After a few days of cocktails and sunsets in Taos, we figured we’d better take a short break from civilization before diving into Santa Fe. Just east of town, a rugged mountain called our name. On the map, it had a dirt road that wound its way up a canyon...
Escaping the gravitational pull of Pagosa Springs took more willpower than expected, but eventually, we did it. Marcel’s nose turned south, New Mexico-bound. Next stop: Taos. We weren’t in any particular hurry now — the threat of Colorado snow was safely behind us — so when a dirt road over...
After a week packed with family time, hot chicken, and van repairs, it was time to retreat back into the mountains for some much-needed decompression. We didn’t have a destination in mind — we rarely do — but we know the Rockies well enough to trust that something would turn...
After three days camped at 10,000 feet with the foxes, we finally cried uncle. The cold had seeped through everything — the van, our bones, even the coffee. So we rolled off the mountain the same way we’d climbed it, chasing warmer air. Even Marcel had started complaining, tugging to...
We’re on a schedule — a dangerous word for people who live in a van, but there it is. The goal: beat the snow. We had to make it through Wyoming, over the Rockies, visit my son (and dog) in Colorado, and reach New Mexico before the first white stuff...
Our route into Wyoming dropped us onto the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway, a ribbon of asphalt that twists through red-rock country and climbs to Dead Indian Hill — all sweeping cliffs and wild switchbacks. The kind of drive that makes you forget you’re technically on a highway. Somewhere up there,...
Leaving our perch on Morrell Mountain, we wound our way down to the nearest stretch of asphalt — a re-entry lane to civilization. First stop was Helena, Montana, where we only lingered long enough to grab groceries and fuel before hitting the open road again. It had been months since...
Back in the land of the free — or free-ish, if we’re being honest. The border crossing into Montana was uneventful in the best way: no line, no fuss, just a quick chat with the U.S. agent about what the heck we’d been doing for the past six weeks. A...
That cursed gate with the skulls forced us into a full retreat. We retraced our tire tracks all the way back to Yoho National Park, onto the main highway, down into Golden, and then south again — basically driving parallel to the dirt road we should’ve been on. A hundred...
