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Welcome to the "On the Road Again" Blog

We like to remember the places we have been and the things we have done, and this is our way of keeping those memories alive.

The most recent entry always appears first, so to read the story of a trip from the beginning, you’ll need to start at Day One. The easiest way to do this is to scroll down the left panel and select Day 1 of any trip. At the end of that post there is a link on the lower left to "Newer Posts". Clicking that will take you to the next day.

I've started linking to some of the places we've liked along the way. If text is blue in a post, a click will take you for a visit. Simply close that screen to return.

To save space all photos are posted in a small version. Any photo can be clicked for a larger version.

This page is always on top, so the above date isn't important.

Comments are always appreciated and thanks for stopping by.

Day 3 - Las Cruces, New Mexico to Home

Just to prove how flexible we are, another change of plans has occurred, and we're now headed home tomorrow.

It all started last night around 7:00 when Barb mentioned that serious storms and flooding were predicted for the greater Phoenix area. I checked the radar, and sure enough, the storms were there. Now what do we do?

Well, we took a look at both routes home: the original route we had taken to Las Cruces and the revised plan that would add another day to our trip. Comparing the two routes with the radar projections, we decided to head home the way we came. My biggest concern was the drive down Interstate 17 from Flagstaff, which drops about 6,500 feet in elevation over some pretty steep grades and through several canyons. That was not a stretch of highway I wanted to tackle in heavy rain or stormy conditions.

We finished up last evening packing as much as we could and set an early alarm.

Promptly at 5:00 AM, Robert Schumann’s Träumerei began playing softly, but at just enough volume to get us moving. Our preparations the evening before paid off, and we were on the road by 5:27 AM.

One stop to fuel the car and another for breakfast, and we were set. Service at breakfast was so slow that we began to wonder if we would even be making the trip that day. Eventually, though, we enjoyed a good meal and were ready for whatever the storms had in store for us.

There were a few sprinkles as we started the day, but they didn't last long. Before long, we began to wonder if we had somehow missed the entire weather picture. That thought didn't last, though. About an hour later, the skies opened up, and one of the heaviest rainfalls we had ever experienced began. It got really, really dark, until I suddenly realized I was still wearing my sunglasses. Taking them off helped a little, but it was still plenty dark—just a lighter shade of dark. Eventually, with rain pounding the windshield, spray flying from passing vehicles, and the lighter shade of dark making visibility almost impossible, everyone began driving with their emergency flashers on. It was about the only way to tell there was a car ahead of you. It was no miss. The storm had clearly lived up to the predictions.

Just as good things must come to an end, so must bad things. About the time we transitioned from Interstate 10 to Interstate 8, the good guys finally won out. For the first time that morning, a hint of blue sky appeared through the clouds. It was a welcome sight.

The rest of the drive home was smooth and quick. However, dark clouds began appearing off to the west, and the weather app was once again predicting rain in the very near future. It was right on target! Within minutes of our arrival home, the rain began. Talk about cutting it close.

Day 2 - Around Las Cruces

We started off the day with breakfast at Chick-fil-A. I just don’t understand how they can serve two egg-and-cheese sandwiches on really good biscuits, along with an orange juice, for $10.15. At McDonald’s, the same order would be nudging $20. I suspect they do a pretty brisk business, especially since they’re located directly across the street from the University of New Mexico campus. (Go Lobos!)

After fueling up with a Starbucks mocha, we headed for the Chile Capital of Hatch, New Mexico. A few years ago, we discovered a back road from Las Cruces to Hatch, and it makes for a much more enjoyable drive than Interstate 25. Along the way, we passed pecan farms, fields of chiles, cotton fields, cattle grazing, and, every once in a while, caught a glimpse of the Rio Grande. A far more interesting way to spend the drive than staring at the back of an eighteen-wheeler.

As you may have guessed by now, Hatch is all about chiles. Whether you’re looking for a 5-, 10-, or 25-pound bag, or simply trying to find just the right salsa, Hatch has you covered. Several varieties of chiles are grown in the area, each categorized by its level of heat. Salsa gets the same treatment, with bottles labeled everything from mild to extreme. Apparently, in Hatch, even salsa comes with a warning label.

Village Market is a large, very modern grocery store, the kind you might expect to find in any major city. Finding one in a little off-the-beaten-path town like Hatch is something of a surprise. As we wandered the aisles, we spotted a sign marked “Salsa.” Naturally, in Hatch, that got our attention. But when we reached the section, there were only a few bottles. A few bottles of salsa in Hatch? Surely, something wasn’t right. Then, a little farther along, we came to this.

The photo on the left shows an entire wall devoted to salsa. If you can’t find what you’re looking for here, you may as well give up salsa forever. The photo on the right is a wall of chiles, beans, and corn husks for making tamales. If Mexican food is your thing, this is definitely the place for you. In Hatch, they don’t fool around when it comes to Mexican cooking

We took the same road back, although the scenery was considerably better now that the morning fog had disappeared. Our earlier drive had been plagued by quite a bit of fog, most likely courtesy of the nearby river. With nothing better on the agenda, we returned to the hotel, where Barb settled in for a nap while I got down to the business of writing up today’s news.

Keeping a daily travel blog is surprisingly time-consuming. So far today, I’ve invested about an hour and a half writing, changing, rewriting, rearranging and generally second-guessing just about every sentence I’ve put on the page. At this rate, I’m beginning to think I need either a beer or a bottle of Tylenol. Perhaps both

With dinner tonight at La Posta cancelled, we had settled on our usual soup-and-salad routine at Olive Garden. This is our go-to option when the calorie count starts creeping upward and a little restraint seems in order. However, considering that we haven’t eaten anything since breakfast at 7:00 this morning, we’re beginning to have second thoughts. Olive Garden’s soup and salad may have sounded like a good idea earlier, but hunger has a way of changing one’s perspective. We’ll be heading out shortly, so this is going to be a game-time decision.

Hunger won out. However, we both opted for the “smaller portion,” menu, so we at least have that going for us. Of course, choosing the smaller portion comes with a catch: you get soup or salad, but not both. We went with soup, skipped dessert and passed on the alcohol. All in all, we exercised a remarkable degree of restraint. Whether it was enough to offset the hunger that got us there in the first place is another matter.

So, that pretty much wraps up our day. Tomorrow, instead of heading home as originally planned, we’re off to Gallup, New Mexico. I have a feeling the scenery will improve along the way.

Until tomorrow...

Day 1 - Home to Las Cruces

Every so often, and lately with increasing frequency, we find ourselves in need of a little getaway. Usually, a few days away from the familiar surroundings of home are enough to shake off the old stuck-at-home blues. So, we decided it was time for a three-day road trip to Las Cruces, New Mexico. Once the destination was settled, Barb worked her usual magic, securing us two complimentary nights at the local Hilton and dinner reservations for both evenings at La Posta de Mesilla. Not a bad way to get a little change of scenery, especially when Barb does all the heavy lifting!

