Do the Walk of Life

I played a lot of games to keep myself entertained during my 150 day Maine to Oregon walk. One of my favorites was “How did Ben’s walk across America end?” When I found myself doing a necessary, but often ridiculous trip task, like hanging a bear bag in the dark or running across a narrow bridge, I would ask myself “How did Ben’s walk across America end?” And then answer my question, from an outsider’s perspective, depending on the situation. “Well, he broke an ankle when he slipped on a rock. He was hanging a bear bag.” Or “He didn’t run fast enough across a bridge, and ended up in the grill of a semi.” My answers were typically accompanied by a good laugh. Facing very real dangers daily is part of every cross-country walk. I was always one distracted driver, one slip, one snake bite away from a catastrophe. The game was my way of reminding myself that every successful step of this journey was a blessing. I coped with the dangers I faced by looking them square in the eyes and laughing. Walking in fear was not an option. But I certainly had a healthy respect for the dangers that lurked around every corner.

On September 8th, 2018, I turned 32. And I finally was able to answer the question “How did Ben’s walk across America end” in a satisfactory way. It would end with a final step into the Pacific Ocean in Seaside, Oregon.

I started my walk on a Thursday morning, so every Wednesday night, I would get out my U.S. map and Sharpie in my progress from the last seven days. Here is the final product!


I arrived in Seaside on the afternoon of September 7th. I could have finished that day, but I wanted to sleep one mile away from the ocean. I wanted to officially be on the road, walking across America, for one more night. It would allow me time to reflect. I would return to a “normal life” soon enough. I wanted to be the crazy walker just a little longer.

The morning of the 8th began like every other walking day. I threw on my favorite smelly polyester athletic shirt (a Denver Broncos shirt I wore on the final day of my first walk) and running shorts. I put on my sock liners and compression socks and laced up my walking shoes. I slathered my face, neck, arms, and ears in sunscreen and threw on my Kissing Camels ball cap. I walked out to PJ and pushed on his tires to ensure they had enough air in them for the final mile.

My hosts from Portland, Steve and Irene, were making the trip to Seaside to join me for my final walk. I took a few birthday phone calls from family and friends while I waited. The couple arrived at 11 AM. The three of us left Seaside International Hostel and walked towards downtown.

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. A light breeze blew off the ocean. Irene, who is a professional photographer, was across the street taking photos. Steve, who was at my side when we left the hostel, slowed down and walked 30 feet behind me. I took in the moment, praying that I could soak up and remember every small detail from my remaining steps – every bump in the sidewalk, the smell of fresh cut grass, the chirping birds, and the whoosh sound PJ’s rain cover made as it brushed up against the left tire.

150 days of memories flashed before my eyes while I walked down quiet Holladay Street. There was the bear spray incident in Ontario. Close encounters with cars. Middle fingers. Blisters. Heat. Smoke. Wind. Solitude.

And there were the people. Completing my walk would not have been possible without hundreds of people (spanning 10 states and two Canadian Provinces) helping me out on a daily basis. The folks I met housed me, fed me, hydrated me, clothed me, encouraged me, inspired me, and loved me. I could not have done it without my family’s unwavering support. And I certainly wouldn’t be standing here, upright, healthy, and happy without God’s steady hand on my shoulder. I am eternally grateful for the support and love I have been shown by family and friends, near and far.

As fate would have it, Seaside was hosting a vintage car show over the weekend. Classic cars were parked along the downtown drag. The avenue was closed to vehicle traffic – pedestrians only. Finally, after 3,400 miles, I had found a driver free street after turning right on Broadway.

PJ and I slowly meandered through the crowd, receiving the typical “what the hell is this guy doing” looks. We reached the Seaside Promenade, where an American flag whipped in the wind over a statue of Lewis and Clark, who ended the first half of their groundbreaking expedition just north of that spot. The two explorers are peering west at the majestic Pacific.

I walked down a ramp to the beach just left of the statue. At first I could still push PJ through the sand, but it eventually became too thick. PJ needed to touch the ocean, too. I pulled him the rest of the way.

I pulled PJ for 75 yards. I joked with Steve that I should have finished my walk at high tide. “Almost there!” I yelled. I was out of breath as we approached the water.

I took off my shoes and socks and paused before taking my final steps into the ocean. I was singing the Britney Spears song “Oops I Did It Again” as I walked into the Pacific.

The cold water felt heavenly on my feet. I stood there for some time as waves soaked my knees and crashed against PJ’s wheels. Blisters from 3,400 miles of walking were soothed. The water washed away the loose skin from the soles of my feet. I felt like I was dreaming. And just like that, it was over.

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Trip Stats

Total Days -150

Total Miles – 3,402 (Officially!)

Total Peanut Butter Jars – 115

Total Loose Change Count – $9.12

Favorite Roadside Find – The Pacific Ocean.

Favorite Three Pictures

Steve and Irene made an incredible day perfect. Thank you both for your company, time, and support. We really peeled some layers off the onion in our conversations. I am forever grateful for your friendship!

I still prefer my method of transportation with my all-time favorite travel companion, PJ. He now has 5,400 miles under his belt. I am proud to say PJ rolled EVERY inch on this journey.

The sunset over the Pacific in Seaside. A fitting sight after an epic adventure!


“Progress, not perfection” was the mantra for my journey. I made geographical progress every day, but was never perfect while doing so. More importantly, I wanted to make personal progress. I didn’t set out on this trip to “fix myself” or have an epiphany about how we can attain world peace. I set out to learn more about myself and continue to grow as a person. I’ll never be perfect. What fun would that be anyway?

Walking was my catalyst for progress, and will continue to be moving forward. Thanks to the people who came into my life during the walk, and the challenges along the way, I have made some progress. Walking has impacted my life in countless ways – I have been sober since April 16th, 2017. Walking is my favorite coping mechanism and allows me to deal with life’s stresses in a healthy way. Walking continues to teach me patience. Walking forces me to slow down and offers a front row seat to the beauty our world has to offer. Walking keeps me healthy, physically and mentally. And walking offers an opportunity to be introspective and reflective.

Fortunately, a person doesn’t need to walk across America to reap the benefits of walking. Just lace up your shoes and go. Anytime, anywhere. The benefits are steps away. I truly hope that my journey has inspired you to get out and walk.

On that note, I think it’s about time for a walk.

With gratitude and love, walk on!

Ben

 

 

 

 

 

Pacific or Bust

After a quiet night of sleep in Three Mile Canyon, I set my sights on Portland. I didn’t know it at the time, but that would be the last night I would sleep in my tent on my walk.

Part of the reason I had taken the previous afternoon off was to plan out my walk into Portland. Not so much where I was going to sleep, but the best way to go about tackling the interstate ahead.

People had warned me about some narrow stretches on I-84 and several construction zones. I used a combination of Google Satellite and Street View, and Oregon’s Department of Transportation website to plan a route that would make upcoming miles as safe as possible. I memorized which exits to take, where I would follow frontage roads, where I would walk with traffic, and at what mile markers several unavoidable narrow bridges were. The most challenging stretches of the walk would be between Hood River and the east side of Portland, which I would hit three days after leaving Three Mile Canyon.

My 36 mile walk to The Dalles was straight forward. I just had to put one foot in front of the other 76,000 times. I officially entered the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area a bit west of Rufus and approached The Dalles at dusk. Impressive Mount Hood was visible to the southwest and the massive Dalles Dam was lit up like a Christmas tree as I made my way into town.

Finding a place in a city to pitch my tent was always problematic. After I ate three cheeseburgers, a chicken sandwich, and an ice cream cone, I slept behind some trees with a view of the McDonald’s arch where I just had dinner. I would walk a fine line between bum and simplistic traveler in my final days in Oregon.

