with little to no cell coverage. People of course wanted to know if they also were about to be evacuated to which the goofball kid answered “not at this time.”

Turned out it was just a power failure. A minor nuisance when you are tent camping. We had to brush our teeth by flashlight within the otherwise working bathroom. No reason to panic. And the stars were just that much more brighter.

Leap of Taste in Klamath Falls is the go to place on Highway 97 for fresh smoked salmon, tasty breakfast tacos and deliciously dark coffee. It also was one of the few spots open on Main Street the Sunday we drove through town. So thank the Lord for heathens!

It was a smokey but otherwise uneventful three hour plus drive from Sacramento to Mount Shasta. Ain’t nothing new about wildfire smoke. Forest fires, like hurricanes, are a seasonal event and something people will never be able to completely manage. The intensity and frequency of these fires, however, is something to note. And it is getting worse by the season.

Mount Shasta is a 14,000 + foot potentially active volcano. It is not a National Park which means it is only minimally protected from development, clear cutting and other such traumas. Perhaps sensing this vulnerability, the Sierra Club purchased about 720 acres near the summit. Then in 1923 they built a nifty little hut which today serves as a base camp for those attempting to ascend this mighty sentinel. You just drive on up to the Bunny Flat trailhead (about 7000 feet) and then head up to the cabin or further along to  Helen Lake. And then you chill for a day or two while your body acclimates to the elevation. On climbing day you head out maybe as early as 1 AM with your pick axe, crampons and helmet. You want to leave early before the snow gets mushy from the midday sun. If all goes well you’re back at the car sometime around noon.

We didn’t do half of that. What we did do was take a steep but otherwise pleasant stroll up to the cabin where we talked to a lonely caretaker. And we pestered a lot of climbers with silly questions. Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the climbers, many of whom appeared dejected after not making it to the summit hours before crossing our path (early morning smoke played a factor), seemed to welcome the chance to rest/talk to a stranger. Corey and I then walked another half mile or so past the cabin (and past the cabin is where the shit gets real) until we got tired and headed back to the car. For the record we hiked four miles in and back with an elevation gain of about 1500 feet (so just a mere 5500 feet in elevation from the summit). Not exactly anything to brag about but it was something we later celebrated with ice cream and coffee.

We drove up and down and then a lot more up then one last down before setting up camp at Centennial Campground which is nestled deep within King’s Canyon. It was the only campground open this summer within the actual canyon. Deep cuts this summer to an already stripped down budget means fewer campgrounds open, less ranger led programs and far less support in the back country. Things in the short term will get worse. But the majesty of the Sierras are a living testament to the wisdom of great conservationists like John Muir who also saw their share of down moments. It was their perseverance in the face of misfortune which helped preserve America’s treasures like the few remaining sequoia groves that still dot the Sierra high country. We are so grateful for their efforts and also so motivated to keep the fight going.

Per a local, the short version of Reno’s downtown decline is that people no longer have any reason to drive from the Bay area to gamble. That would go a long way then to explain the hollow out feeling of the once lively casino strip. Away from the center, however, Reno is a beautiful big town/small city sitting at the junction between Nevada’s high desert and the Sierras. Our three mile hike today reinforced that point as the first two miles climbed relentlessly through the exposed desert. Eventually though the trail leveled off into a magical forest then dead ended at a waterfall. 

Also impressive is Reno’s very cool art museum that features the incredibly talented Judith Lowry whose art delicately mines the friction between her mixed Native American and European background. We also loved our Airbnb where we enjoyed the simple things like unlimited showers. It was a wonderful rest. But now it’s time to make the final push west to Sequoia and Yosemite National Park before eventually heading to points north. Think though I’ll take one more shower before hitting the road.

Just off the Interstate in Battle Mountain, NV is the adorable Press Coffee House. With a cute outdoor area and a comfy couch inside it was the yin to the yang of the 100+ degree high desert summer day.

It wasn’t though the perfect stop. Corey and I like our Yeti coffee mugs and often bring them into places like the Press Coffee House. Sometimes this gets us a discount. Occasionally a barista will refuse to fill them up (this is true on all Amtrak trains). This time though our request led to an Abbot and Costello like standoff.

I put in our order and then offered up our cups. The barista said that would be no problem, but asked for our cup sizes. I said I wasn’t sure but please just add into them the smallest available size. Her reply was that she could do this but…..she still needed to know the cup size as that is what they charge by. We spent a minute dancing around this point. I  asked her to imagine a world where gas stations charge by the capacity of a car fuel’s tank and not by the amount of gas taken. She said she understood my point but that her coffee place charges by the size of the cup. To pacify me she assured me that they would only pour the amount of coffee I wanted into the cup (so the smallest size). Also I would get a 10% discount for bringing in my own cup. But she was not going to complete the sale until she knew the size of our cups. After that there was nothing to do than admit defeat. Drinks were served in paper cups and then poured by our own hands into cool stickered up Yeti mugs. Turns out they hold about 12 ounces.

We still definitely recommend the Press Coffee House over the gas station across the street. Hopefully we will be welcomed back the next time we swing through town. Long live the road, independent coffee houses and crazy ass conversations like the one above.