Toyota World Runners Writing

A Hard Goodbye

Sun, 23 Jul 2023 17:38:33 GMT

What is your idea or perception of familiar? What does the “comfort of your own home” look like to you?

I know for us familiar looked a lot different seven months ago. Familiar used to be coming home through the same door, sleeping in the same spot, buying the same groceries, hugging the same people. Mexico gave us a new sense of familiar that we weren’t expecting. Familiar is the smiles and greetings from strangers. Familiar is patience as we learn a new language, and familiar is the phone in our palm for Google translate. Familiar is being open to laying our heads anywhere, and familiar is feeling safe. Familiar is not knowing the food you’re purchasing, and letting your taste buds be the judge. Familiar is being so excited about the unfamiliar, that you’ll never know familiar again. Let’s just say the comfort of our home has transitioned from four walls to a million new, way more colourful walls.
We love it here.

Although the Guatemala border is a stone throw away, we weren’t quite ready to hop over yet. It’s sunset, and we are wearing our travelling frugal pants, so finding camp is proving to be difficult. Thankfully, our getting lost game has lead us into a tiny village where horses act as traffic guards and chickens double the population of humans. A young boy yells Hi! Instead of our usual Hola! So we stop and begin chatting about camp options. He directs us back a few kilometres, and on the drive we are teased with brief glimpses of the turquoise bath tub stretching through the valley. Our turn arrives and we toss our way down a narrow, steep cobblestone driveway. Travelling in the off-season once again proves worthy as our tires meet the edge of the river, and we have the oasis all to ourselves. An evening cooled off by a swim, and a classic tropical storm. We yell to the sky thank yous at the top of our lungs.

We are camped at Las Brisas, and truly can’t figure out why we’ve never heard of this place. The slow riverside morning is accompanied by a game of “Is that sound a bug or a bird?” And we’re always surprised by our findings. Coffee with a view has turned into a lifestyle I’m sure we will be chasing for the rest of our lives, and once the bean water has tapped into each vein, it’s time to explore. Our bodies glide through the food colouring water and I can’t help but feel like a piece of cereal, maybe a blue fruit loop, floating in the now saturated milk. We hop out and roam barefoot through the surrounding jungle and find that the fallen leaves make for a comfy base for our foot pads. But don’t stand still for more than a minute because the ants that live below you will make sure you suffer for ruining their path.

One of the most cleansing realities this trip has gifted us is the intentional time in nature. Our mornings are spent listening to the stories of birds and different worlds waking from their slumber. By the time early afternoon arrives our phones and laptop are still gathering dust from the day before. It feels incredibly healing having the option to be detached from the media, and loudness of the world.

If you thought we could get sick of all these waterfalls, you are mistaken. Just across from our beautiful river camp is Las Nubes, who may not necessarily be talked about for its height. These cascades are unique in their chosen path, underground. We pay our ticket fee and walk out on a rock bed in search of falling water, when we realize the show is happening underneath us. In some spots you can see the water racing between the earth and then it disappears again. While the sun is still reaching for its highest point, we chase the pockets of the river and touch every corner of the park before hitting the highway again.

We follow the Guatemalan through farms and rolling hills. It looks especially green over there. Our route is inland though, and as the steering wheel loops its way all the way left, we enter the Chiapas heat dome. Immediately we discuss the idea of removing our cab doors right off the Chinook. It feels impossible to drive fast enough for proper air flow, all the while our seat covers drink up the cerveza pool leaking from our pores. The sun is about to say its last words, yet it’s still 28 degrees Celsius and unbearably humid, and at this point we’re questioning our decision of coming here. Luckily for us, in true Mexican fashion, there’s always something special at the end of a long, bumpy dirt road.

The movie “The Jungle Book,” a zoo brochure, the movie “King Kong,” a flower filled green house, a perfectly painted image of what it means when you hear: Tropical jungle vibes. Scenery that will make you forget about the heat, and allow you to appreciate the world inside the sauna. We enter through a small village over taken by fruit trees that leads us to the edge of a green river. When we’ve found a perfect flat spot, the top goes up and we stretch our legs in the last hour of light. And it’s a good thing we did. In the first hundred meters we identify fruit trees such as mango, banana, lime, and coconut palms. A faint rustle reveals a family of howler monkeys making their evening rounds, and Scarlett macaws squawk from high up in the tree above us. From what we can see, the village lives in harmony with this jungle zoo and we love our free viewing platform. We spend the next few days swimming, relaxing, learning and reflecting on our time in Mexico. This sure feels like a magical finale doesn’t it?