Having packed a few things the night before, we were on the road by 7:15. The first leg of the drive was quite pleasant, taking State Highway 85 south to Gila Bend and then heading east on Interstate 8. Both roads had very little traffic and only an occasional semi-truck to interrupt the scenery. In fact, over the roughly 51 miles from Gila Bend to Interstate 10, I passed a grand total of eight semi-trucks. On Interstate 10, that represents about 60 seconds’ worth of traffic. So far, we were off to a very civilized start.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and once we hit the Interstate, the semi-trucks and city traffic made their inevitable return. The scenery also underwent a transformation, going from what I like to call “not lived in” to “lived in.” I have to admit, I sometimes prefer the former. The outskirts of most cities rarely provide an especially flattering introduction to what lies beyond. Between the traffic and the scenery, it was probably another 100 miles before we finally returned to the welcome sight of “not lived in.” And I was happy to see it.

Barb, being the high-tech person she is, discovered that Hilton allows guests to use their phones to select their room, choose a floor, and download a digital room key. No stopping at the front desk, no waiting in line, and no exchanging pleasantries with the desk clerk. Just walk straight to your room, flash your phone at the door, and you’re in. And, much to my amazement, it actually works! Apparently, Barb has brought us into the 21st century, whether I’m ready or not.

Tonight’s restaurant is in the town of Mesilla, New Mexico. Founded in 1848, Mesilla is laid out much like many of the older towns throughout the Southwest. At its center is a plaza, traditionally surrounded by government buildings and, quite often, a church. Much of the original adobe architecture remains, giving the plaza a distinctly old Southwest character. Of course, time and commerce have worked their magic, and today most of those buildings house shops offering Native American and Southwestern pottery, jewelry, clothing, and just about anything else a tourist might be tempted to carry home. In short, Mesilla has become quite the tourist attraction, and the old plaza is right at the heart of it.

Today, however, was a little different. Although several streets surrounding the plaza were blocked off, we could see that some sort of activity had taken over the plaza itself. After finally finding a parking spot, we headed over to investigate. What we found was quite a sight. Tables of all shapes, sizes, and decorations had been set up throughout the plaza. Each was covered with photographs and memorabilia. One table, for example, featured pictures and assorted memorabilia from Star Wars. Now, that certainly caught my attention.

Curiosity finally got the better of me, and I asked a woman who was setting up one of the tables what was going on. She explained that it was the “Day of the Dead” celebration, or Día de los Muertos, a traditional Mexican observance honoring deceased family members and loved ones. The tables were actually memorial displays, or ofrendas, each dedicated to someone who had passed away. Some contained only a handful of photographs, while others displayed 25 or more, along with mementos representing the interests, passions, and experiences that had been part of those lives. Every table told a story, and no two were quite alike. It was a fascinating and rather unexpected discovery. We had come to Mesilla for dinner and stumbled into something considerably more interesting.any.

We have had dinner at La Posta several times in the past and it had always been outstanding. Today it was not. In fact, the dinner and traffic/parking around the plaza convinced us to cancel tomorrow's reservation. Enough said about that.

A less-than-memorable dinner got me thinking about just how much I had disliked today’s drive. So, I asked Barb if she might be interested in taking a different route home. With Monday free and nothing tying us to our original plans, she agreed. It didn’t take her long to work her magic, and before I knew it, we had reservations at our favorite hotel in Gallup, New Mexico. If nothing else, we’re a flexible couple. Our plans may not always survive the day, but we’re pretty good at coming up with new ones.

Tomorrow we’re headed for Hatch, New Mexico, the chile capital of the world. Salsa and pecans are on the shopping list, so this should be a worthwhile stop. Any opportunity to escape the At-Home Blues is a good one, and despite my less-than-enthusiastic review of today’s drive, it’s been a pretty good day after all.

Day 10 - Barstow, California to Home

Since it was going to be a short driving day, we took our time packing up and loading the car. We checked on the complimentary breakfast, and apparently it had already made up its mind: “Nope. Go somewhere else.” We took the hint.

Fortunately, Black Bear Diner was right around the corner, and it looked like a much better idea. Actually, it didn’t just look like a better idea—it pulled us in.

A quick stop for fuel—the last one, I hope, at more than $6.00 a gallon—and we were underway. Heading east in the early morning isn’t much fun, especially when you’re fighting the rising sun on one side and a parade of semi-trucks on the other. Neither one was particularly interested in making our morning any easier.

On any drive, you’re going to find beautiful scenery, and you’re going to find ho-hum. Today was definitely a ho-hum kind of day—miles and miles of open space filled with...well, more ho-hum. No lakes or rivers running through the landscape. No trees of any sort. Just a vast, tan wilderness stretching as far as we could see.

On the plus side, Interstate 40 was a pleasant drive, with little traffic other than trucks. Lots of trucks. But at least they were moving, and so were we.

Along the way, we passed a few small communities—actually, “micro-communities” might be a better description—with names like Pisgah, Argos, and Java. Java? Coffee, perhaps? Most seemed to consist of little more than a name, a place where buildings may have once existed, and a whole lot of open space.

Just past Needles, we crossed the Colorado River and were back in Arizona! From there, it was literally downhill—or at least it looked that way on the map—as we turned south onto Arizona 95, heading for Lake Havasu City.

We had never been this way before, so I was hoping to drive across the London Bridge and maybe get a photo to post. Somehow, though, I missed the turn. And this was not the day to turn around and go looking for it. The bridge would have to wait for another trip.

The bridge really did once stand in London, although the story that it was auctioned off because it was sinking into the river isn’t quite true. In fact, the City of London sold it in the late 1960s because the bridge could no longer handle the demands of modern traffic.

It was taken apart stone by stone, shipped across the Atlantic and across the country, and painstakingly reassembled in Lake Havasu City. So this really is the original London Bridge—not a replica. That makes it quite a bit different from the three replica lighthouses that dot the lakeshore.

The drive along the highway provided one sobering experience: the reminders of lives lost along the way. We saw three bicycle memorials beside the road, clearly marking places where cyclists had been killed. We also passed seven crosses, each one marking where a life had been taken on that stretch of highway. It was a reminder that even an otherwise ordinary road can have dark side.

The rest of the drive was pretty straightforward, except for the occasional concern from Barb that I was taking the wrong road. Somehow, I managed to find Interstate 10, and from there we spent a good hour jockeying for position with the seemingly endless line of semi-trucks heading east from China.

Before we were even home, Barb was already planning our next trip. But for now, we’ll just look back on the fun we had, the great meals along the coast, and the wonderful drive we enjoyed over the past ten days.

Day 9 - Salinas, California to Barstow, California

What a change it was to start the day with the sun already up. After packing the car, we headed to Chick-fil-A for another great biscuit breakfast. There’s something reassuring about starting the day with real eggs—especially after suffering through the powdered variety.