Hood River was my destination the following day. After 20 miles on the interstate, I was able to follow the lone stretch of the Old Highway 30 Historic Bike Trail that hadn’t been affected by the Eagle Creek Fire the year before. The trail climbed several hundred feet into the hills surrounding the Columbia River. As soon as I gained elevation, I went from a semi-arid desert landscape into beautiful ponderosa pine forests. Moss covered logs and rocks lined the forest floor. I was transported to a different world in a matter of miles. The views from the trail were incredible, too.

At the high point of the trail, I met a man named Ian who was out for a jog with his three-year-old daughter. He invited me to stay with his family in Hood River. I jumped at the opportunity to sleep inside for a night. Their home was three miles out of the way, but I didn’t mind.

Once I got into town, I headed due south. Downtown Hood River sits on a little bluff above the Columbia. To get to Ian’s house, I had to climb out of the valley floor….again. The road I chose from downtown had a 20% grade. I took a running start but quickly slowed down. I wasn’t sure if I had enough energy to get to the top of the 75 yard hill. I had already walked 30 miles and was beat. PJ and I moved painfully slowly. A family walked past us, clearly amused. I was out of breath but felt like I owed them an explanation. I paused at an intersection. “I am walking across America. These hills suck after walking 30 miles already!” They laughed and approached me.

“I think you dropped something,” the father said. I looked around, confused. He handed me a 20 dollar bill. I thanked them for the donation and pushed harder up the remainder of the hill, not wanting to show my exhaustion.

I arrived at Ian’s house 20 minutes later. The family had a heaping portion of fish and steamed rice waiting for me. I was thrilled.

Ian outside his house bidding me good luck!

I retraced my steps in the morning, heading back down the 20% grade of 12th Street into downtown. I couldn’t walk straight down the hill considering how steep the road was. Gravity worked against me, and I didn’t think I could keep my footing as PJ did his best to race down the hill. Instead I walked down the street “slolam ski style,” carving an S shape on the pavement. I caught a few curious glances from people who were in their front yards as PJ and I slowly meandered down the hill.

Today was a big day. I hoped to get through three of the four sections of I-84 I had deemed as dangerous in my planning. I walked with traffic from mile marker 56 to 51, avoiding a construction zone and blind curve around one of the massive canyon walls. The worst part of that stretch was a half mile section where PJ’s left tire was inches inside the white line. To my right was a guardrail and the Columbia River. There was nowhere to bail. I put my life into the driver’s hands. I let out a triumphant fist pump when we took exit 51.

After another 8 miles of walking a frontage road, I arrived in Cascade Locks, home to Bridge of the Gods.

From Cascade Locks, I walked with traffic from mile marker 44 to mile marker 40 to avoid a tunnel on the other side of the road. A lengthy bridge (which, fortunately, offered a wider shoulder) was unnerving to cross but was certainly safer than a dark tunnel given the amount of traffic. I was through obstacle two of four.

The next two hurdles were a pair of shoulderless bridges. They weren’t terribly long, maybe 60 or 70 yards, but given holiday traffic levels (it was the Friday before Labor Day weekend), my best hope was to cross them at dusk or dawn.

I arrived at the first bridge at dusk, waited for a gap in traffic, and ran. PJ’s front tire started wiggling uncontrollably halfway across. “Not now PJ!” I yelled. I had to slow down to get the tire rolling true again. I sped walked the rest of the way. A semi approached 10 feet from the edge of the bridge. He moved to my right a few feet while we cleared the end of the bridge onto the safety of the shoulder. “What a rush!” I hollered. “Whoooooooooo!”

There was one more bridge to go, but it would have to wait until morning. PJ and I walked another five miles on a frontage road and ended the eventful day at mile marker 35. I slept next to a massive ponderosa pine between the frontage road and a freeway on-ramp.

We tackled the final bridge first thing in the morning. My walk started at 6. I wanted to cross the bridge before the sun came up and started blinding drivers heading east. Four cars passed us on the bridge during our crossing. We avoided any close calls, much to my relief.

“Now we can cruise PJ!”

With Portland 35 miles away, I relaxed a bit, and was even able to play tourist for a few hours with a visit to Multnomah Falls. Most of the waterfalls and scenic viewpoints were closed due to the fire. Guards were stationed 24/7 at all the trailheads and parking lots to ensure people didn’t enter the burned areas, which were about everywhere except for the interstate and the few frontage roads I could walk. The falls were a beautiful place to spend a Saturday morning.

After viewing the falls, I was even able to help a distressed motorist! A guy named Chicoby was having engine trouble. While working on his car, he managed to get a bandana stuck in one of the belts (I’m still unclear how it happened!). With the use of my needle nose pliers, a lighter, and some fine hammering, we got the bandana out. It only took an hour. Over the next 15 miles, I passed another four disabled vehicles. I was of no use to them though!

I said goodbye to Interstate 84 at the Troutdale exit and began my suburban Portland walk. I slept in an urban forest in Gresham. Other than some raccoons scurrying by my sleeping bag at 4 AM (which scared the crap out of me) it was a great spot.

I walked across the Hawthrone Bridge into downtown the following morning. After 15 days and 380 miles of walking since Tekoa, Washington, I was ready for a day off.

My arrival in The City of Roses meant I had officially walked from Portland, Maine, to Portland, Oregon!

Back when I was having lunch at a Subway in Colfax, Washington, a man named Steve had walked in. He saw PJ outside, and said “Are you walking across America?” We hit it off immediately.

Steve walked across America a few years ago. His journey took four years – from 2012 to 2016. The main difference in our walks – he travelled with a goat! Steve was raising money for an orphanage in Africa. The goats (he actually had two on his trip, Leroy and Miles) maxed out at 10 miles per day. Man did he have some stories!

I stayed with Steve and his wife, Irene (who was part of Steve’s remote support team) for two nights. We had a ball sharing road stories. We also hit some Portland attractions, including Voodoo Donuts and Porter’s Bookstore. After a restful day off, I was ready for my final push to the Pacific.

Steve and Irene outside Voodoo Donuts.

I left Portland on September 4th. Getting out of downtown and into the suburbs was a challenge. Hills just west of the city center, and windy, narrow roads, forced me to walk south before heading west to Beaverton. After 14 miles, I reached the affluent suburb of Hillsboro, past Nike’s International Headquarters, and found a spot to sleep off a bike path surrounded by expensive condos.

I reached Highway 26 the following afternoon, and saw my first sign for Seaside – my eventual destination – 56 miles away! My heart soared.

Dusk approached and I started looking for a sleeping spot. The thick forests were proving difficult to wheel PJ into, and the roads that led into several state forests were gated shut due to high fire danger. No guards, but a gate was enough to keep me out. I settled on a spot off a logging road under some power lines. There wasn’t enough room to pitch my tent in the shrubs. Throwing out my sleeping bag on top of my Thermarest pad (which no longer held air) was my new routine.

I marveled at the Milky Way overhead. Several shooting stars made my grin even bigger.

“We are gonna coast to the ocean PJ!” I said confidently to my buggy before I drifted off to sleep. Highway 26 had been a joy to walk so far. The large, evenly paved shoulder should continue clear through to Seaside. Oregon had different plans.

PJ and I started rolling down the road at dawn the next morning. My plan was to finish my walk on September 8th – my 32nd birthday. 40 miles in two days should be a breeze!

After a few easy miles, the highway began a steady climb through Oregon’s Coastal Range. The mountains weren’t massive, but a 1,000 feet of elevation gain still had my heart rate up. After lunch and a nap at a rest area, we reached the summit of the coastal range at 1,642 feet.