And finale it was. Our next stop was the border of El Ceibo and Guatemala. With Mexico in our dusty rear view, we prepare to fall in love with another country. And after the Guatemalan border guard practically held our hands, we high fived and entered our third country of the Pan-American journey.

So far we notice similarities to southern Mexico, with notable differences of less speed bumps and more Toyotas. Matthew can barely keep his hands on the wheel while trying to point out all of the cool old trucks passing by. It feels so good to be here. What we left behind in Mexico is a piece of our hearts we will soon be running back to retrieve. But for now, we are opening our chests to give a piece to Guatemala.

Our planned first night is on Lake Peten Itza. As we arrive and make our way over the small bridge to the tiny island called Isla de Flores to check out what the tourists have been up to, the sky opens up and greets us in true Central American style. Water pours out of the sky at such a rate that we’re convinced the island is going to disappear into the lake. Yet, for some reason Matthew and I feel called to stand outside in the monsoon and accept the welcome gesture.

. Everyone writes a different story of their travels. Whether it be an escape from a busy reality, a chance to really slow down. Or maybe it’s the rush that excites you, creating a new reality. Perhaps you travel to learn about history, or maybe you follow your nose to incredible food. A mountain top sunset may tickle your senses, or is it a perfect surf break? Whatever your reason to travel, make sure it’s for yourself. Something we’ve learned on our journey thus far is to stay true to writing our story. Not necessarily the story we feel everyone else wants to see. YouTube is a beautiful form of expression, but if you’re doing it solely for income and for the viewers, the creative soul can get lost. At the end of the day, this is our time capsule, and we want to be sure of an exciting opening in the future.

Our story involves choosing the road less travelled, which means asking locals for directions instead of always relying on our phones. Our story intentionally dives deep into culture and the roots of a world so unfamiliar to us. Although we may not stop at every historic site we come upon, that doesn’t mean we’re not asking questions. History is beautiful and it’s a shame we don’t learn more about it, but thankfully travelling overland has a natural way of forcing you to listen. Being immersed into cultural norms on a daily basis has taught us infinitely more than any classroom.

We are intentional about how we spend our money on the road, but some experiences are too important to even look at the receipt. The Mayan ruins of Tikal is one of these experiences. After we’ve paid for our tickets and drive the final ten kilometres to our camp, a heavy feeling enters the cab. Like someone is welcoming us, and letting us know we’re safe. This isn’t our land, but we are welcome to come and learn. Signs letting us know jaguars may cross keep us company through the dark green hallway, and when we arrive we park under an impressive umbrella of a tree. We fall asleep early in preparation for an early start the next day.

We’re two very quiet humans exiting the Chinook at five o’clock in the morning, even the guard yawns as he takes our tickets. Waking up with the sun in a jungle this full of life feels sacred. Like we’re a part of something. As the birds fly over us already at full running capacity, and sleepy coatimundis stumble across our path, we enjoy feeling like animals ourselves. We laugh as we talk of a cafe sitting in the middle of one of the temples, but coffee has been replaced with adrenaline and curiosity this morning. When we round the last corner into the grand plaza, we get that feeling every traveller longs for. The feeling of lost and found wrapped into one ancient box. The feeling of not knowing, but wanting to know everything. The feeling of being so small in such an incredibly large, magnificent world. It is important to feel small on earth, because that means there is still so much to explore.

Thank you Tikal, for making us forget about coffee.

Soul food in the South

Wed, 12 Jul 2023 16:30:40 GMT

The incredible contrast between temperature, flora and fauna that Mexico elevation reveals will make sure you never feel prepared. Whether you’re coming down a mountain into the hulk green sauna, playing hide and seek with perfect surf breaks or slowly rolling the window back up when you see a pine tree. Mexico touches your skin with different hands around every exaggerated bend.

Leaving the cool side of the pillow we have found in San Cristobal is daunting. I’m not sure we’re ready for the clothes to stick to our bodies again, or the transfer of cold water bottles in the fridge game. We like cooking inside without repercussions, and we sure love sleeping beside each other underneath the duvet. What the heat brings however, we simply cannot stay away from.

The highway curves through evergreen farmland scattered with abstract patterned cows, misshaped corn fields and rolling hills that meet up with the forest and halt. We notice an abundance of canned goods being sold in huts and wonder if this is native to Chiapas. Speed bumps allow us to inspect every person’s outfit, all the way to their eye colour. I feel bad for the truck, but love the t.v. show. This one’s called: colourful livestock and pickled yums.