Heading south on Highway 101, we witnessed a battle for land between vegetables—you know, that green stuff your mother made you eat—and grapes, Mother Nature’s gift to the wine glass. At first, where the valley floor is mostly level, the vegetables clearly held the field, with only the occasional incursion by the grapes. The vegetables, in every imaginable shade of green, stretched across the fields in all directions, apparently determined to prove that Mom knew what she was talking about.

As the fields gave way to gently rolling hills, the grapes made their appearance, with rows upon rows of vines marching in precise formation across the landscape. The vegetables had surrendered, the green was gone, and wine on the vine had clearly won the day.

As we approached Paso Robles, wineries with names I couldn’t pronounce began to appear. Although I can’t pronounce many wine names either, that has never interfered with drinking them. In the same spirit, we managed to find a Starbucks despite two traffic incidents—one involving several Highway Patrol vehicles and the other a semi-size wrecker. Once we were underway again, we made a quick stop to fuel the car, adding another dent to the credit card at $6.70 a gallon. Once back home, I will never complain about the price of gas again.

The drive from Paso Robles to Interstate 5 was mostly tan and boring, which is apparently a perfectly acceptable way to landscape several hundred square miles. The one break in the monotony was a strange crop growing along Highway 46. I managed to get a photo of it, although identifying it may require someone with considerably more agricultural knowledge than I possess.

Once on Interstate 5, a kind of grayness settled in that would put a damper on most days. On the bright side, orchards began to appear, adding some green to the landscape. If I had to guess, I’d say they were orange trees. I base this conclusion solely on my many viewings of The Grapes of Wrath, which seems like as good a qualification as any.

With lunch scheduled for Tehachapi, Barb spent a considerable amount of time, as she always does, conducting in-depth research on potential candidates for our midday halt. After careful consideration, she finally selected Kohnen’s Country Bakery. Clearly, a great deal of thought had gone into this decision. After all that hard work this Thursday morning, you can imagine her—and my—disappointment when we arrived to find a sign on the door reading, “Closed Wednesday and Thursday.” Apparently, there was one small detail her research had overlooked .

The drive from Tehachapi to Barstow was another one of those empty spaces in the trip. It was endured rather than enjoyed. Of course, any progress toward home brings its own measure of joy, and that often goes a long way toward compensating for the less-than-inspiring stretches of road.

Dinner started as a disaster but eventually turned out to be a winner. There was general agreement among the concerned parties that Mexican was the way to go, a cuisine best saved for the end of any trip. Of the four possibilities selected, the first and third were rejected upon entering the establishments. The second was rejected based on its location and general appearance, while the fourth failed the test when we discovered that it was attached to a truck wash.

In desperation, we settled on Oggi’s Sports, Brewhouse and Pizza, and sometimes desperation pays a handsome dividend. Yes, it was loud. Yes, it was crowded. Yes, there were twenty or more TVs showing various football and baseball games. And yes, there was plenty of cheering. Fortunately, a nice young lady seated us around a corner, where we were spared the full force of the crowd and noise. It was a quiet little refuge, and I suspected it might be where they seated their older patrons. Anyway, the bottom line on Oggi’s was that the Bam Bam Shrimp appetizer was excellent, and the pizza was outstanding. So, after all the false starts, desperation once again proved to be a surprisingly effective dining strategy.

Tomorrow we will be home, sleeping in our own bed and preparing our own meals. After all the miles, hotels, restaurants and questionable breakfast decisions, our own bed and kitchen are sounding pretty good. So, until tomorrow, good night

Day 8 - Eureka, California, to Salinas, California

We awoke to the strains of Robert Schumann’s Träumerei, with the great Vladimir Horowitz at the piano, flowing from my iPhone. There is, quite simply, no better way to begin the day. If you’re not familiar with it, check it out. It is undoubtedly the most civilized thing ever to came out of my iPhone.

There comes a time on every trip when one or both of us looks at the other and says, “I want to go home.” Sometimes it happens after a week; sometimes it takes twenty days; sometimes it happens in Georgia. But sooner or later, it always happens. This morning, apparently, was our turn.

After checking the reservations, we discovered it was too late to cancel Salinas without sacrificing a small fortune. Salinas, therefore, was spared. Paso Robles and Needles were not so fortunate. Both were viable candidates for cancellation, and both promptly met the ax. Paso Robles was a loss for both of us. For the last several years, we have had dinner at The Catch, and every meal has been excellent. The pan-fried calamari is a must-have appetizer. Sitting at the counter is always a plus, as we really enjoy watching the cooks at work.

A quick consultation with online maps, the stars, and the tides—why not, we were at the ocean—led us to an overnight in Barstow and home one day sooner.

With that decision in the books, we headed off to our innkeeper’s morning offering. This inn is first-class, from the Lincoln stretch limo that ferries guests to dinner to the real eggs featured in its breakfast spread. Oh, how sweet the morning is without powdered eggs.

Once the car was loaded, we were off for another day’s adventure. And by “off,” I mean we made it all of a quarter mile to Starbucks for the usual. Only after the coffee had been secured could we actually hit the road.

Not wanting to arrive at tonight’s stop two hours early, we decided to take a drive along the Avenue of the Giants. This part of Northern California is home to the magnificent Coast Redwoods, the tallest of all tree species. Some can reach heights of more than 350 feet and measure as much as 20 feet across at the base.

They are truly the elders of the forest, with some reported to be more than 2,000 years old. So, yes, considerably older than me—but not by nearly as much as you might think.

For some reason, this giant corn stands shoulder to shoulder—or at least corn stalk to redwood—with its brethren, the giant redwoods.

The drive up to this point had been thoroughly enjoyable. We had encountered a dozen or more construction zones, but none caused any significant delay; on an otherwise perfect day, they were easy to overlook. Santa Rosa was our lunch stop, where Alex at Jersey Mike’s assembled one outstanding sandwich.

Once past Santa Rosa, the scenery began to fade, traffic increased, and my previously quiet nerves started edging toward the surface. Wanting to avoid San Francisco—and the Golden Gate Bridge toll, which can reach $11.25—we chose an alternate route. Yes, $11.25 for one trip across one bridge. Later, on Interstate 580, we discovered that motorists were also being charged to use the High-Occupancy Vehicle lanes. The siphoning of money is truly an art.

After checking in, we had a light supper and are now looking forward to a peaceful night’s sleep—hopefully enough to settle the nerves and prepare us for tomorrow.

No trip through the Redwoods is complete without a photo of Barb standing next to one of these giants of the forest—or, in this case, one of their younger children.

Day 7 - Inn at Otter Crest, Oregon to Eureka, California

Up early, packed and on the road before daybreak. The darkness left us pretty much alone on the road, which, on a two-lane highway, is something to be appreciated. There’s nothing quite like having the road to yourself—especially when “yourself” is driving at an hour when even the deer are still in bed.