From there, the shoulder quickly dissapeared. PJ and I were faced with “Double G’s” (guardrails on both sides of the road), blind curves, and a new obstacle – shade. The massive trees that lined the highway cast shadows on the road, which would make it a bit tougher for cars to see us, especially when they would drive out of sunlight and into the shade. I lashed my bike light to the handlebars and put it in strobe mode to be more visible. Despite my strobe light, it didn’t feel like much of a party. I darted from one side of the road to the other when approaching a blind curve. Then ran back across when the road briefly straightened out. I wasn’t thinking about how many miles were left. I was too busy making sure PJ and I didn’t end up in the grill of a logging truck.

At one point, I ran over a spring that caused my right tire to go flat. I pushed PJ off the road, moved several six foot logs, and pumped up the tire, hoping it would hold. It would have been a dangerous spot to go through the process of changing a flat. Fortunately, the tire held.

It was a stressful, but strangely fun afternoon.

In addition to some shoulderless stretches, Highway 26 also had a tunnel and a long bridge that were a bit dangerous. Fortunately there was a button to push before entering the tunnel (and crossing the bridge), causing a light to flash to warn drivers of a walker/biker in the tunnel.

After 10 miles of shoulderless walking PJ and I called it a day 22 miles from Seaside. Our last night spent outside was under a canopy of pine trees on a springy bed of pine needles.

I couldn’t wait to get started the next morning with Seaside in sight. PJ and I immediately climbed over one final hill, David Douglas Summit, at a modest 1,300 feet, and began the long, curvy descent into Seaside. It was literally all downhill from there!

I forced myself to stop and take breaks once I was within 15 miles of Seaside. I wanted to slow myself down and really soak in the last few miles of my walk. It was glad I took some breaks to relax because the walking into Seaside was anything but relaxing. The road had widened slightly, but a steady stream of cars left me on my guard. I was less than 10 miles from the Pacific, but might as well have been back in Montana. I chipped away at the remaining miles into town. 9….8….7….6….

“Just get to Seaside. Just get to Seaside.”

At 3 o’clock on September 7th I arrived at the “Welcome to Seaside” sign. Traffic was so heavy it took 10 minutes to get across the road so I could get a proper photo to commemorate the moment. Passing cars had no idea what I went through to get a picture next to that damn sign!

The Pacific was less than a mile away. I didn’t want to see it yet. My 32nd birthday was the next day. The ocean, and the official completion of my walk, would be my birthday gift.

Trip Stats –

Days – 149

Miles – 3,405

Peanut Butter Jars – 114

Loose Change Count – $9.12

Favorite Roadside Find(s) – Fruit! Blackberries (which are considered an invasive plant in much of Oregon) grew wild nearly everywhere off Highway 26 between Portland and Seaside. When I was low on energy I just stopped and picked a handful of berries! Or as I was waiting for a line of cars to pass before darting to the next “safe zone” on narrow 26, I would snag a few berries and snack next to the highway.

Favorite Three Pictures –

The Columbia River, looking west, from Cascade Locks.

The Richmond Neighborhood in Portland. Looking surprisingly fallish on September 2nd.

Stop and smell the roses – but no picking!

Spoiler alert! I made it to the Pacific! I will be putting together another blog post in the next week detailing my final, eventful mile to the ocean. Steve and Irene took the time to come join me in Seaside on my final walking day. It would end up being one of the best days of my life. The emotions I felt, and some closing thoughts about this amazing journey, deserve their own post.

Walk on!

The Oregon Trail

Washington was a grind. The seven day, 187 mile trek through the Evergreen State gave me all I could handle!

I left Tekoa on August 19th with my sights set on an RV Park in Steptoe. Considering the previous two weeks (with the exception of one clear day between Missoula and the Idaho border), smoke in the air was my new normal. I followed two roads to get to Steptoe – State Highway 27, and Hume Road. Both peacefully meandered through mostly harvested grain and lentil fields. The parched rolling hills had a yellowish-brown color that nearly matched the hazy skies.

Thanks to light Sunday traffic, the shoulderless roads were quiet and quite enjoyable to walk. I picked up consistent cell service for the first time since the Montana-Idaho border, and arrived at my campground just in time to participate in a fantasy football draft.

My neighbor, a chatty 10 year-old boy named Devin, was very interested in my walk and provided some company for the evening. He offered suggestions for ways I could get across the country faster. My favorite – strap a sail to PJ and ride on top when the wind was at our back.

As I went to sleep, thicker smoke blew in from the northwest. By morning, air quality readings were wavering between unhealthy and very unhealthy levels (they had mainly been moderately unhealthy up to that point). I decided I would continue walking. After all, I’d still be breathing in the smoke if I just sat in my tent. I figured my body would tell me if it couldn’t handle the air.

The walk into Colfax went off without a hitch, and I continued west from there to a little town called Dusty. Route 26 west of Colfax was named the “Pelouse Scenic Highway.” I renamed it the “Pelouse Smoky Highway.” The 17 mile walk to Dusty was surreal. I couldn’t see much on the other side of the grain fields that surrounded me. I felt like I had been dropped on some strange, polluted, alien planet, left to fend for myself.

Dusty only added to the strange day. It might as well have been a ghost town. The lone surviving business was a gas station, which had been closed for two hours by the time I arrived at 7 PM. There wasn’t a soul around. I decided to sleep behind a rock mound at a rest area outside of town. While I waited for the sun to set, I sat on some impeccably manicured grass next to a cemetery. The sun was a fiery red as it dipped lower on the horizon.

Rocky stealth sleeping in Dusty.

Thanks to considerably clearer skies the following morning, I had a little pep in my step. My target destination for the day was Washtucna, 35 miles down the road. Locals warned me of heavy harvest and college traffic on the highway. To my pleasant surprise, traffic was light. I enjoyed the scenery throughout the day. I left “Pelouse Country” late in the morning and walked into the “Scablands,” which are unique scab-looking rock formations on the hillsides, only found in this part of Washington.

The hills have scabs!

About 10 miles from Washtucna, I reached another big milestone on my walk – the 3,000 mile mark. I stopped and sat on a gravel pulloff to take in the moment. As I was preparing to resume my trek, a passing motorcyclist named Ken stopped to see if I needed help. We ended up visiting for 45 minutes.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Ken would play a huge roll in my walk in coming days. He surprised me with bananas and 12 pouches of tuna the next morning in Washtucna, put me up in a hotel in Kennewick, and set up my camping spot in Umatilla. Ken has taken several cross-country motorcycle trips on 20 dollars by relying on the kindness of strangers to help him out. Clearly, he pays it forward when he gets the chance. Thank you Ken!

After an overnight stay at a city park in Washtucna, and the pleasant morning visit from Ken while I was drinking coffee at a little cafe, I walked 14 miles south to Kahlotus. Despite the wonderful morning, I was exhausted and didn’t have any more miles in my feet. I think the string of 90 degree days, smoky air, and desolate areas finally caught up with me. I got permission to camp at a park in town and turned in early, hopeful for a better walk the following day.

Pumping the brakes a bit and resting payed off big time. I covered 36 miles in 12 hours and ended in the peaceful sounding town of Eltopia. Despite a great day of walking, I had no idea where I was going to sleep. I eventually walked down to the railroad tracks next to the abandoned downtown strip and began searching for a clearing in the sagebrush that provided the lowest probability of an encounter with a rattlesnake.

I came across a woman named Shea who was searching for her weiner dog that wandered off. I helped her look as I explained my dilemna. She said I could sleep next to an abandoned school she lived next to, as long as I didn’t start a fire or mind ghosts. She later told me about paranormal encounters she has had since she moved into an RV next door (mainly unexplained noises and footsteps on her RV roof). Shea gave me a tour of the school grounds. The 84 year-old building had seen better days and was very creepy, but sleeping next to it was my best option.

“I’ll just be here for the night, ghosts,” I said while I set my tent up. “I mean you no harm!” It turned out to be a pleasant night!

School has been out in Eltopia for some time.