Chiapas most definitely treats topes (speed bumps) like cervezas, where you can’t just have one. A gruelling two hour drive and the air has changed. The breeze coming through our windows is no longer refreshing, and begins to coat the inside of the cab. We are welcomed by sugar cane fields once again as we scour the area for camp. Today we are in the near presence of a cascading giant. Because truly, the only way to survive temperatures and humidity like this is to reside by a water source.

It is four o’clock in the afternoon when we arrive, just past closing time, so we sneak down to a river spot while some workers on motorbikes pass us on their way home. We like to think we’re “sneaking” anyway. Once out of view of the road, the Chinook gets to finally take a breath while we cool off in our own private river. To our pleasant surprise, the water is cold! Which probably isn’t that cold, but our outer most layer of flesh is as hot as tarmac in the desert. We enjoy a ceremonious cerveza and fall asleep to the water’s perfect white noise tune.

Cascada El Chifflon is only a couple kilometres up river, and he calls as we rise from a deep sleep. Our tires creep out of camp and down a cobblestone road to the entrance. One hand waves goodbye to our steed, and the other holds camera gear and towels. The tree canopy closes in, and we’re quickly surrounded by animated styles of leaves and flowers that belong on a Hawaiian shirt. We follow the river on our left, and can’t stop talking about the colour. It’s early in the morning, so the song birds are still at their chorus. Not paying any mind to the first couple waterfalls, we advise them of our return after meeting their master.

El Chifflon stands before us proudly. Morning light parades around him like the king he is and we agree that nature has created perfection once again. I think being silenced by beauty is extremely powerful. And once we’ve had our dose of the king, we rubberneck our way back down the trail to play in the smaller pools. We’ve noticed that with these Mexican turquoise waters comes a different texture from its minerals. The water feels thick, and you’ll notice you want a shower afterwards. Regardless, we enjoy our early morning Gatorade bath. Once the tourists started showing up, that’s our queue to leave, and we’re on the road again. Only a few kilometres away is our first cenote of the trip. A big blue crater labeled the “gateway to the underworld” will have you leaving with more questions than your arrival.

After properly acquainting ourselves with both of nature’s enchanting water sources, it was time to find camp. What we didn’t know at the time was that our water park tour was not yet over. Our entrance into the town called Uninajab brought a confused silence to the cab. I notice straight away a lack of human activity, but an abnormal amount of pools and man made rivers. Every building has come equipped with a pool, yet no one is in or around them. We roll slowly through the town centre which has been built around the river in hopes of finding some locals. No one. Just us and the pools. As the apocalyptic experience continues while we find camp, our minds are put at ease when a friendly man in a cowboy hat comes to collect our money. Five pools and a river to ourselves for the price of less than a beer back home in Canada.

A couple days spent at the ghost town pool party was a perfect reset. It was time to press on though, and thankfully these tires have a date with a dirt road. The Chinook gets aired down as we prepare for our off-road route over the mountain standing before us. We notice on the map a series of switchbacks and I can tell Matthew is giddy to be off the tope roads. I am in charge of flying the drone and honestly can’t believe what I am seeing. A road may seem windy when you’re in the vehicle, but from above it’s a whole other perspective. I can see the perfect hair pin corners that follow the cliff side and the snake that has been carved into the earth. Simply a road that shouldn’t be there, but is. Matthew and the Chinook work together in the ballet of an off-road route in Mexico, and I am elated to have front row tickets to the show.

As we crest over the last hump, a sign hidden in the trees sporting a thick layer of moss reads a totally foreign language to our eyes. We ponder, and when we’re about a kilometre further down the hill Matthew’s intuition screams to turn around and go back. We do, and it’s a good thing we did. After parking, we purchase tickets to see the Tenam Puente ruins, and agree they deserve better signage. We let ourselves into this entirely foreign world in an attempt to understand. However feeling so far removed with our phones jumping in our pockets, and the Chinook waiting for us in the parking lot. Maintaining presence, we walk where soldiers walked, touch the land that has provided for so long and appreciate this treasure left for us to learn about.

The door opens back up to reality and we're one with the heat again. Thankfully, our elevation is gaining and our nose is pointed towards you guessed it, more water. As we near Lagos de Montebello, we discuss how Mexico sure knows how to add an extra dose of saturation to its colour scheme. Whether it's the water doused with blues, the houses wrapped in a rainbow or the flowers that look like a 3D painting.

