Journal

Seventy-one degrees and an empty beach on the Lost Coast, then a night under the redwoods. Our best sleeps on this trip are in the tent, Rhea and me.

We had Howland Hill's giant redwoods all to ourselves, then camped beside a pasture full of elk. After dark, two bucks came out of the night, and Rhea was locked in.

We crossed into California in the pouring rain and holed up early at an old motel built from a single redwood. Rhea slept the whole wet day away.

We took the back roads to the coast, then followed the sea stacks and black-sand beaches south to Brookings. Rhea was a happy girl.

Fresh-ground coffee at a little motel in Fort Klamath, then avocado toast and a nap in the sun at Crater Lake. People out here are so kind.

We woke up by the dunes and caught golden hour a mile up in the Cascades. Rhea had a rough morning, but by afternoon she was a different dog.

A king bed and a shave in Seaside, Haystack Rock in the fog, the bunnies that tested Rhea, a Dungeness crab melt in Lincoln City, a golden fog at sunset along 101, and a night by the Oregon Dunes.

A still night alone in the Hoh Rain Forest, a dawn drive among moss-covered giants, logging trucks carrying their trailers home, fried oysters at a South Bend dive bar, and a rainy run over the Columbia into Oregon.

The northwesternmost tip of the lower 48, logging trucks and clear-cuts on 101, a vampire warning near Forks, Rialto Beach's giant driftwood, a sunny sunset at La Push, and a herd of elk on the road into the rainforest.

A lighthouse walk in Port Townsend, fog and wild blackberries along 101, a huge blue Lake Crescent, campgrounds closed for the season, and a long drive in the dark to the end of the Olympic Peninsula.

A slow Sunday morning on Orcas Island, a calm ferry ride for Rhea, Whidbey's farm fields, a fort hidden in the bluffs, and deer strolling down Port Townsend's main street.

Pink fog over Lake Washington, a rough ferry ride for Rhea, a moss-covered climb up Mount Constitution, a brewery where the locals keep their own mugs, and a main street closed for trick-or-treaters.

A last walk with Camper and Gus, the sun breaking through after a day of rain, Seattle's changes through a longtime local's eyes, and a delicious dinner while Rhea slept in the truck.

Cinnamon rolls in a frosty Western town, a winter wonderland over the North Cascades, a Halloween drive down the Skagit, a rough hour on I-5, and a reunion in Ballard.

Work calls at the bottom of a dead waterfall, three hours above Grand Coulee Dam, a summer burn on the Colville Reservation, our first look at the Cascades, and an $89 wooden motel in Winthrop.

White coffee from a parking-lot hut, gold larches along I-90, the end of a rainbow at the Idaho line, our first Washington wheat fields, and a long night of raccoons in the canyon below Dry Falls.

A clean truck and Mom's flight home, over the Continental Divide again, past Butte's mined-out hills, and into our first real storm on the road.

Bison steaming in the frost, a pack of 14 wolves following a herd across the Lamar Valley, lunch in the sun in Gardiner, elk and a bald eagle on the Yellowstone, and up through Paradise Valley to Bozeman for Mom's last night.

Orion over the snow at dawn, up through the clouds into an empty park, bison in a frosted Hayden Valley, a lake like a mirror, Old Faithful (again), and a grizzly on the way out, all for Mom's early 70th.

A curbside truck swap with Grandma in Bozeman, two very different airports, a long, good day with the team, a Lyft driver from up island with a list of Georgia must-sees, and back to my girl in Montana.

Quiche for two in Miles City, Clark's name on Pompeys Pillar, a sun nap on the tailgate, the truck's checkup in Billings, the first real mountains, and an elk burger in Bozeman.

Geese all night on the Missouri, sunrise espresso by the river, Theodore Roosevelt National Park by truck with bison, wild horses, and more prairie dogs than Rhea could stand, and our first Montana sunset.

Back roads through the land of 10,000 lakes, Swedish pancakes on small town Sunday time, corn piled higher than the silos, and North Dakota's 80 mph roads into a headwind, all the way to the Missouri.

Frost on the tent, our first hot diner breakfast, squeaky cheese curds, and a little bar in Nelson, MN, where the locals bought me a beer and fell for Rhea.

A motel by the train tracks, a national park between two industrial zones, a pesto sandwich in Marengo, and the back roads into Wisconsin.

Brandywine Falls and Beaver Marsh in the morning, a truckers' highway across Ohio and Indiana, and our first motel of the trip.

Goat Island to ourselves, a passport left at home, and Steinbeck's road along Lake Erie instead of Canada.

Up the west shore of Cayuga Lake, through upstate farm country with the windows down, a detour to Letchworth, and Rhea on squirrel patrol at Niagara.

Rhea's first day on the road: a late start out of Long Island's East End, the Catskills in yellow, and her first night in the tent outside Ithaca.

A sleepless last night in Acadia, a headwind from Maine to Connecticut, three ferries, and home to Long Island just after sunset.

A freezing morning, the Beehive's iron rungs, the biggest lobster roll of my life, and a late dash for sunset at Bass Harbor.

One of the first up the Mount Washington Auto Road, a smoking brake pad on the way down, and peak color all the way to Acadia.

A slow, rainy morning at the Ross' house, Bob's Friday bake, and the long way over the Kancamagus to a Dolly Copp campsite at 8pm.

Out of my cousin's driveway at 7:30 and into Stowe by 3, with the maples peaking the whole way up 89.