I rolled out of my tent in the morning and couldn’t believe my eyes. Clear blue skies! I packed up quickly and started my walk to the Tri-Cities. Originally, I planned on avoiding the area (bigger cities tend to be a fustercluck to walk through). But once I discovered I could walk the Interstate on the Oregon side of the Columbia River, I rethought my route plans. The presence of more services and several long stretches of paved bike paths through the Columbia River Gorge, plus the walkability of an interstate, made it a no brainer to cross into Oregon due south of the Tri-Cities.

What was supposed to be a breezy 24 mile day turned into a 32 mile adventure. A flat tire six miles in set me back about an hour, and once I neared the outskirts of Pasco, Google’s directions sent me to a private railroad crossing with no trespassing signs posted all over the place. I had to turn around and ended up back at the same spot where I left the highway two hours earlier.

Once I was finally on the right roads, I hustled to Kennewick, where my motorcycle buddy Ken set me up with a hotel room for the night. It was amazing to have a comfortable bed, shower, and a McDonald’s next door after an eventful day.

The highlight of walking through the Tri-Cities was crossing the Columbia River between Pasco and Kennewick on the Ed Hedner Bridge. I didn’t expect the river to be so big!

I began my final stretch in Washington the following morning. I followed Bofer Canyon Road out of Kennewick before being forced onto the interstate. A dead end sign at the Coffin Road exit left me with no choice but to illegally walk the interstate for eight miles. I walked 15 minute miles to get to the next exit in two hours. Either passing cars didn’t call the highway patrol on me, or I walked fast enough to get off the freeway before authorities could catch up with me!

Bofer Canyon just south of Kennewick. Some big hills and 30 mile per hour head winds made for a challenging stretch out of the canyon bottom. I also met two cyclists named Leslie and Chris, who were out biking into the wind. They gave me some encouraging words that helped immensely!

After getting off the interstate I had a short three mile jaunt across the Columbia River (again) on a freeway adjacent bike path into the final state of my journey – Oregon!

I camped at a riverside RV Park in Umatilla on my first night in the Beaver State.

My first two days in Oregon have been pretty quiet, aside from the constant flow of traffic on Interstate 84. I camped at the city marina in Boardman last night and am staying at an Army Corps of Engineers campground tonight in Three Mile Canyon. My site is a stones toss from the Columbia River. With beautiful blue skies overhead, I decided to cut today short at 14 miles and enjoy the peaceful Oregon desert and riverside accomodations.

Trip Stats –

Days – 138

Miles – 3,150

Peanut Butter Jars – 108

Loose Change Count – $8.55

Favorite Roadside Find – As I was chatting with my sister on the phone outside of Washtucna, a woman pulled over and gave me a tin of cinnamon rolls and four muffins. Hands down the sweetest thing I’ve been gifted on the roadside!

Favorite Three Pictures –

“Goat’s Heads” have become my biggest nemesis in Washington and Oregon. They are EVERYWHERE…Even on nicely paved shoulders. They have caised one flat tire for PJ, and countless holes in my tire tubes. Fortunately, the self-sealing tubes are holding up pretty well when I simply reinflate the tires after a puncture.

I have been craving a quiet campground on a blue sky day in the middle of nowhere for weeks now. Three Mile Canyon provided the perfect spot! It will mean an early start and 43 mile day to Rufus, but should be worth it!

It was nearly dark when I crossed into Oregon, and this happened to be the first “Oregon themed sign” I passed after I left Umatilla. It will have to do for my “Welcome to Oregon” moment! I’m crossing my fingers for a safe walk to the coast.

From Three Mile Canyon, I am about 170 miles from downtown Portland. Seaside, my eventual destination, is about 90 miles west of that. I will primarily be on the interstate until The Dalles. From there, I’ll be able to follow some bike paths, frontage roads, and Old Highway 30 for stretches to get a break from I-84.

I am excited to start my push to Portland in the morning! Walk on!

How ‘Bout ‘Dem (Washington) Apples?

It was a great four day Montana holiday with my dad. He certainly succeeded in spoiling me. Four nights in hotels, access to a vehicle, coffee on demand, and daily showers were a much needed respite from the walk. We saw a lot of sights, had a lot of laughs, ate heartily, and did plenty of relaxing. My feet enjoyed the vacation, too, and were fresh and clean coming out of Lincoln. I was as ready as I could be for the road ahead.

After connecting a miles worth of steps through Lincoln with my dad, we hugged goodbye and I switched back into walking mode. Missoula was 80 miles west. I had the luxury of seeing the road I would walk clear through to Missoula after Dad had picked me up in Lincoln.

Highway 200 follows the Blackfoot River to Missoula and was a joy to walk, with the exception of a 12 mile stretch right outside of Lincoln. The river side of the road (which I would ideally walk) was lined with a series of 12 guardrails that forced me to walk with traffic intermittently. Fortunately, there were no “double G’s” (my walker’s slang for double guardrails) which can get very dicey without adequate shoulder room.

There was little or no room next to a series of guardrails along the Blackfoot River. I was forced to walk with my back to traffic for segments of a 12 mile stretch. Unnerving, but necessary!

I camped in Ovando my first night after leaving Lincoln. This friendly little Montana town caters to cross-country cyclists and the occasional walker. They have a little bike shop, cafe, general store, and a free campground. Or for five bucks, you can sleep in a teepee, covered wagon, or their historic jail building. I initially chose the wagon, but someone came and emptied the neighboring porto-potty, sending the smell into my would-be sleeping quarters. I moved to jail.

I have spent two nights in jail on my walk! The first was at the Ottawa Jail Hostel.

I arrived in Missoula after another two days of meandering along the Blackfoot River. I took my time getting through town. Missoula has a great college-town vibe (it is home to the University of Montana) and was a happening place even though school wasn’t in session yet. The Blackfoot empties into the Clark Fork River just outside of town. Plenty of people could be seen floating down the river in inflatable rafts, trying to stay cool. One bank temperature sign read 106.

I was on the west side of town at dusk and planned on camping near the river when I met a woman named Audrey who was out walking her dogs, Barley and Rowdy. She invited me to camp in her yard. When we arrived at her house, she asked if I needed anything. A bathroom to freshen up was at the forefront of my mind, but Audrey said she was apprehensive about me coming inside her home. Of course I understood! She brought me out a bucket of hot water and a washcloth so I was able to clean myself up a bit. Thank you for the camping spot and hot water, Audrey!

From Audrey’s yard, I was down to my last 110 miles in Montana. My route to the Idaho border was a little tricky. The interstate crossed the Clark Fork a dozen times. Some of the bridges spanning the river had shoulders, others didn’t. I wrote down directions for the first time on my walk and thought I had a plan in place that would spare me from any dangerous bridge crossings.

I walked a state highway to Frenchtown, where I began my first of several walking stints down Interstate 90. 10 miles later, I left the interstate and followed a frontage road towards Alberton, where I camped in the woods under cover of some beautiful Ponderosa Pines in Lolo National Forest.

I walked 41 miles the following day (my second 40 plus day of the walk) and camped next to the Clark Fork at a free campground five miles east of St. Regis. Unforseen construction on the interstate (which made several stretches impassable) forced me to throw my directions out the window and follow a few detours, which added four or five miles to my route. The extra miles were well worth it to stay safe!

This was the prettiest stretch of frontage road I have ever walked! The quiet road offered great views of the Clark Fork.

From St. Regis I walked to the “Route of the Olympian,” a trail that paralelled the interstate and climbed 30 miles to the Idaho border. According to Google, it was paved a few miles outside of St. Regis. Google couldn’t have been more wrong! PJ was infuriated! The trail was more of a rocky dirt road. PJ and I could barely manage 1.5 miles per hour. Fortunately, we were able to bushwack through the forest and make it back onto the smooth interstate shoulder.