Pine trees once deterred us back home due to their indication of elevation and temperature. Now, we wiggle with excitement when we know we will be camped with them. One by one we cruise by the different coloured lakes admiring the differences each brings to the table. Some hold a dark blue centre and fade out to an almost highlighter blue near the shore, and others are a green I can only compare to when you added green and yellow together as a kid but accidentally dropped a bit of brown and began mixing. We pick our favourite, the one with the least amount of people and set up camp in the silence brought by the surrounding forest. In true Mexican fashion, this doesn't last long. When the work day is done, groups show up for their evening water activities. Some treat this lake like a laundromat, others are washing their cars and the majority is bathing themselves or just enjoying the water. Don't ever assume you're alone in this country.

Although our evening was filled with entertainment, the night was quiet and the morning sun rays lit up the lake so beautifully we wish the sun would never move. We had an objective today, and that was to address the elephant that has been lingering in the cab of the Chinook since America. Our steering column that we half fixed on our way to Denver has finally called it quits. I must say, I'm proud it made it this far. We noticed a small mechanic shop not far from the lake with two Toyotas parked out front, and decide this is the place to get it fixed for good. Within ten minutes of our arrival at this man's home, the steering column is out and Matthew and the mechanic are deliberating. They decide that it needs a new bushing made which can be done a few kilometres down the road. The mechanic grabs his motorbike and Matthew gets ready to hop on the back. Hilariously enough, he points to the front and I watch Matthew light up in a nervous frenzy. I've never seen him ride a bike before so I'm also a nervous wreck. I wait for the two of them to take off, no helmets into the sunset, but watch the bike lurch to a halt and stall out. And again, and again. I've never met a more confident man, and a huge part of me wishes Matthew could have gotten the bike to start. Alas, the mechanic and his wife joyfully chuckled as they switched spots. I spent time conversing with Elena about life and her bar while the boys played trucks, and I'll never forget the kindness found in unexpected places. With the steering fixed, and new friends made, we promised to return and hit the dusty track again.

Cheer for Chiapas

Thu, 06 Jul 2023 18:41:53 GMT

Scrolling on my phone maps around our current location, I notice a think line I haven’t seen in awhile. I pinch, and zoom in to get a better look… a border. Guatemala awaits our arrival, but Mexico still has its strong hold on us. Chiapas could potentially be our last state if we choose to skip the eastern section. This thought throws my stomach out the car window while driving over the bridge. See ya later tummy. It feels like Mexico has warmed up to us just as much as we have to it. In the early days we questioned more and enjoyed the nervousness of our first date with a new country. We moved quickly. Now, , more comfortable with our surroundings, the language and the culture, we’re finding it hard to leave.

Our first few kilometres driving through Chiapas has a similar effect on us as most other Mexican states. We notice the differences right away. Each state seems to have its own fruit of abundance, popular dress, colours and energy. Some areas thrive on chaos and others choose the slower alternative. With the mild humidity comes vibrant greens chasing over hilltops and beyond. We’re back in the land where livestock rules the streets, so we drive on high alert for activity. We weave our way through the mountains in search of cooler weather after the offensive Oaxacan coast pushed us here. And after diligently scrolling iOverlander locating camp options, I read a comment that tickled my happy veins. A reviewer stated “This was one of our highlights of travelling through Mexico. We will be returning.” I enjoy a bold statement like that so our map now points towards Cascada El Aguacero. I’d say this is one of the funnest parts of travelling without an agenda.

The sun starts to dip as we lose all of the elevation we just gained. Our waterfall camp is situated in a canyon, so down down down we go. It’s quiet when we pull up to the gate, a theme we’ve noticed with travelling in the off season. A young girl takes our pesos and we guide the Chinook into the empty field to set up camp. It’s warm, and we’re craving a swim after that drive, but find out there are 800 friendly concrete steps in our way. Although the temptation is high, and I can see Matthew spreading his arms attempting to grow wings, we decide to wait until morning. A breeze picks up and the temperature drops slightly, goodnight tropical canyon.

A hilarious morning thought clouds my brain as I think about how many random parking lots we have enjoyed coffee in. We sip, and enjoy listening to the world wake up around us, and appreciate where we are. Once a bead of sweat falls from Matthew’s brow, it is time to lube up the knee joints for our descent to the falls. We wave to the girls showing up to their shift and hope they have goodies for us upon our return. Stomp, crack, bang, pause. Lightning? Nope. Just out of shape knees dealing with the shock of 800 misshapen steps. The bright side is we get to stop every once and awhile and play the statue game with lizards and attempt to identify tropical birds.