Since our innkeeper had neglected to provide breakfast and Depoe Bay was still asleep, we drove 60 miles south to Florence. There, we fueled up on a shared apple fritter and the usual Starbucks. Not a champion’s breakfast, but it got us down the road. And if you ever need a pastry in Florence, we highly recommend Big Dog Donuts & Deli. The name and old gas-station location may give pause, but don’t.

The drive today had very little traffic, beautiful views of the Oregon coast, good roads and clear skies—all the ingredients for a pretty great day on the road. It’s hard to complain when ingredients like those do all the hard work.

We stopped in Bandon for a little walkabout and happened upon the early-morning crabbers just getting to work. It was a nice folks out catching a fresh crab diner rather than taking previously frozen home.

Occasionally we find a restaurant that really stands out for lunch or dinner, and we try to work it into future drives. Heading south along the coast rather than north created a bit of a timing problem for lunch today. Favorites like the Crazy Norwegian (closed) and The Wheelhouse & Crowsnest (we were too early) both struck out.

Before leaving home, my research had turned up Catalyst Seafood in Brookings, and what a find it was. Barb had the fish tacos, which she declared the best ever. Now that’s high praise, because if Barb knows anything, she knows fish tacos. Crispy oysters were also on the menu, and “crispy” means deep-fried. I asked if the chef could pan-fry them instead, and he agreed. The result was a really fine oyster lunch—and proof that sometimes it pays to ask for what you want.

In spite of the daily warnings to watch for deer and elk, we had yet to see either one. I was beginning to suspect the signs were nothing more than an elaborate scheme to get drivers to slow down. That theory ended today when we passed an elk ranch where 40 or more elk were roaming freely—and apparently unfenced—alongside the road. And yes, every driver slowed down.

Once into California, two things happened. First, we ran into fog. Okay, it was light fog, but fog just the same. Second, forward progress was halted three times by road construction. The first delay was lengthy; the other two were more tolerable.

I understand that this is the time of year for road construction, after most vacations have been taken and traffic has thinned out. I understand the logic. I just don’t have to like it.

Dinner tonight was at Cafe Waterfront in Eureka, one of those time-tested restaurants we can count on and will call on every time we’re in town. Barb had the grilled red snapper, while I went with the pan-fried oysters. Once again, we left more than satisfied with both the food and the service.

Tomorrow we are off to an overnight in Salinas,, California. I'll close tonight with a quick look at the Oregon coast.

Day 6 - Lake Oswego, Oregon to Otter Rock, Oregon

After completing the usual morning routine, we were very relieved when the jury came back with a unanimous vote of no confidence in the complimentary breakfast. Apparently, justice was served.

Once the car was loaded, it was a short drive—one whole block—to Chick-fil-A, where we redeemed ourselves with their wonderful breakfast biscuit with egg and cheese. Two biscuits, a box of hash brown rounds, and an orange juice set us back a very reasonable $11.00, made even more reasonalbe by no state tax. Hard to argue with that kind of verdict.

Today’s drive was the shortest of the trip—only 98 miles and a little over two hours behind the wheel. The route was one we had driven a dozen or so times in a past life. The problem is that past life was 31 years ago, and apparently 31 years is enough time for a few things to change.

The first thing we noticed was the wineries. Back then, we knew of five or six scattered around the Willamette Valley. Today, there seem to be several dozen, spread in every direction. And it wasn’t just the wineries. New office buildings and housing developments have popped up everywhere, filling in spaces we remembered as fields and open countryside. Apparently, while we were busy doing other things for 31 years, the Willamette Valley was busy growing up.

The drive from McMinnville to Lincoln City and the coast was a lot easier on the eyes. There wasn’t much in the way of new development, just the Coast Range, with its tree-covered hillsides, an occasional passing lane, and considerably less traffic. After the steady parade of wineries, office buildings and housing developments in the Willamette Valley, it was nice to see something other than evidence that someone had recently discovered a piece of vacant land.

Lincoln City is the result of five small cities being consolidated into one, creating a town that is long, narrow, and apparently designed almost entirely around tourism. You will not find a finer collection of motels, restaurants, and purveyors of whimsical wonders anywhere along the coast.

No visit to the Oregon Coast is considered complete without taking home an Oregon Coast sweatshirt, a lamp made of seashells, or a fine piece of maplewood art that seemed like a good idea at the time. And, of course, a bowl of Moe’s clam chowder is practically required if you wish to be accepted as a visiting local. For us, however, Lincoln City has always served a simpler purpose: get through it as quickly as possible and keep moving.

We continued down the Coast Highway to Newport, where we embraced our tourist destiny. We went to Moe’s, naturally, and even did our part to support the coastal economy by purchasing a jar of marionberry jam—Barb’s favorite. Apparently, once you reach the coast, resistance is futile: first comes the chowder, then the jam, and before long you’re carrying home a seashell lamp.

Barb called and discovered that we could check in early, so we headed for the Inn at Otter Crest. After checking in, we climbed more stairs than we have in the last year. Up and down we went, accomplishing absolutely nothing, until we finally discovered we were in the wrong area. That little revelation left us with only one set of moderately challenging stairs to deal with, which by then seemed almost like a gift.

Tonight’s dinner was at Tidal Raves in Depoe Bay, and we have no hesitation recommending this restaurant. Barb bravely worked her way through a great-looking Dungeness crab and shrimp Louie salad, while I opted for the pan-fried oysters. And not five or six oysters, as you might reasonably expect. Oh no—eleven plump oysters perfectly fried. I’ll be lucky to see that many oysters again for the rest of the trip.

After a great dinner, it was back to our overnight so I could do a little writing. By “a little,” of course, I mean the usual two hours of staring at a very small keyboard while trying to make a few paragraphs sound like I knew what I was doing. Here is the small keyboard and iPad I have to use.

Tomorrow we continue down the coast to Eureka for the night. And as the sun settles slowly in the West, I’ll say, “See you tomorrow.”

Day 5 - Around Lake Oswego, Oregon

Woke up this morning beneath a low, slate-gray sky, with rain hanging in the air and a sharp chill settling in. Back home, friends would suffer beneath a blazing 99 degree sun, while I was enjoying a pleasant 64 degrees. Barb, of course, thought it was freezing—but then, anything below 80 qualifies as too cold in her book. The shorts that had been the uniform of the day were suddenly headed back into the suitcase, as jeans took front and center.

Against our better judgment, we headed down for the complimentary breakfast. Once again, better judgment got the last laugh. I had always assumed it was difficult to make scrambled eggs completely tasteless. Then I remembered that some people refuse to let difficulty stand in their way. The eggs left us with just enough hunger to make a wiser decision later in the day.