I camped next to the St. Regis River near Saltese on my final night in Montana. I soaked my feet in the frigid river water just before going to sleep.

I walked the interstate over Lookout Pass and into Idaho the next day. Lookout was a relatively easy climb and offered some great views of the Bitterroot Range, despite the smoky skies. Smoke and haze in the air have become the new normal over the last few weeks. Fires burning all over the West have left the areas I’ve been traveling through blanketed in smoke. I did have one clear day between Missoula and the Idaho border in which I could actually see the forest for the trees. I have decided to pretend the area is continually covered in a layer of smoke scented fog.

Idaho wins the award for the most scenic welcome sign! I took a nice long break atop Lookout Pass and reflected on the 32 day, 680 mile walk through Big Sky Country.

I was stoked to be in Idaho. It is always rewarding to check a state off the list, but 72 of my 90 miles in Idaho would be on a PAVED bike path. I couldn’t wait for a quiet few days of walking!

I walked downhill from the Idaho welcome sign into Mullan, then picked up the “Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes,” which spans most of the Idaho Panhandle. I arrived in funky Wallace (the self-proclaimed “Center of the Universe,”) and camped at an RV Park. I hadn’t showered in a week, and even though the water was only luke warm, it felt amazing.

Following the Coeur d’Alene Trail was an amazing way to travel through Northern Idaho. The first 25 miles passed through the silver mining towns of Mullan, Wallace, Silverton, and Kellogg. At one time, the Silver Valley of Idaho produced more silver than any other area in North and South America. From Kellogg the trail left the freeway and followed the Couer d’Alene River for 30 miles. Wildlife was plentiful on the trail. I spotted a moose, deer, an owl, osprey, blue herons, and plenty of chipmonks (which would always prompt me to yell “Alvin!”).

The final 12 miles of the trail ran along Lake Coeur d’Alene, and included a walk across the Chatcolet Bridge.

The Chatcolet Bridge was one of many highlights along the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes.

Although the scenery along the trail was beautiful, my favorite aspect of the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes were the people! There were plenty of other cyclists along the path, but only one bearded man pushing a stroller decorated with a giraffe and a duck. I talked to a handful of people along the way. My favorite encounter was with Shane and his three kids, Ben, Gus, and Isadora. The family lives in Eugene, Oregon, and drove to Idaho to ride the trail. Shane carried the camping gear and food on his cargo bike, while the kids carried their own clothes and water on their bikes, complete with their own little saddle bags. They biked from the west side of the trail to Kellogg and were returning to their starting point when we met. The family covered about 30 miles per day. I joined them for a snack at a trailside picnic table. The twin 7 year-old boys encouraged me to camp with them in Harrison that night. I couldn’t turn them down! I joined them for a mac’n cheese and hot dog dinner. The kids asked me a lot of questions…including some tough ones, like “what’s your favorite bug?” Their scary stories were tough to beat, too.

New friends on the trail!

After 32 days in Montana, Idaho took a mere three-and-a-half to cross. I arrived in my second to last state of the journey, Washington, on August 17th.

A handful of vehicles pulled over and said hello as I neared and crossed the state line last evening. A man named Larry, who has been farming in Eastern Washington for the last 58 years, bought me dinner at a little restaurant in Tekoa last night. Thank you for the great welcome to Washington!

After 10 days and 286 miles of walking since Lincoln, I was ready for a rest day! I am camping at a city park in town and spending the day off my feet, playing catch up, and planning my route through Washington.

Trip Stats

Days – 129

Miles – 2,922

Peanut Butter Jars – 101

Loose Change – $8.10

Favorite Roadside Find – About a mile from where I said goodbye to my dad, I came across a toy car and a little note underneath a stone. The note was a touching, encouraging message from my dad. He bought the car at a pawn shop in Great Falls during our visit, and I have been using the rock to pound in my tent stakes….the rock is much more effective than my metal coffee mug! Thank you pop!

Favorite Four Photos-

I’m not sure why I like this picture so much! This was taken near Alberton, MT. The railroad along the Clark Fork has been decommisioned for some time, so the rail bridge over the road no longer exists. This spot was a little eerie, especially at dusk.

The Coeur d’Alene River near sunset.

Can you guess which is my favorite vehicle parked at the Wallace RV Park for the night?

This powerful statue greets visitors at the trailhead for the Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes in Plummer, Idaho. 15 miles of the trail is on the Coeur d’Alene Reservation. The statue honors Native Americans who have died serving our country. It is a beautiful, moving piece.

From Tekoa, I am less than 500 miles from the Pacific…PJ and I will have our work cut out for us on the walk from Eastern Washington to the ocean. Increased traffic from farm vehicles (harvest season is at its peak) and college students headed back to school at Washington State, along with a hot and smoky forecast will only add to the challenges down the road. This is going to be a hell of a push to the Pacific!

Walk on!

Rocky Mountain Hi

When I left Jordan on July 22nd, 132 miles of ranches, farms, and the Judith Mountains separated me from Lewistown. My stopping points on the five day walk were pretty straight forward – Sand Springs Campground, the Hill Family Oasis Bed and Breakfast, Winnett City Park, and Little Montana Truck Stop. It was nice having a lineup of civilized sleeping spots planned. I could carry less water during my daily walks and wouldn’t be camping in the rattlesnake infested long grass off the road.

To be fair, I have only seen a few rattlesnakes in Montana, and they have all been small ones that had been run over by cars. Still, snakes were constantly on my mind. Like bears in Canada and fireworks and trains in North Dakota, every area offers its own unique challenges. Though my compliants about fireworks and trains in North Dakota seem pretty petty now.

The Sunday walk to Sand Springs was beautiful and quiet. Sundays are typically my favorite day to walk (low traffic levels). I enjoyed a nice shoulder and never grew tired of endless ranchland. I started playing a new game – spot the cows – to keep myself entertained. I would peer far off into the distant hills and look for herds of black cows grazing in the fields. I arrived in Sand Springs early in the evening after a 32 mile walk and was able to enjoy an unobstructed view of the setting sun.

There are very few trees on the windswept Montana prairie, but there happened to be one right in line with the setting sun in Sand Springs!

My friend Gary Anderson, who I met on my first walk in Oberlin, Kansas, set me up with a spot to stay at the “Hill Family Oasis,” which is a B&B on the Hill’s ranch near Mosby, the night after I left Sand Springs. It was a short 18 mile walk to the turn-off. A few miles before my destination, I walked up a hill and caught my first view of Montana forests. The ponderosa pine weren’t thick, but I was elated. 30 days ago I was excited to leave the forest. Now I was pumped to be back in one!

Kevin, his wife Gayla, and mother Dolores, treated me incredibly well during my stay. Their shower pressure was top notch (I hadn’t bathed in a week), the spaghetti dinner we shared was delicious, and Kevin took me on a tour of the ranch for dessert. Since Dolores’s husband passed away in 2016 (they had been married for 60 years) the family has sold off most of their cattle and leased a good chunk of their land. They still have 150 sheep and a few cows on the remaining 10,000 acres. The sun was setting as we rumbled down dirt roads in Kevin’s pickup truck. Buddy, one of the ranch’s working dogs, sat in the front seat between Kevin and I.

The Hill family and their hounds. From the left, Dolores with Copper, Gayla, Kevin holding Buddy, and Ace stretching out. I got my people and dog fix during the visit! Thank you for the great visit, Hill family!

It was a quiet two days of walking from Mosby to the Little Montana Truck Stop. Highway 200 had a few narrow stretches, but didn’t have the roller coaster hills I encountered between Circle and Jordan.

Low traffic levels allowed me to walk to the middle of the road and take a picture of a narrow, but flat stretch of highway near Little Montana Truck Stop.

