The other night I went to kick his tent while he slept, just because, but instead tripped on one of the stakes and landed on a bush that had me itching the rest of the night.
By the time I finished Oregon I was starting to feel emotionally drained, wondering how I would muster the mental energy to complete my journey in search of the perfect Canadian beer.
Thank god the yeti danger was low when I hiked this section of Oregon.
Within 30 miles of arriving at Dunsmuir it was apparent that there was a very large fire burning in the vicinity.
I’ve hiked 1,463 miles and am still in California!
Well, now I can finally put that old question to rest. It’s confirmed.
Over 90% of the surface was covered in snow and ice, and the snow was several feet deep. Not being an expert mountaineer in these winter conditions…
Taco salad for dinner, pancakes for breakfast.
I crossed mile 300 and couldn’t feel better.
On the first day I went to The Malt Shop for one of their famous chocolate shakes, which I downed with great enthusiasm. Yeah, that's a thing.
Exercising my thumb in preparation for hitchhiking to and from the trail.
Pacific Crest Trail southern terminus marker at the border with Mexico near Campo, California.
Not exactly sure why someone had written this in chalk on the sidewalk, but it seemed to perfectly capture my reasons for travelling this past year.
The classic photo of the Butchart Gardens.
Cursing the inside passage from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy.
Matanuska Glacier, an enormance glacier that fills the valley for many miles.
Beautiful sunset looking across the Cook Inlet.
Denali, the picture says it all.
According to Dalton Highway lore, rogue truckers have outfitted their wheels with spikes and run motorcyclists off the road for sport. The highway is constantly being resurfaced with gravel, sand, and, in some areas, nails and spikes of varying sizes specially designed to shred tires. And on rainy days, the mud is so deep that it’s rumored to swallow rider and motorcycle whole.