About an hour south of Jackson is the small town of Pinedale whose official motto is “All the civilization you need.” Lucky for us a great coffee shop made their cut.

Housed in a former auto shop, Pine Coffee Supply makes the most of their bay door by creating this really cool indoor-outdoor space. Located just off the main drag, it also has a really nice vibe of locals going about their day while tourists sit in the background while checking out their social media feed. For us it meant one last mug up before the coming interstate.

We go back home again. Or at least one of our homes. And in doing so begin to prepare to come back to our fixed address home. This home is actually a pretty cool place to be due mostly to our family, friends and neighbors whom we miss dearly. We are lucky because a lot of those people count toward more than one category. We relearned this fact while heading out for tattoos near Jackson (didn’t happen) when a small but possibly big house issue was solved in real time by our house sitter (amazing friend and great neighbor) and then a different great friend/amazing neighbor (or maybe Chris is an amazing friend/great neighbor but Stephanie is the great friend/amazing neighbor; it’s hard to tell sometimes). Anyways, together they swapped out an outlet, reached out to a relative in Italy for more information and managed not to electrocute any pets. At the end of the day what more can you ask for?

It was, though, an awesome few days in the Tetons. We swam, hiked, checked out the stars and avoided the news as much as possible. That is until last night when from our hotel room in Laramie we stayed up very late to track the tsunami while texting with Henna who is doing cool geology stuff at Hawaii Volcanic National Park. She is literally on the highest ground there. But still you worry when your daughter is in the middle of the Pacific and a tsunami is barreling toward her.

The tsunami isn’t the only worrisome thing in the news. Deep cuts to education, comics here being silenced as a way to appease a wannabe dictator and other similar tidbits kind of make us wanna stay unplugged and unburdened. But it’s time to come home. Thanks Stephanie and Chris for keeping that home safe.

Instead of spending our last few nights of the trip at a pricey Airbnb outside of Bozeman, we instead chose to revisit our favorite National Park, our second home if you will, Grand Teton National Park. It’s French for Big Boobies by the way. Seriously, it was named by lonely French fur traders. Anyways, we love the place.

An added bonus to us coming back to Big Boobies was a trip through Yellowstone, the O.G. of National Parks. Yellowstone is your favorite National Park’s favorite National Park. It is huge. It is a carnival. It is a place where nature can definitely put you back on your butt which, incidentally, it did to me. On the gentle descent down from Bunsen Peak, with my self feeling a bad ass after reaching the summit, I tripped over a rock and fell hard on my side. It was the same side holstering my trusty bear spray (purchased sometime in the late 1990s and definitely useless in case of a bear attack). The can dug deep into my thigh and I am sore. I can still walk. I can still talk. I can even chew gum (although it’s not advised due to dental concerns) but I cannot at this time do all three at one time.

But no matter. I will heal. And I find myself a mere four weeks later yet again with my best friend in the whole wide world at the best park in the U.S.of A.

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.