I began the 31 mile walk to Lewistown around 7 AM on July 26th. I desperately needed a new pair of shoes and wanted to get to Shopko before they closed that night. At 11, I had to take a weather delay as a storm came barrelling over the Judith Mountains. I left PJ 10 yards off the highway and sat in my camp chair in a grassy ravine and waited for the thunder, lightning, and rain to stop.

My “storm shelter.”

After the storm passed, I walked up and over the Judith Mountains. I had a feeling the climb and descent were tame compared to what I will face in the Rockies, but it was a nice warm up. Once I started the five mile downhill walk into Lewistown, I could see several more mountain ranges in the distance. More dark clouds over those mountains discouraged any dawdling. I beat feet into town and arrived at Shopko, dry, with time to spare.

I decided to take a rest day in Lewistown to relax and recuperate before my push to Great Falls and the Continental Divide. It was a great decision. Lewistown sits in the Judith Valley and is surrounded by five mountain ranges. Well-maintained historic buildings line the downtown strip alongside large neon signs that mark where the restaurants and casinos are. It was also a very walkable town, complete with smooth sidewalks, plenty of crosswalks, and ramps on street corners (as opposed to curbs). PJ was thrilled.

The Judith Theater in downtown Lewistown.

I left Lewistown well rested and set my sights on Great Falls, 103 miles away.

On my first day out of Lewistown, I approached the tiny town of Windham, 34 miles into my day, when thunder and lighning began in the Little Belt Mountains just west of town.

PJ and I went into jogging mode and hustled towards an open sign that was visible from the top of a hill. The sign belonged to “Bar 87,” one of the few businesses in town. It was the first bar I have gone into on my walk. I quit drinking in April of 2017, so bars are no longer my scene. But in this case, it was the best shelter available! I sat down and ordered a Coke when a woman named Lennis sat down next to me. She ordered dinner to go, and we got to talking. When I told her about my “Walk for 60” mission, she gave me a big hug, saying “We met for a reason!”

Lennis is 74 years young, and a widower. Her husband of 27 years passed away in March, 2017. She decided to sell her home in Windham and start fresh in Great Falls. One thing she is especially excited about is getting more active. The uneven gravel roads in town aren’t safe for her to walk, and Montana winters are brutal. She will have access to sidewalks and an indoor exercise facility at her new home. Lennis quickly invited me to stay in the loft at her house.

We crammed some great conversations into my 12 hour stay. She had an emotional few days preparing for her move, and was admittedly lonely. I hope that my stay helped her feel a bit less lonely. I know it had that effect on me! I am excited to see how her fresh start and new exercise regimen go.

Lennis outside of her home in Windham. Thank you for your company, hospitality, and friendship!

I was reenergized by the fortuitous new friendship I found in Windham. I walked hard the next two days and arrived in Great Falls on July 30th near dusk. I had no idea where I was going to stay, so I called the KOA in town and decided 46 dollars was too expensive for a tent site. “I would rather sleep in a field than pay that,” I stubbornly told myself. As it turned out, I camped in an unused field that neigbored the KOA.

I began my trek toward Roger’s Pass and the Continental Divide the following morning. My Dad was on his way up from Colorado to pull me off the road for a few days, and my goal was to arrive in Lincoln by the time he made it into Western Montana. Lincoln is 88 miles west of Great Falls.

It was a hot few days of walking after leaving Great Falls. The mercury soared to 96 degrees (the hottest temp on my trip to the point) on my walk from Vaughn to mile marker 117. Smoke from Western wildfires made the air hazy and temperatures seem even hotter. I camped off the highway in a low spot, hidden from passing cars. Without trees stealth camping is a challenge!

I arrived at the base of the Rocky Mountains on August 2nd. Highway 87 was a beast even before I got to the mountains. The road would climb a massive hill, drop into a valley, then climb a hill out of the valley on the other side.

This photo, taken about 12 miles from where I started my climb up Roger’s Pass, doesn’t do the substantial elevation changes any justice!

I was beat by the time I began the four mile, 1,500 foot climb up Roger’s Pass. It took two hours, but I arrived at the summit, nearly collapsing.

Roger’s Pass was a long, steady, draining climb, ending at 5,600 feet. Fortunately there was an ample shoulder and plenty of places to stop and catch my breath (and take a few pictures)!

From the summit of Roger’s Pass and the Continental Divide, Lincoln was an 18 mile downhill walk. I camped just past the summit in Helena National Forest before walking into Lincoln the following morning. Three days prior, I told my dad I would be there at noon. I arrived at 11:20! Ahead of schedule!

Trip Stats

Days – 114

Miles – 2,628

Peanut Butter Jars – 90

Loose Change – $7.06

Favorite Roadside Find – A toy giraffe I named Jerome. I duct taped him to PJ’s flag pole. I have had a few “mascots” on my walk – Tipsy the horse, a Spongebob figurine, and now Jerome!

Favorite Four Pics –

My dad’s arrival was certainly emotional! For the first time in 114 days, I saw a familiar face. It is a true blessing to be able to spend some quality time off the road, exploring the beauty of Northern Montana with Dad!

Roger’s Pass was exhausting. The hills that led up to the climb were what did me in. But the climb was another reminder to keep putting one foot in front of the other….No matter what. Eventually the mountain will end, and if you stop, you can’t get to the top!

Thanks to a wet spring and early summer, it has been a hayll of a year for hay farmers.

I passed this art installation about 20 miles west of Lewistown. I have no idea what it is, but it certainly provided something different to look at.

I am incredibly excited to spend the next four or five days with my dad…We plan to explore Flathead Lake, Glacier National Park, and several Lewis and Clark Historical Sites. I am going to cherish every minute….And I will certainly be ready to tackle the remaining 800ish miles separating Lincoln and the Pacific Ocean!

Walk on!

A Big Sky Walk

After a quiet day off in tiny Ray, I was ready to finish the North Dakota chapter of my walk and start fresh in Montana. However, the state line was still 50 miles away and I needed to pass through the oil boom town of Williston. I had a feeling that was going to be a challenge.

A local warned me of construction north of town on U.S. 2, so I followed a series of paved (but narrow) county roads into the Williston area. Traffic was light until I hit town, which happened to be right at rush hour. It was a slow last six miles to my host’s house. I moved off the road to let semi-trucks and passenger cars pass more times than I could count. I got a handful of dirty looks and a few middle fingers, but vehicles still slowed down. Some people look at you like you ran over their dog when they need to take 1 minute out of their day to slow down for a walker on the side of the road. I wish I could say to them “Believe me, I wish I had a shoulder so you wouldn’t have to slow down and I wouldn’t have to risk a rattlesnake bite by moving off the road!”

I arrived at Lisa and Roger Hennesy’s house around 8 PM. Roger had to pick me up in a church parking lot two miles away because I plugged the wrong address into my phone. Initially I blamed it on Google, but this time it was my Googling. I credit my mistake to the heat and Williston traffic!

I had an incredible stay with the couple. The two moved to Williston during the oil boom and recreated their lives in North Dakota. Roger worked 110 hour weeks driving oil trucks while Lisa managed the Blaisdell/Stanley RV Park where I stayed a few days prior. They lived in a 20 year-old RV for two years before upgrading to a FEMA trailer. Several of Lisa’s children lived with them intermittently at the park. They walked through the parking lot in the brutal wintertime to the “cabana” to cook and shower. Their hard work and sacrifices paid off. They have a comfortable life in Williston now.

Lisa is also a thyroid cancer survivor. The cancer left her vocal cords 80% paralyzed, which restricts her breathing. But by being an avid walker, Lisa keeps her lungs strong and is able to push herself further physically. She participates in yoga, hikes with her kids, and even attends P90X classes, which doctors didn’t think would be possible.

Lisa and Roger are a great example of what hard work and determination can lead to. They overcame one little challenge at a time. Eventually all those little victories added up and they have a great life (and some great stories) to show for it.