The adventure continues when we reach the base of the canyon as we follow an overgrown trail eager for our first glimpse of the falls. We can hear them, and when I push past a medley of large deep green leaves zesty with cobwebs, I can feel it. Above us a beautiful shower gifted from natures builder falls into pools and spreads along the canyon. We lay our blanket on a sand bar and take a moment to feel extremely small. The mist from the falls tickles our cheeks as we lay and watch birds soar back and forth through the canyon walls. A crystal clear and refreshing cold river curves through the canyon holding an ecosystem of its own. Where the jungle meets the desert. Walls lined with cacti and sand squeezing through our toes coexist with lush pockets of green where bugs are vocal, iguanas enjoy a bath and birds flutter through fruit trees. Our skin enjoys drinking up the cold water for some time until our stomachs announce it’s time to leave. Up we go.

Back in the Chinook, we’re excited to be heading higher into the mountains. Our next destination is San Cristobal, and the elevation there is about 2,300 meters. Just the thought of being at that high of an altitude forces Matthew’s foot a little stronger on the gas pedal. And after a gruelling climb accompanied by some ear popping, we stick our hands out the window and grab the cold air. The landscape begins with the dark hues of pine trees and fans out to tiny white square rooftops speckled with colourful windows and planted flowers. It already feels like I never want to leave this place.

The town greets us with narrow streets, surprise one ways and cobblestone layers. Our camp tonight is nestled in an adventure park called Acrotete, 35 pesos per person for a spot on the river. And surprise surprise, we get it all to ourselves. A wall of green from the freshly mowed grass to the tops of coniferous trees surrounds us and the air is inviting. We settle in and enjoy the solitude. Another layer of clothes, and our heels dig into the earth. This feels like home. We submit to the feeling and start thinking of our families. We’ve come so far already from a year ago, and it’s important for us to send gratitude to the people that got us here. Our families and friends have been cheering us on from the beginning, and today we wish we could squeeze them. Maybe they’ll hear us if we yell extra loud!

The town of San Cristobal is vibrant and elegant. The streets are clean, and the culture radiates off the locals. We saunter down narrow hallways, try local cuisine and dip our toes in a couple of the cathedrals. We try the fermented alcoholic beverage known as Pox, pronounced Posh which is native to the area, and enjoy not sweating with every step. Lots of travellers we’ve conversed with plan to spend a few days here, and end up buying property, and we can see why. We’re even gifted a cool rain shower that lulls us into an afternoon of relaxation inside the Chinook.

It was almost time to say goodbye to our magical green mountain getaway, but we decided to walk around the park before departure. Following a couple decrepit signs that say Grutas we end up at the base of a cave, but our jaws have been left a few meters back. Our first thought is, what if we missed this? What if we decided not to explore past our camp? Before us is an impressive cave carve by the river we’ve been sleeping next to. There are stairs and a walkway where you can navigate through nature’s erosion playground. Matthew and I spend the morning crawling, climbing and touching every rounded corner of the cave. Swallows keep us company while they dive into holes along the walls, and later rock climbers attempt crazy routes that I’d never dream of trying. It’s incredible watching everyone enjoy this act of nature in different ways. And once we’ve got our fill, we pack up and make our next move. Let this be an encouragement to never leave stones unturned.

Volcano Erupts and so do I.

Thu, 22 Jun 2023 15:34:06 GMT

There have been few moments in my life where the man or woman above writing my story sprinkles in so many surprises that just existing feels animated.
This was one of those moments.

Mexico has surprised us in so many ways thus far. Rooting from the idea that the country’s popularity comes from its beaches, we are enjoying pulling the secrets that are hiding in its back pocket. In this story of hard to believe happenstances, imagine a cartoon volcano spewing lava and you may as well throw Godzilla in the scene. And make sure to replace my stomach with a tornado that comes equipped with a cow spinning through the centre, that’s my favourite part.

Our adventure begins in Amecameca, a small town located at the base of our mountain pass objective. These small villages practically throw their eye balls out of socket and onto the chinook’s hood. We can tell they have never seen anything like our truck before, and we wave proudly from the cab. After stocking up on provisions, we begin our climb. The road begins twisting through farmland and then closes into familiar pine grove, and as we near our highest point the canopy folds over us and we surrender to the giants. Large pine and fir trees stand tall on the sides of the highway to remind you who was there first, and that they don't plan on leaving. Trees so big they keep the secrets of the sky above to themselves. I begin to roll my window down in excitement as the altitude gifts a frosty unfamiliar exhale. Our appreciation for this break from the heat is noticeable through giddy smiles and uncontrollable laughs.

