We rolled into Lone Pine, CA, as the day was fading into evening. Dre, our host and old friend from guiding in Glacier National Park (and even older friend of Chelsea’s from her college years), had given us advice bordering on orders to arrive while there was still daylight. The views were not to be missed even if it meant delaying by a day. She certainly wasn’t wrong, and a mandatory detour around the semi-famous Whitney Portal Road took us along the stunning Tuttle Creek Road, an adventurous piece of single lane pavement both smooth and steep, like a roller coaster track, surrounded by fantastic polyps of granite, some oblong and smooth like giant dinosaur eggs. I am incredibly grateful for Dre’s advice and for the roadwork on Whitney Portal - we had reached the point in the trip that I would have been tempted to drive through late evening darkness to get to a known, safe driveway, or pass up a pretty, 20 minute detour for a direct, 3 minute route. The drive was worth it, and I hope we were able to capture even a fraction of that landscape’s majesty.

Dre gave us a tour of our camp spot, their new property, that evening, and we settled in under the stars. The next morning’s light really made the place shine, and we spent hours by the pool editing photos, stretching, writing, planning, and watching Dre’s two retired sled dogs teach her newly adopted dog how to act right. Gracie learned her place in the micro-pack and behaved herself, a welcome change to the anti-social behavior of her younger years. I’m not sure what gets credit for the change: her advancing age, the wisdom of the road, or the light dose of anxiety meds she gets with all her meals while we travel. Whatever it is, it’s working.

We spent a morning “exploding” part of the van, unpacking everything from a few of the compartments and repacking for maximum efficiency. The first aid kit got torn apart, labeled, and put back together. The duffle bag that hold our odds and ends got a similar treatment, as did part of my tool box, and some of the kitchen pantry. That evening we went for a walk with all four dogs leading all three humans through the desert vistas of the Shark Fin Trail and Movie Road. The Sierras put on a show, turning the sky bright pink with the last of the day’s light, and Chelsea’s back tolerated the two miles, barely. The next day she woke up feeling the activity, despite taking a slower pace and staying on top of her steroid regiment. Her back was responding to the drugs, but not as miraculously as we’d hoped.

The rest of the time was spent taking cool dips in a rad, retro, kidney-shaped pool (and feeling very California about it), making final prep lists for our stop in San Diego before the border crossing, cooking dinners, eating out, and generally carrying on like two late-thirties travelers hanging out at their friends’ beautiful property. Many thanks to Dre (and Caleb, but he was off on a work mission for the duration of our stay), a shining star of a host in what was fast becoming a long line of shining stars.

Mount Whitney and its friends greeted us on the drive in.

As far as driveway camping goes, this spot certainly didn’t disappoint!

A tour of the property with Dre and the dogs - walking down to the orchard!

Their orchard and garden basked in the evening light.

Basking in the glow of the sunset by the pool.

Dre and two of her three very good dogs.

A blissful evening in the fading light by the pool.

Exploding the van to reorganize and make a list of any last items we needed to add.

Afternoon cool-down in the kidney-shaped pool.

My walking abilities had progressed to at least not needing walking sticks to get around.

Our second night treated us to some beautiful views during an evening walk.

The backdrop of the Sierras were impressive.

Fen, front and center, finding his place in his new pack.

Dre admiring her new home’s beautiful landscape.

Rock formation that felt reminiscent of a picture I took years ago in Baja of a grey whale popping up from the depths to say hello.

The last of the cotton candy sky over the impressive landscape of the Alabama Hills.

After Lone Pine, we headed south to San Diego, with a quick stop in between to visit some over-landing legends and turn internet friends into real friends. We took a short detour off our route to meet Micheal and Yvonne of Wabi Sabi Overland fame, and see their latest box-on-a-Jeep creation. We had followed each other on the social medias years ago because we were both Pinzgauer owners, making us part of a small club of rational people owning irrational vehicles. Their vehicles and travels had kept us intrigued for years and we had to take the chance to meet them, as who knows when our paths would cross again. They graciously gave us a tour of their new projects, and we left their workshop mouths agape and imaginations spinning.

Christian gleefully exclaimed “Take a picture, this is SO cool!” as Michael opened the hangar doors.

From there, it was south to San Diego, returning to the familiar feeling of being far from home, but only just barely on the doorstep of the next chapter of adventure. Driving from nearly the northern border of the US to the southern border is an adventure in itself, as hopefully these last few posts has shown, but for us it felt once again like a chore ticked off a list. The US is amazing and full of invaluable overland opportunities, and it would take a lifetime to see even half of what this beautiful country has to offer, but if what you want is international adventure travel, then you must realize that you simply can’t get that at home, no matter where home is for you.

We arrived, slightly frazzled by the rush-hour traffic we’d found ourselves in, at the driveway of our friends Ricky and Ashley, in the heart of the San Diego suburbs. We had stayed here both before and after our last Baja trip six years ago! They had graciously put us up as we were panicking and preparing to adventure in Mexico the first time, when we really didn’t know what we were in for, and then once again after the trip when Chelsea was recovering from her back surgery in Ensenada.

We had much less to prepare this time around, as we had learned a thing or two since we were last there. We had a short shopping list, and we needed to make a bunch of copies of paperwork and arrange our documents, so we spent about half of a day doing that. We integrated ourselves into the family dynamic for a few days, gladly being part of the bustling household, a welcome respite from the road. I attempted a repair on my solar panel mount, realized the repair would have required fully removing part of the roof rack system, and instead swapped two little zip ties that I used as a trail fix for one big zip tie. With little holding us back, we did one last load of laundry and got ready to leave.

Our hosts made us a big Saturday morning breakfast for our send-off, complete with homemade thick-cut peppered bacon and fried eggs. On the morning of our departure a partial eclipse waved us goodbye. I can’t tell if I wanted that to be an omen of some sort; I’ve been contemplating how to fit it into the narrative for the past hour. Was it an unusual break of a natural cycle, mimicking our own? Was it a reminder that there are larger forces at play, and that the story of two middle-aged, washed-up adventurers, their old van, and their crazy dog just isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things? Who knows. Who cares. Let’s ride. Vámonos.

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Oct 9 - Oct 13 : Lone Pine to San Diego

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