I left the Hennesy home July 13th and ran a few errands before heading out of town.

1My walk underwent a major route restructuring during my rest day. My initial plan was to follow U.S. 2 clear through Montana. I heard from countless people that the towns of Wolf Point and Poplar were very dangerous, especially since I was traveling on foot and sleeping in a tent most nights. Camping options were limited or non-existent, and most of the hotels had gone out of business. Highway 2 also follows the Missouri/Milk Rivers and a rail line. The mosquitos are legendarily vicious and I had my fair share of noisy trains in North Dakota. Plus there was bound to be more traffic. After taking these factors into consideration, I elected to drop south and walk Highway 200/87 to Lewistown and Great Falls. There were fewer services and towns, which meant less traffic (in theory). The challenges of this route scratched my adventure itch in all the right places.

I walked 25 miles southwest out of Williston and spent my last night in North Dakota camping on the banks of the Missouri River. After 10 miles the following morning, I arrived in Montana!

The skies were bigger as soon as I passed that sign!

North Dakota was a challenging state to walk through. It was mentally grueling, and unexpected obstacles like nuclear mosquitos, passing trains, inconsistent shoulders, and fireworks wore on me. I didn’t have many restful nights of sleep. Still, I was grateful for the kind folks I met, and I knew that the rough walk through the Roughrider State would prepare me for the trials ahead in Montana.

I spent my first night in Montana in Sidney. Locals welcomed me with open arms. A construction worker gave me a bag of candy. Matt and Bobbi, the duo working at the Subway in town, bought my sandwich. And my camping spot at Bagnell RV Park was comped by Candy and Tim, the owners. These small gestures made me feel right at home!

From Sidney, Highway 16 followed the Yellowstone River through a beautiful valley into Glendive. The 52 mile stretch took two days to walk. Traffic levels steadily decreased as I moved away from the Bakken Oil Region and Williston. Badland formations, corn fields, and ranchland lined the road.

Common scenery off Highway 16 between Sidney and Glendive.

I arrived in Glendive in the early afternoon. I elected to get a cheap hotel room (which was only 15 dollars more expensive than a campsite would have been!) for the night to clean myself up and rest.

I walked to Circle over the next two days. The scenery remained similar – endless ranches, a lot of cows, and hills on the horizon. Traffic levels continued to dwindle. I came across four cross-country cyclists, which added some nice roadside socializing to an otherwise quiet two days.

I camped in the middle of nowhere off the highway past the halfway point to Circle. The stars were incredible. The only sounds I could hear were the occasional moos from cows grazing in nearby pastures. I’ll take moos over a train’s “whooo-whooos” any day!

Wide open spaces under big skies between Glendive and Circle.

I arrived in Circle on July 18th and camped at Horse Creek RV Park for the night. Disappointingly, their showers were out of order (which knocked 5 bucks off the camping fee), but their immaculate laundromat was in full swing. It’s very difficult to make a laundromat feel homey, but the Horse Creek RV Park accomplished the feat! Nice hand crafted wooden tables were placed near the windows, Western decor hung on the walls, and a TV with cable hung in the corner. The floors were spotless. Laundry was higher on my priority list than a shower (though anyone caught within ten feet of me may disagree). I have said it before and I’ll say it again….Never run out of clean socks!

I considered taking a day off in Circle, but I was nervous about the next stretch of my walk and wanted to tackle it instead of sitting around thinking about what I would face on Highway 200 west of town.

I was told the road had “a lot of truck traffic,” that it was narrow, and was very hilly. Of course, everyone has a different definition of “a lot.” But I didn’t doubt that it would be narrow and hilly. There was no turning back after leaving Circle. A rest area with potable water was the only “service” available for the next 67 miles until I reached Jordan.

The ensuing two day stretch tested everything I have learned during my 5,000 miles of walking American and Canadian roads.

I enjoyed a shoulder for the first 13 miles, then poof, it was completely gone for the next 36 miles. The road was barely big enough for two semi trucks to fit on side by side. PJ and I literally walked on the road, taking up a quarter of the lane. I didn’t listen to music. I didn’t daydream. I immersed myself in the walk, carefully picking up cars with my eyes and ears as they approached me from both sides. If a vehicle didn’t scoot to the other lane when they were 100 yards away from me, I moved off the road. Sometimes that was difficult, considering there was a 30 degree slope off the road in spots. I needed to carry five gallons of water for the stretch, so PJ was heavy! It took every ounce of strength I had to keep my buggy from toppling over and falling down the hillside.

Highway 200, about 25 miles east of Jordan. The grade of the road looks relatively tame here, but trust me, it was a hilly son-of-a-gun.

The wind complicated matters. At its gustiest, the breeze made it difficult to hear cars coming from behind me. And when I walked up a hill, I obviously couldn’t see (or often hear) whether a car was approaching. If a vehicle crested the hill I was climbing, I immediately moved off the road. The trouble was, there wasn’t always a safe place to simply scoot over considering the dropoffs next to the road. After a few of the climbs (and having to dodge a few oncoming cars), I decided I would need to walk with traffic going up hills, then against it everywhere else. At least walking uphill I could look behind me and see if a car was coming. The most important thing was to be as visible to drivers as possible.

Highway 200 – up close and personal, in all its narrow glory!

This unnerving “game” went on for a long 36 mile stretch which spanned two days.

31 miles into the 67 mile walk, I arrived at the rest area and decided to camp there for the night. My feet were throbbing the following morning. I put on the pair of shoes which felt best (I was grateful to have four pairs to choose from!) and got on the road. My feet loosened up slightly as the day went on.

PJ and I had an interesting encounter shortly after leaving the rest area. A man named Dan pulled up in an ATV asking “Have you seen a bull around?”

“A bull?” I confirmed. “No I haven’t, but I will keep my eyes peeled.” I took Dan’s number in case I saw his bull. So now, not only was I worried about passing cars, but there was a bull on the loose. What does a person do if they come across a bull on the highway? Aren’t bulls attracted to red? Crap, I thought. I’m wearing a red shirt! PJ is red! My flag, which is effortlessly blowing in the Montana breeze, is red! That bull is going to gore us! I cautiously scanned the grass along the road while looking ahead for cars.

30 minutes later, I saw a big black blob run across the highway. Dan’s ATV was right behind it. “Bull!” I yelled. They were 200 yards ahead of us. A few seconds later, the bull ran back across the road with Dan close behind, and eventually ran off into a field north of the highway. I was glad Dan found his bull and PJ and I didn’t end up as shish kebulls.

With the neighborhood bull safely in his pasture, I continued my routine…left side downhill, right side uphill, move for a car. Repeat. The hills kept coming, but thankfully traffic levels remained manageable. Mercifully, I reached a shoulder 16 miles from Jordan. I was safe, but still needed to walk into town on my achy feet. PJ and I made it as the sun set. My feet felt numb by the time we arrived in town.

The sunset over Jordan was even more beautiful considering the difficulty of the previous two days!

From start to finish, that 67 mile stretch was as difficult as any two-day walk I have completed. My adrenaline was still pumping at midnight. I didn’t want to go to sleep. But once I finally hit my smelly sleeping bag, I was out like a light.

Trip Stats –

Days – 101

Miles – 2,307

Peanut Butter Jars – 79

Favorite Roadside Find –

On my last evening in North Dakota, this sweet dog (who I named Sebastian) started following me. I passed a house with a mean sounding German Shepherd in the front yard barking. I kept walking and felt like I was being followed. I turned around and saw the cute little guy. I told him to go home but he kept walking the shoulder with me. After a half mile I stopped and gave him some water and beef jerkey. I petted him for a while. He had a nice collar but no tags. I assumed he lived at the house where the shepherd was. Someone would surely miss his fluffy face so I carried him back to the house down the highway. The German Shepherd was still barking in the yard so I couldn’t ring the doorbell. I hoped that was his home! I nearly had a new travel buddy, but PJ wouldbhave gotten too jealous!