With a couple pats on the Chinook's dash, we have made it to the highest altitude of the trip so far, and we are extremely proud of the truck. Ahead of us is the visitor centre, and towering behind it is the reason for our arrival. Popocatepetl volcano is a sight one can truly appreciate from all angles. Being the tallest volcano in Mexico, its presence humbles us immediately. We stand outside the truck and gaze silently at the perfectly sculpted monster protruding from earth. And to add to the already dramatic scene, this volcano is currently active.

Once properly acquainted with Popo, a gust of moisture fills our noses and we both instinctively know to retreat. Marble sized balls of hail crash onto the Chinook’s hood, and then the entire visitor centre parking lot is white. We’re just going to have to add this to the list of things we didn’t expect to experience in Mexico. We join the other traveller van in a corner of the parking lot and hunker down.

A spectacular form of nature. There is mostly silence looming through the camper, and I think I know why. Just the tickle of the extremely high altitude air has sent my skin on a journey, my senses are all a little heightened. I can hear the volcano speaking, but it’s soft and unlike anything I’ve heard before. I crave the wisdom each exhale brings and can’t seem to take my eyes away from the window. The foreign blanket covers us once more, and we’re forced to sit and reflect and most importantly, absorb. Smiling every time a puff of smoke leaves its mouth, this truly feels supernatural. Finally, a cold afternoon fit for a macaroni and cheese feast! For the rest of the afternoon we indulge in comfort food and stretch our legs through perfectly groomed pine groves, doing our best to not take our eyes off the prize in case we miss something.

When we have returned from our stroll, the volcano has disappeared into the embrace of a big grey marshmallow. The tour vans and motorcycles have left and it’s just us, the police that remain at the site, and the giants. We should have known what was coming after the silence, but still jumped at the first lightning crack. The thunder and lightning heavy metal show kept us company for the evening, and we fell asleep with the feeling of world domination.

Waking up at a high altitude makes for a foggy entrance to the day. But wait, is that more thunder? Did the storm go all through the night? I pull open the curtains and the sun pierces my squinty eyes. No thunder, it must have been the volcano. Has it been doing that the whole time? I can tell Matthew and I are both a little disoriented, so suggest we make an early move to a new, lower elevation. We noticed on our maps another camp in a field that still has a view of the volcano but sits at a more reasonable altitude. The Chinook bobs and bounces down the pot hole sprinkled dirt road and our ears pop. That's better. And as we pull in close to the GPS coordinate, we are gifted another angle of Popocatepetl, and can't wait for the show to continue.

Up the top goes again, and we grab our chairs while the uninterrupted volcano show runs overtime. Every so often we would hear what sounded like thunder and was followed up but a roar through our feet from the earth. Finding it hard to believe it was coming from the volcano, we nonchalantly went about our afternoon. It wasn't until nightfall that our nerves regarding the whole scenario took a front seat. The space between grumbles and roars was quickly becoming smaller, and then a notification rang its way through my phone. I read aloud beside the campfire to Matthew. "Popocatepetl is awake! Schools cancelled due to recent volcano activity. Possible evacuation for neighbouring towns, be prepared." We looked at each other as if the main character in our movie that we had fallen in love with just died. After a serious discussion about the fact we shouldn't leave at that moment due to the dangers of driving in the dark and the unlikelyhood of the volcano causing damage that moment, we decided to crawl into the camper and leave in the morning. We thought the thunder was loud last night, this was a rumble you felt deep in your soul. And when we opened the curtains just before bed, Popo confirmed his state.

Very few moments on our Pan American journey so far have we been forced to leave a location abruptly. Our eyes blink open and we pull the curtains once more to reveal a layer of mud on the window. When the heck did we go through a mud puddle? The volcano still rumbles in the distance as Matthew insists I come outside. The rain we heard so faintly in the middle of the night turned out to be falling ash, and the Chinook is absolutely covered. Let's jot that down as yet another first for the trip. Ash rain. Another notification pops up on my phone alerting the risks of poor air quality and air ports have been shut down temporarily. The severity of our situation is loud, so we pack in a hurry to make our way down the rest of the mountain.

What are the chances something actually happens to us? Volcanos don't actually erupt do they? This is all a reality I've only ever read in cartoon sections of newspapers or insanely unrealistic old movies. The pull this supernatural mountain has on us is hard to explain. Even with all of the warnings and the evidence left on our truck, we want to stay. Despite the pull, we start the truck, and continue down the dirt road. Where it meets pavement a cluster of police cars and other vehicles block the way, but move when they see us coming. No one says anything to us, but we can tell by the looks on their faces that they're just as surprised to see us as we are them. Our area had been blocked off with us up there not knowing. Our pocket of nature kept us safe from not only the public, but the volcano's wrath. Rolling into the town below left a bitter taste in our mouths as we got our first glimpse of what would have been headlining the news in Mexico the past couple days. A layer of ash blankets the town like snow and lingers in places it shouldn't. We stop to get gas, and can barely see 4 feet in front of us, we have to keep driving. And so we do, all the way to Tehuacan where the cloud of ash is far in our rear view and a car wash is the focus.