When we travel, we try to schedule a housekeeping day every week or so. On longer trips, that might include haircuts and perhaps a car service. On shorter trips, it usually boils down to laundry. Today, it was laundry. While Barb handled that task, I caught up on a few odds and ends.

With no particular plan in mind, we took off to drive somewhere. Somewhere eventually took us past our old Portland house. I had that house built in 1985, and it still looked much as we remembered. From there, our next “somewhere” led us to Washington Square, the large indoor shopping mall that had seen plenty of us in years long ago.

The next hour or so was spent walking the mall. We call this “getting in our steps,” and it can happen anywhere there is open indoor space. Remember the Arizona heat—hence the indoor part. This exercise is usually done to make up for some past indulgence, such as a particularly memorable meal.

Today, however, we were getting ahead of the problem. Tonight’s destination was McMenamins John Barleycorns Pub, where a Dungeon Burger and a Terminator Stout were waiting. We weren’t exactly walking off dinner; we were building up credit. For a meal like that, I was willing to put in every step necessary.

As noon approached, our thoughts naturally turned to lunch. The question was where to go—and what we could split. Firehouse Subs seemed like an easy choice, especially since we already knew they served good sandwiches back home. But as we sat in the car, something about the plan suddenly felt wrong. Before we could even get out, “this isn’t right” took over. A quick search and a short drive later, we found ourselves at the Elephants Deli in Lake Oswego. Oh, what a great decision that turned out to be. We split what may have been the best Reuben sandwich ever, along with a bag of chips and a Diet Coke. If you’re ever in the area and have a craving for a truly great Reuben, this is the place to go.

After lunch, we started looking for a gas station. After 20 minutes or so of fighting traffic, we finally checked our travel plan and discovered that tomorrow’s drive totaled only 98 miles. With 238 miles still left in the tank, the need for gas suddenly didn’t seem quite so urgent. We changed course and headed back to our overnight.

Once there, Barb elected to take a nap. I would have happily joined her, except I decided to get a head start on the blog. Writing these daily updates takes about two hours. That seems like a lot of time for such a short post, but I tend to overthink everything—write, rewrite, and then go back and change a few words here and there.

Two things make the process even more challenging. First is the very small keyboard I have to work with. While convenient for travel, its small size and lack of a numerical pad make it harder to work with. Second, I use an iPad as my screen, and after a while, the small display and even smaller print can become tiring to read.

We met our son Jeff and his wife, Anita, at the John Barleycorn Pub for dinner, and once again, neither the company nor the food and drink disappointed. Barb and I split the excellent Dungeon Burger, a satisfying choice with plenty of flavor. I paired mine with a Terminator Stout—dark, robust, and perhaps best avoided if you still had important decisions to make that evening. Barb chose a Ruby instead, a lighter, less potent option that offered a refreshing contrast.

Tomorrow we reverse course and head south along the Oregon and California coasts, with the Pacific stretching beside us in shifting shades of blue and gray and the salty air filling the car. Our next overnight stop will be at the Inn at Otter Crest, where we will settle in, breathe in the ocean air, and enjoy the sweeping view before another day of watching waves roll toward the shore and savoring fresh seafood.

Day 4 - Grants Pass, Oregon to Lake Oswego, Oregon

For some reason, getting a good night’s sleep on trips has always seemed to evade me. But last night was such a welcome change—eleven whole hours of uninterrupted sleep. What a gift and great way to start the day.

Unfortunately, a Cracker Box breakfast wasn’t within reach today, so we headed down to see what our innkeeper had to offer to get the day started. We went with the basics: scrambled eggs, a few potatoes, orange juice, and coffee. Did I say basic? Yes, I did. But hey, it was complimentary, and coffee was involved, so who’s complaining?

Barb decided to add a little excitement to the morning. Upon returning to our room, she announced—in a voice loud enough to alert the entire hotel—“I LEFT MY PURSE!” This is not our first “return to the scene of the crime” to retrieve something left behind, and I suspect it won’t be our last. Most of our morning routines are pretty simple. Occasionally we specialize in treasure hunts.

Before joining the interstate, we stopped by the local Fred Meyer to fuel up and collect my 40¢-per-gallon bonus. When we moved from Oregon nine years ago, self-serve fuel was not an option. Apparently, times have changed. At least at Fred’s, half the pumps are now self-serve and the other half are attendant-served. With a 50/50 chance of pumping my own fuel, naturally I lost—and drew the attendant. So, in addition to filling the tank, we were treated to a complimentary ten-minute presentation on the many benefits of moving from Portland to Grants Pass. By the time he finished, I was expecting him to hand me a real estate brochure and a job application for Fred Meyer. All I wanted was 40¢ off a gallon. Instead, I left with a full tank and relocation pitch.

Our first mission of the day was to find and visit Barb’s sister’s grave in Oakland, Oregon. Normally, no road trip is officially underway until Starbucks has been secured, but the one we spotted looked suspiciously crowded. With an estimated 400+ Starbucks in Oregon, we elected to pass for now and fuel ourselves further down the road.

Hunting down gravestones is an art Barb and I have practiced over the years, usually with great success. Today, however, we were stumped. Oakland, Oregon, is a small rural town—population 945 hearty souls—well off the beaten path. It comes as no surprise, then, that the cemetery may not be well maintained. Case in point: a tombstone from the 1800s is slowly being consumed by a tree. The map we received marked a circle where we should find the gravestone. We spent an hour searching the area several times without luck. Barb was disappointed, but we left satisfied we had given it a thorough search.

With our unsuccessful search behind us, we headed back toward the Interstate to continue north. Just before the on-ramp, however, our luck took a welcome turn: we spotted a Starbucks only a block away. Properly fueled, we resumed the final leg of the day’s drive to Tigard, Oregon.

In another life, we had made the drive between Portland to Ashland many times over the years, so there should have been no surprises today. But there were. So many mountains, so many tall trees, so many passes, and so many rivers. Granted, a 1,700-foot pass doesn’t mean much when you once built a home at 7,200 feet in Colorado, but when you live in the Arizona desert, 1,700 feet can be impressive. And as for the rivers, try to find one in Arizona that looks anything like the Rogue River. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Once in Tigard, we headed over to my son Rob’s home. After many years apart, it was wonderful to spend time together again. It was also great to see his wife, Wendy, and our granddaughters, Jill and Kate. It was also time to hand over to the eldest son the bible, which has recorded the birth, marriage and death of family members for five generations.

We were now stuck in that familiar twilight zone of “too late for lunch and too early for dinner,” so we rolled the dice and were lucky enough to win an early check in at our overnight stop in Lake Oswego. We would have preferred a steak dinner, but sometimes you just have to accept what the dice hand you—and apparently, they were feeling budget-conscious. Despite having only complimentary scrambled eggs to sustain us, we opted for a healthy dinner of soup and salad at Olive Garden.