Loose Change – $6.86

Favorite Three Pictures –

Montana directories look a bit different!

I felt inclined to post a picture PROOVING North Dakota is not flat! This was just south of Williston, looking North.

Badlands just north of Glendive.

From what I’m told, the highway widens west of here. Towns will continue to be 30-60 miles apart until I reach Lewistown, 133 miles down the road. Rumor has it there are some mountains ahead, too.

I will continue to take this journey one step at a time and enjoy every obstacle and every blessing that presents itself. Until next time!

Walk on!

The “Peace” Garden State

Many North Dakota license plates say “Discover the Spirit,” above an image of rolling plains, distant hills, and a buffalo. I have yet to see a buffalo, but I have been discovering that spirit for the last nine days and 251 miles while walking from Michigan to Ray. It has been a wild, loud, and often frustrating (but beautiful) spirit that has provided a significant mental challenge as I push further west.

The majority of the scenery between Michigan and Minot consists of endless soybean, corn, and canola fields on pancake-flat plains. Devil’s Lake, along with numerous ponds and wetlands, did provide something different to look at along the way.

One of the “arms” of Devil’s Lake in the late afternoon.

Highway 2 and the wind managed to get under my skin during the first few days out of Michigan. The eastbound shoulder (which I walk, facing traffic) was paved for the first 30 miles of North Dakota, then the paved portion inexpicably stopped for miles and miles. A gravel and rock shoulder replaced it (much like the shoulder of my old Canadian walking partner, the Can-Can). However, the shoulder on the westbound lanes of the highway was paved 99 percent of the time. It was more like 50 percent on my side of the road. “Why does that side of the road get the best shoulder,” I continually whined. The howling wind, monotonous scenery, and maddening shoulder fed my “walker’s rage.” At one point I cursed the entire state of North Dakota. And then alologized to the whole state a minute later when I realized how ridiculous I was being. I had such great shoulders for the previous 450 miles of my walk, I unreasonably expected them to continue. When they didn’t I took it out on an entire state! At least I realized the errors in my thought process. The 50/50 bumpy shoulder lasted for 120 miles (the shoulder has been great since Minot though).

On the six-day walk to Minot I camped behind a gas station, at an RV Park in Leeds (thanks for the spot, Jan!), and at three city parks in Rugby (the Geographical Center of North America), Towner (the cattle capital of North Dakota), and Surrey. I will admit I thought camping in these small towns would be quieter. But North Dakotans love their fireworks! I heard my first few fireworks on July 1st in Michigan, and continued to hear them every night until July 8th. They celebrate Independence Day for eight days in North Dakota!

School’s out for summer….School’s out forever! This abandoned one room schoolhouse was just outside of Rugby.

I had a short, six mile walk into Minot after leaving the city park in Surrey. For the first time since leaving the Atlantic, the mercury cracked the 90 degree mark, which is pretty remarkable considering it was July 6th. I spent a little time wandering through the North Dakota State Fairgrounds and downtown. Minot had a nice “Western feel” and I enjoyed my walk through town, but I was exhausted from the heat and was ready to shut it down for the day. I ended up at Roughrider Campground on the west end of the city.

The kind woman working the cash register gave me two complimentary tokens for the pay showers. Initially she only handed me one taken. She must have caught a healthy whiff of my U.S. 2 highway stench and thought “a five minute shower isn’t enough for this guy. Better make it 10.” I gladly accepted the second token when she handed it to me. I surely needed it!

Downtown Minot. I will need to saddle up for the hot, windy, and desolate West!

The landscape began changing west of Minot. The city itself sits in the Souris River Valley. Bluffs with sparse pine trees and shrubs line the river. I enjoyed seeing, and walking, some hills. My walk has been nearly flat since leaving the shores of Lake Superior.

As I approached Stanley over the next two days, I walked past fewer farms and through more ranchland. I did some serious mooing at cattle when I passed the first few herds grazing in their pastures right off the highway. I was still in rural country, just a different kind of rural.

I had also arrived in the oil rich Bakken Region. Oil wells blend right into the modest grassy hills of the area. Locals have told me that traffic is nothing like it was during the “oil boom” five years ago. Still, I have experienced a significant increase in vehicles as I have walked further west into the state. Maintenance trucks for the oil wells, which are typically half-ton pickups, can be just as loud as semis. I have “gone silent,” (my term for putting in earplugs) to lessen the impact of road noise on my ears.

An oil well just west of Stanley. Oil operations are becoming more common as I get closer to Williston. I will be in the Bakken for another 100 miles west of Ray.

I reached out to the Blaisdell/Stanley RV Park when I left the Minot area and was able to set up a free place to sleep for the night in the park’s “cabana.” I walked 36 miles from the Roughrider Campground to the park. Lisa, the owner, was incredibly helpful. I had a roof over my head for the first time in North Dakota. I slept in the cabana hallway on my sleeping pad and had access to free laundry, a shower, a fully operational kitchen (though I didn’t cook), and a few couches.

The cabana at Blaidsell/Stanley RV Park. The park was a bit rugged (typically used by oil and contract workers), but the cabana felt like a Holiday Inn to me! Thank you for the spot, Lisa!

I had a short 15 mile walk into Stanley the following day, where I camped at yet another city park. Locals suggested trying a “whirly-whip,” (not to be confused with a whippit, which is very different!) at Stanley Drug. Employees use an old-school ice cream mixing machine to prepare the whirly-whip. The old fountain was a happening place on the hot afternoon. I bellied up to the soda fountain bar and ordered a peanut butter and vanilla whip. It was just what the doctor ordered on a hot afternoon!

After a calm few days storm wise, I had a rough two nights in Stanley and Ray. Between passing trains twice an hour (the tracks were about 30 yards from my tent) and a strong storm that pushed through town in Stanley, it was a restless night.

Encountering severe weather has been a consistent issue on the plains of Western Minnesota and all of North Dakota. This was the view to the west from the Stanley water tower. This particular cell produced a tornado in Watford City (65 miles southwest of Stanley).

I arrived in Ray on July 10th after a 36 mile walk and set up camp as distant thunderstorms closed in on the town. Right as I was getting ready to go to sleep, my phone notified me of a severe thunderstorm warning. I put on my shoes and jogged into town (PJ was safely tied to a bench under a gazebo) as the storm blew in. I waited the storm out at a welding shop. A man named Joey happened to be working late and invited me in when he saw me running by. By the time the storm passed and I was back in my tent, it was 12:30. I woke at 8 this morning and decided to take a day off. Williston would have to wait!

Trip Stats

Days – 91

Miles – 2,058.5 – I hit the 2,000 mile mark at mile marker 111 on Highway 2!

Peanut Butter Jars – 67

Loose Change – $6.26

Favorite Roadside Find – A hefty North Dakota license plate.

Three Favorite Pictures

Proof that North Dakota is not entirely flat!

Much of the scenery in North Dakota is incredibly serene and idyllic. Minutes later, maddening winds, truck noise, and a bumpy shoulder are there to greet me. It has been a roller coaster walk!

I spent the 4th of July at the Geographic Center of North America in Rugby. I loved seeing the American, Canadian, and Mexican flags blowing together in the North Dakotan breeze.

The “Peace Garden State” hasn’t always been peaceful thanks to trains, trucks, fireworks, relentless wind, and bumpy shoulders. I am constantly reminded to be patient, persistent, and to avoid having expectations for what I’ll face in coming days. Just because I have a smooth shoulder today doesn’t guarantee a smooth shoulder tomorrow!

I am 54 miles from the Montana border. I am sure North Dakota has a few more loud surprises in store before I reach Big Sky Country.

Walk on!