Car washes in Mexico, where you never know who you'll meet. Sitting on the old bench seat in the "waiting room" a Mexican man asks me if I have ever tried Mezcal (An alcohol beverage made by roasting agave. Similar to tequila except not made in a factory) We had been warned about the Mezcal in the neighbouring state of Oaxaca, and how glorious it is, so I continued the conversation. I let him know I had not tried it but we were curious. We were then translated that he makes his own, and we were welcome to come over and try some. Seems sketchy huh? We said yes, and followed him to his teal green garage door. Matthew joined him inside where he said there were a few jerry cans full of liquid the man started rummaging through. The next thing we know we're sipping agave gasoline on the side of the road, and can't hold in big belly laughter. We think we like it, so purchase a litre and ask him to pour it into our Growler we brought from home. When in Mexico, right?

Our camp tonight, after an exciting day is a kids waterpark. Now this may sound a little suspect, but most overlanders will tell you that waterparks are a cheap place to camp, shower and enjoy some privacy in the evening. We're more than happy to roll in late afternoon, drink some of our delicious jerry can liquor and reflect on the craziness the volcano brought to our world. Now, that would have been a pretty sweet way to end the story, but this day wasn't over yet.

A month ago I experienced some food poisoning. The episode was pretty traumatic, and I was happy when the extreme symptoms went away after a couple days. However, the minor symptoms lingered, and I've been battling a laundry machine stomach for a couple weeks now hoping for the light at the end of the tunnel. Now I'm not sure if it was the Mezcal, the supernatural effect of the volcano, or the universe simply wanting to gift a story of a day, but one bad stomach ache to shoot me out of bed was enough to ask Matthew to get us to the hospital as soon as possible. Thankfully, I have a super hero of a man that would climb mountains and fight anything in his way to make sure I was okay. The chinook drove faster than I thought possible, and when we pulled up to the hospital gates, the brakes even squealed. I held my stomach while he escorted me in, and I could tell this was going to be an event. No one speaks English, so explaining my symptoms was a rollercoaster, and to make matters even more confusing, the doctor pulls out a typewriter to record my data. Where am I? and what year is it? After the Doctor and nurses all play the translate game with us, I am directed to a bed and put on an IV of antibiotics. I can't help but notice the nurses staring at me like I'm a martian.

Ten hours later, and a lot of liquid tapped into my veins, I wake up to a group of nurses standing over me like I'm a reptile in a tank. This is clearly a teaching hospital, and I am the patient labeled: Montezumas Revenge. I laugh when one of the nurses tells me I'm the first English speaking patient she's ever had. I'm relieved to be feeling better though, and can't believe we walk out without any costs and free prescriptions. I look at Matthew, and I can tell he agrees as I say: That was the craziest 24 hours of my life.

Deep Blue, Deeper Connection

Wed, 07 Jun 2023 16:12:30 GMT

Leaving a piece of our hearts in the Huasteca Potosina Region of Mexico.

An early start gifted by the fruit cocktail of tropical bird songs, we said goodbye to Cascada de Minas Viejas and headed deeper into the jungle. Our backs quickly creating pools against the seat covers was irritating at first but we seem to be getting used to it. Sweating at nine o’clock in the morning is just routine. With humidity comes a world so rich and nourishing, you’ll dream of it when you’re gone. Our waterfall tour continues, and at this point I don’t think we will ever dry out.

Next on our list goes by the name of Cascada de Aguacate. Different from a normal entry to a waterfall, we are directed down a series of spiral stairs. Our shoes reach the final step and to our right a thick and powerful stream falls gracefully into a dark pool. The breeze from the height of the drop cools our warm skin and we’re once again left speechless. We notice the generosity of the waterfall as it branches in both directions down the canyon. A small trail leads us to another pool down the canyon which can only be described as medicine. Water so clear the fish have no chance to hide, vines dipping their tips in the surface to add some extra nutrients and soil so rich it has plenty to share. We drop what’s left of our sticky clothing and cleanse for a short while. Places like this feel sacred. We share gratitudes and many smiles before deciding it was time to find camp.