Tomorrow is our first and only overnight stay of the trip, which means a little housekeeping and perhaps some shopping—because nothing says vacation quite like doing laundry and browsing the aisles.

Day 3 - Carson City, Nevada to Grants Pass, Oregon

Woke up just before 5:00 AM. My first thought was "I needs me some casino", but then the idea of finally leaving Nevada a winner took over.

After the usual morning stuff, we loaded up the car and started the next adventure. For some unknown reason, the stars aligned, and our first three stops before reaching the Interstate were all on the same street, within just a few blocks of each other. How this happens, I don’t know—but I’m certainly not complaining!

Before going any further, I want to compliment last night’s hotel as being an over-the-top electronic support facility. There were three charging stations similar to this one in the room.

Our first stop was the Cracker Box, an old-time diner with plenty of charm and a great breakfast. The Cracker Box has actually been our go-to breakfast spot in Carson City for many years, and I’m sure it will remain so for as long as our travels take us that way. We highly recommend it.

And I have to mention their breakfast potatoes. They are, hands down, the best I’ve ever had. I don’t know what they do to those potatoes, but whatever it is, they’ve got it figured out. Some things are worth making a detour for—and apparently, this morning, we didn’t even have to!

With breakfast taken care of and our appetites happily satisfied, it was time to get back on the road. Our second stop was Fred Meyer for gas—think Kroger if you’re not from Oregon. The best part was that it was almost directly across the street from the Cracker Box, so we didn’t have to go far at all. The stars were definitely still working in our favor.

I filled up and got 30¢ a gallon off, which was a nice little bonus. Apparently, I’ll get 40¢ off next time. At this rate, those fuel rewards are starting to feel almost as good as a slot machine—except this one actually pays me back.

Once the car was fueled, it was time to fuel the two of us, which meant a mocha from Starbucks. Fortunately, that was just a few blocks away, so our streak of conveniently located stops continued.

With breakfast, gas, and coffee behind us, we had everything we needed for the road ahead. All that was left was to find the interstate and head north. Three stops, all within a few blocks, and not one wasted mile. I’d say the stars were definitely on our side that morning.

The first part of the day’s drive from Carson City to Reno is a real pleasure. It’s a great divided interstate, complete with truck lanes and speed limits up to 70 MPH. It’s an easy, comfortable stretch of highway and a nice way to start the day’s drive

Once we reached Reno, we ran into the usual morning go-to-work traffic. It always makes me wonder how many people left home just a little later than they intended. In any case, the pace slowed down considerably, as it tends to do when everyone seems to have the same destination at the same time.

The drive to Susanville was pretty uneventful, with one minor exception: somehow, we completely missed a rest area we’ve been stopping at for years. Forgetful? Getting old? I’ll let you decide. Apparently, even familiar places can sneak right past us.

But the drive from Susanville to Mt. Shasta turned out to be one of the best stretches of the trip so far. The mountains rose around us, the Ponderosa pines stretched along the road, and above it all was a deep blue sky without a cloud in sight. Best of all, there was hardly any traffic. In nearly two hours, I passed only two cars. With scenery like that and an open road ahead, it was hard to imagine a better way to spend a couple of hours behind the wheel.

A short stretch of construction near the end slowed things down a bit, but even that couldn’t take much away from what was otherwise a beautiful and thoroughly enjoyable drive.

Once we were back in civilization and had merged onto Interstate 5, the world changed color. The green of the mountains and forests was behind us, replaced by a vast palette of browns. California is called the Golden State, but golden seemed too generous a word for what lay before us. I know tan when I see it, and this was tan.

Crossing the Siskiyou Mountains into Oregon, the landscape began to change. Tan gave way to green, tall pines lined the road, and, best of all, there was water. Rivers and creeks flowed through the landscape as Mother Earth intended. After the parched country we had left behind, the sight of flowing water was welcome.

From there, the drive became easy and familiar. We traveled roads we had known before, watching the Oregon landscape unfold as we settled into the rhythm of a journey nearing its end. By early afternoon, we reached Grants Pass, but with time to spare before check-in, we decided to visit a do-it-yourself car wash and remove more than 1,000 miles of bugs from Hamish—that’s the Honda’s name. With the car looking respectable again, we turned to the more important question of where to have dinner.

After much back and forth, the Laughing Clam won out, and what a good choice it was. Barb opted for fish and chips, which she declared excellent, while I chose a basket of fried oysters and beer-battered prawns. They were also excellent, as was the dark beer whose name I never did catch.

Tomorrow we are off for a two-night stay in Lake Oswego, Oregon. There we will visit with two sons and probably do a little housekeeping.

Day 2 - Barstow, California to Carson City, Nevada

We were wide awake at 5:00, with absolutely nothing to do except stare at the clock and wonder how we were going to fill the next hour. Since the complimentary breakfast didn’t open until 6:00, we decided to put the time to good use. We packed up our suitcases, loaded everything into the car, and still managed to be third in line when the breakfast bar finally opened.

For a change, the breakfast spread was actually impressive, which we figured might have something to do with this being a brand-new facility. Feeling adventurous, we both chose what was generously masquerading as scrambled eggs and split an orange juice between us. Not exactly a gourmet breakfast, but at that hour, it certainly did the job!

The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when we headed out for our next overnight stop in Carson City, Nevada. The first couple of hours looked pretty much like yesterday—miles and miles of what appeared to be empty space.

Of course, it really isn’t empty. There’s plenty of stuff out there; it’s just that most of it isn’t particularly interesting. What did catch our attention, though, was the surprising number of old, weather-beaten homes scattered across the landscape. And, almost without exception, they seemed to have at least one satellite dish perched somewhere nearby, as if even the most rural homestead had to have access to the outside world.

It was a landscape with plenty to see, just not necessarily anything you’d put on a postcard.

After several hours, the scenery suddenly did a quick 180 and, almost as if someone had flipped a switch, mountains appeared on the horizon. Before long, trees began popping up, too. What a relief! Apparently, neither mountains nor trees had disappeared from the face of the earth after all.

As we continued climbing, the elevation steadily increased. The road seemed to be taking us higher and higher until we finally topped out at just over 8,100 feet. After all those miles of open, scrubby landscape, the mountains and trees were a very welcome change of scenery.

At some point, I stopped admiring the scenery and decided to take a look at the miles left until empty. The number staring back at me was 64. That got our attention

After some discussion, we settled on a Shell station at the June Lake Loop. The price was a breathtaking $7.099 a gallon. I bought four gallons, which, in the Honda Hybrid, should give us roughly 194 miles—more than enough to get us into Nevada and safely to a proper fill-up.

June Lake holds a few memories for me. These days, it’s a built-up recreation area, complete with designated campsites and even a grocery store. But back in the late 1950s—very late, mind you—a high school friend and I used to head up there to fish. In those days, there were little more than dirt roads and the wonderfully simple camping rule of: find a spot you like and camp there.

It’s hard to reconcile that memory with the June Lake we see today. What was once a quiet, rough-around-the-edges fishing and camping spot has grown into a full-fledged recreation destination. Progress, I suppose—but I have to admit, there was something pretty special about those dirt roads and picking your own campsite.

The rest of the drive into Carson City was uneventful, except, of course, for the traffic. Starting in Gardnerville, traffic suddenly turned into full-blown rush hour—except nobody had apparently told the clock. It was just a little after high noon, but judging by the number of cars on the road, you’d think everyone had just gotten off work and was racing home for dinner.

Earlier, we had entered the address of the local Honda dealer, so when we arrived, I spent a few minutes explaining to several service reps what had happened the day before. They were baffled by the loss of electric steering and puzzled by the pumpkin-colored instrument cluster.

After considerable discussion, the jury retired briefly and returned with its verdict: they had never seen anything like it, had no idea what had happened, and therefore could not recommend anything other than continuing to drive it.

They did wish us luck, which was appreciated. It was also about as reassuring as being told by your doctor, “Well, this is interesting.” Neither of us was feeling particularly confident about the rest of the trip, but we will continue on.

Since we were a little early to check in, I decided it was time to make my usual $20 donation to a casino. After reviewing a number of slot machines, we walked past one that seemed to speak to me in a low, rather sexy voice: “Try me.”

So I did.

The machine had a Chinese flavor, featuring a Chinese woman throwing dumplings. I had no idea what was going on, but apparently neither did I need to. I slipped in a $20, then made three plays at 80 cents each—and suddenly the bells rang, the lights flashed, and the machine began telling me to “press button” over and over and over.

Soon the woman began throwing dumplings down and for the next ten minutes, I obediently pressed the button while the machine continued doing whatever it was doing. I had no idea what the woman, the dumplings, or the buttons had to do with winning money, but I was willing to remain uninformed. Eventually, I ran out of free button pushes and discovered that my $2.40 investment had turned into $132.92.

At this point, I felt it was best not to tempt fate or give the casino a chance to reconsider its mistake.

Did I cash out immediately?

Oh yes, I did.

We decided to try to stay on the healthy side for dinner, so it was off to Olive Garden for soup, salad, and breadsticks. The dinner was very good and just what we needed.

Our waitress was excellent, with a sharp and funny sense of humor. She was also very helpful when I managed to spill some of my soup, apparently in an attempt to make dinner more memorable. She quickly arrived with a handful of napkins, some ice for my thumb, and a fresh bowl of soup. I had managed to turn a simple bowl of soup into a minor medical and housekeeping incident, and she handled it all without missing a beat. She definitely earned a generous tip.

Tomorrow we’re off to Grants Pass, back in our old home state of Oregon. Part of the drive will take us along the backroads, so we’re looking forward to a little adventure. After the events of the last couple of days, “backroads adventure” may be an interesting choice of words, but it should be fun.

Day 1 - Home to Barstow, California

Having dedicated several months to planning and more than a week to packing, you’d think we were headed off on a smooth-sailing adventure. Naturally, that was our first mistake. Life had other plans. She showed up, looked over our carefully constructed itinerary, and simply said, “Ain’t gonna happen.”

The plan was flawless: sleep late, start packing the car about 8:00, and be on the road at precisely 9:00. Easy, right? Apparently not. At 5:30, the sleep gremlin crawled out from whatever dark corner of the bedroom it inhabits, poked me awake, and apparently decided that sleeping until 7:00 was an unreasonable luxury. After lying there long enough to become thoroughly bored, I finally surrendered. We left at 8:00—which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing as you will see later on. The gremlin had won, but at least it got us on the road early.

Most of today’s drive would not qualify as scenic unless your definition of scenic includes an impressive collection of sand, scrub, rocks, and an occasional tree trying desperately to prove it belongs there. Interstate 10 West from Buckeye, Arizona, to Blythe, California, crosses a vast stretch of Western desert filled with... well, almost nothing. There are a few trees—small trees, but trees nonetheless. Towns are few, small, and spaced far enough apart to make you wonder if the previous one was actually there or just a mirage.

What the desert lacks in scenery, it more than makes up for in trucks. Lots and lots of trucks. Interstate 10 is a major artery for goods moving inland from the ports around Long Beach, California, and the parade of semis heading east seems to have no end. Mile after mile, they roll along carrying containers, packages, machinery, and who knows what else. Much of it began its journey halfway around the world in China and is now making its way toward the heartland. And once completeing their journey to the heartland they make the return trip, which is what we are in the middle of. Apparently, even the desert has become part of the supply chain.

The first stop of the day was for a mocha at Starbucks in Blythe. This has to be the fifth or sixth time we have refueled there. Blythe is right on the Arizona/California border, with the first offramp being Intake Boulevard. I believe this is where those escaping the Dust Bowl in the 1930s were taken into California. Think The Grapes of Wrath.

Next was US 95, which I have referred to in the past, and still do, as the Roller Coaster. When it rains, this area often suffers flash floods, and the dips in the road carry water from the mountains down toward the Colorado River, just off to our right. This is another road one is happy to see disappearing in the rearview mirror.

Our lunch today was a first for us. We had never had a smashburger, and for once we went off the script and decided to give one a try. Were we ever surprised! It was great, as was the service at Needles Smash Burgers. This is one we would recommend if you happen to find yourself in Needles. If you do find yourself in Needles, please let me know how that happened.

So far, it had been a fairly calm day, and we were settling in for the last leg from Needles to Barstow. Then, about an hour down the road, things changed in a hurry. A message popped up in the instrument cluster saying the the electric power steering was no longer providing power, and I was instantly back to driving the 1949 Ford of my teen years. But that was only the beginning. One by one, the warnings started appearing until the entire instrument cluster was glowing orange. No lane following. No cruise control. No tire-pressure monitoring. No emergency braking. And then more warnings, seemingly without end, as every one of those really cool computer functions disappeared. The car was still moving, but it was becoming very clear that a lot of its electronic safety net had just vanished. My instrument cluster had turned into a large Halloween pumpkin, and I was beginning to wonder what might fail next.

Did I panic? Well, maybe a little. Barb, meanwhile, went into problem-solving mode and located the nearest Honda dealer—nearest being about two hours away. I was soon on the phone with a very nice service advisor. She listened patiently to my tale of woe and, while she was very sympathetic, had no idea what could be wrong. The only thing she could offer was for us to bring the car in the next day. Then, almost as an afterthought, she suggested shutting off the engine, waiting 15 minutes, and seeing what happened.

So there we were, with no real plan other than hoping the car would continue to behave itself. We plodded along at about 56 MPH down the interstate, watching for a place to pull off and try the engine-shutoff trick. It was a little like when the tech tells you to turn the router off and on again to reset it—except this time the router weighed several thousand pounds and we were sitting in the middle of the desert.

Finally, an exit appeared, and I decided it was time to take the chance. My biggest worry was that once I shut the engine off, it might decide not to start again. We pulled off, stopped, and waited. Fifteen minutes can seem like a very long time when you are wondering whether your car is going to cooperate.

Finally, I pressed the start button. The engine came to life. Good start. Then I checked the steering. Power steering was back! That was a huge relief, but the orange warnings were still staring back at me from the instrument cluster. We had gained some ground, but the Halloween pumpkin was still glowing.

Needing gas, I pulled across the street into a Chevron station and, after discovering the California way to use a credit card—it’s not at the pump—I purchased a small quantity of unleaded. $7.91 per gallon? No, wait. $40 bought me 5.06 gallons. Either way, it was not exactly a bargain.

Then came the moment we had been hoping for. I started the engine again, and this time the instrument cluster came alive clean and normal. No orange warnings. No list of missing systems. No Halloween pumpkin. The power steering was working, the warnings were gone, and suddenly the car was back to being the car we had started the day with. After all that drama, the simple sight of a normal dashboard had never looked so good.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which was perfectly fine with me. I had pretty much reached my limit on events for one day.

Check-in at our motel was delayed, so we used the extra time to find some fajitas for dinner. Nothing fancy, but after the day we had just experienced, dinner and a little downtime sounded pretty good.

It wasn’t a great day, but we made it through, the car seemed to have recovered, and tomorrow is another day. We’ll be up and running again in the morning—hopefully with considerably fewer events.

Day 4 - Flagstaff, Arizona to Home

The last day of the trip was an easy drive home from Flagstaff, taking just over two hours. We hit the road at 7:05 a.m., skipping breakfast and our usual Starbucks stop to get an early start.

Starting at nearly 7,000 feet, we headed south on Interstate 17 through pine forests that once again reminded us of our time in Oregon. Before long, however, the scenery began to change. The forests gradually gave way to the rugged Arizona desert, where saguaros and other cacti soon dominated the landscape.

Not wanting to miss our daily mocha, we stopped at a Starbucks in Anthem to pick up our favorite drink. Caffeine in hand, we completed the final stretch home.

It had been a great trip, filled with beautiful scenery, interesting places, and the opportunity to explore several retirement communities. As always, it was good to be home, but we were already looking forward to our next adventure.

Day 3 - St. George, Utah to Flagstaff, Arizona

Once again, the alarm clock won. We found ourselves at Einstein Bagels shortly after they unlocked the doors at 5:30 a.m., proving that the only thing motivating us to be awake at that hour was a shared bagel breakfast sandwich. Properly fueled, we hit the road and pointed the car toward Flagstaff, Arizona, ready for whatever the day had in store.

Interstate 15 and a state route carried us through Hurricane, Utah, before we headed onto unfamiliar territory. The next 141 miles were all new to us, and they turned out to be some of the most enjoyable of the trip. Highways 59 and 389 took us through Apple Valley, Colorado City, and Fredonia. Once we picked up U.S. Highway 89A beyond Fredonia, the scenery really shifted into high gear. As we climbed to nearly 8,000 feet, the desert gradually gave way to forests of towering pine trees. For a moment, it felt like we’d accidentally wandered back into Oregon. All that was missing was a little drizzle and someone reminding us to recycle!

After descending nearly 4,200 feet, we were treated to some spectacular rock formations near Cliff Dwellers Lodge before crossing the Colorado River at Marble Canyon. By the time we reached U.S. Highway 89, we had completed 141 miles of some of the most dramatic and unforgettable scenery we’d ever driven.

From red rock deserts to cool pine forests, steep mountain climbs to deep canyon descents, this stretch of highway kept surprising us around every bend. It was one of those drives where the journey was every bit as memorable as the destination.

The astute reader may have noticed that one essential part of our travel routine has been conspicuously absent by now: the Starbucks mocha

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a Starbucks anywhere along this wonderfully scenic stretch of highway. As beautiful as the drive was, it turned out to be something of a mocha desert. We survived the deprivation, but it wasn’t easy.

Fortunately, we located a Starbucks in Page, Arizona, and decided it was well worth the 26-mile detour. After all, when you’ve gone that long without a mocha, what’s another 52 miles of driving?

Mocha in hand, we headed south on U.S. Highway 89 for an otherwise uneventful drive to our overnight stop in Flagstaff, Arizona. Despite obeying every speed limit and taking time for a walkabout in Cameron, we still arrived more than two hours before hotel check-in.

With time to spare, we toured an independent living community that Barb had discovered through some excellent reviews. It was a beautiful facility—only four and a half years old and nestled in a peaceful forest setting.

There was just one problem. At over 6,900 feet in elevation, it was a little too close to the sky for us. We loved the place, but our lungs voted “no.”

Later, after checking in, we each enjoyed a bowl of soup at Olive Garden before returning to the hotel to settle in for the night. It was a quiet, relaxing end to a day filled with spectacular scenery, mountain roads, and one very important mocha stop.

Tomorrow we’d point the car toward home, but for now we were content to call it a day and enjoy one last night on this trip.

Day 2 - Around St. George, Utah

Up a little after 6:00, and by 6:45 we were partaking in the typical motel breakfast. Today’s offering consisted of what appeared to be a very thin Southwest omelet. Accompanied by a glass of orange juice, it turned out to be pretty good. I also grabbed a hard-boiled egg just in case the omelet was made from powdered eggs.

Last night Barb discovered that my leather shaving kit was falling apart. Actually, it looked like the leather was dissolving. After an extensive online search, the only locally available replacement was at Kohl’s. So, after breakfast we wasted a little time at Walmart and then headed to Kohl’s when it opened. As it turned out, there was only one left, and I grabbed it.

Next up was a call to Snow Canyon to arrange a visit. As luck would have it, our contact was out for the day, so we met with another representative who showed us around instead. We took a good look at the space, imagined what it might be like, and weighed the possibilities. In the end, while we liked what we saw, Snow Canyon may have slipped off the short list.

Since we’re trying to be a little more mindful of what we eat—which mostly means eating less—we decided to split a ham and cheese sandwich at Kneaders Bakery for lunch. It was a simple trade-off: skip dinner out and, instead, settle in later with a Kind Bar and a bottle of water each. Not exactly a feast, but a small step toward staying on track while we’re on the road.

With a whole afternoon left and nothing on the agenda, we headed north on Interstate 15 to the Toquerville turnoff. Toquerville is a typical small Utah town with a population of 2,344. Located only six miles from Hurricane (population 26,891), its residents have little need for a business district, allowing the town to retain its rural character.

The rest of the day was spent back at the motel getting ready for tomorrow’s drive and overnight stay in Flagstaff, Arizona. The route will take us along a few roads and through a few towns we haven’t seen before, so it should be an enjoyable drive.