Locating free camping in the Huasteca region has proven to be rather difficult. Thankfully, after a couple hours of navigating through sugar cane fields, a spot on the river presents itself. Unfortunately, every rose has its thorn, and we spent the night murdering a small insect village that chose the Chinook as its late night party stop.

With the dance of the bugs behind us, we moved to higher ground to get some work done. A sugar cane field with no trees is optimal for Starlink to work his magic, so we spend the morning drinking coffee and watching locals zip by on scooters heading into the fields to work. And then, an old ford that truly should not be anywhere but rotting in a field pulls up in front of the Chinook blocking us in. It is in moments like this where your senses and intuition work overtime together to gather as much information as possible before action. Is he dangerous? Does he want money? How many people are there? Where is our nearest weapon? Do we hide the laptop? Are we trespassing? How far are we away from a town with a police station? The hairs on the back of my neck stand up high as a tiny elderly Mexican sporting a fancy cowboy hat wanders over. Matthew hangs out the window and says good morning and I hope we get one in return. A broken smile and a handshake affirms we had been overthinking. Our 78 year old Mexican grandpa owns the land as far as we can see. For the next couple hours work was put on hold while Matthew tried to interpret his Spanish and they shared breakfast beers. He spoke no English, so it was exhausting at times, but his kindness was infectious and we loved every minute spent with him.

Forcing ourselves to slow down and spend time in more rural areas of Mexico has opened our minds and hearts to the people and what they encompass. Not so different from our lives back home, you just wouldn’t know looking from the outside in. If you pay attention, you’ll notice parents dropping their kids off at school. They’re not driving massive SUVs because they don’t need them, a scooter works just fine, and is a quarter of the price. You’ll see those parents dressed up for work, which may not be in an office at the top of a sky scraper, but it’s work and it gives them purpose. A storefront may look run down to you from the outside, but to the man sweeping the front step, that’s his empire . You’ll see young kids carrying paper mache school projects, and a bustle around the local flower stand on Mothers Day. Maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of a mechanic cracking a beer after a long day of work or a girl dressing up for her first date. I promise you’ll see a wealth gap, and struggle and politics, just like at home. You will see love and you will see hate. Mexico has taught us to stop being tourists and just be humans. We’re all battling this life together, just on different scales.

Our waterfall tour must go on! As we continue to soak ourselves in the Huasteca region, our eyes continually get lost in the green and our skin plumps with the heat. A campsite by the name of Altrancon had been recommended to us, and almost immediately we find out why. A small sugar cane field off the side of the road hides a pocket of paradise no one can prepare themselves for. When our tires meet a field of groomed grass a gangly Caucasian man jogs over and directs us to our options. Where his finger lands, our hearts follow. The site we have chosen is beside a private lagoon fixed with a perfect waterfall, rope swing and picture perfect trees hugging the exterior. How are we the only ones here?

Matthew instantly channels his inner child and explores nature’s playground fit for Tarzan. The perfectly turquoise coloured water in our lagoon feeds into a river of adventure. Rope swings hang over different variations of pools and waterfalls and we’re jumping, flipping, spinning, flying off everything in sight. This river jungle gym is loved by locals, as they watch their kids play with Micheladas in hand. When I lay on my back and see what’s above, mother trees look back at me as they reach their branches to the sun. Ancient moss has chosen these branches as their home and shift in the wind with grace. Assorted cacti and bright tropical flowers have also made themselves comfortable on mother’s larger stems and song birds take what’s left. With my ears slightly submerged, I can hear the twirling of neighbouring waterfalls and tiny feet fluttering to stay afloat. This place is so incredibly special. Will I ever stop saying that?

After a full day and night of not seeing another camper at our site, we emerge from the Chinook on a Friday morning to the sounds of a large bus. Uh oh, was our first reaction. And just like that, within hours, hundreds of Mexican families turned an empty piece of land into a riverside festival. Tents quickly were set up meters away from us, and the chinook’s hood acted as a table for strangers. Our once private lagoon now holds thirty people all holding huge Corona bottles and the accordion blares from large speakers. Tension was high initially, it was loud and our privacy diminished. Thankfully, all it took were a couple smiles, and we chose to embrace it. We start saying yes. Candy carts come by and we say yes, some men cheer Matthew on for another backflip, he says yes. A group comes over and wants to know about the Chinook, we say yes. And then our curious neighbours stayed as the light changed and soon the true fiesta began. From Guanajuato, a town we clearly shouldn’t have skipped, these people gave us our favourite night of the trip so far. Generously feeding us beers and other drinks, we stumbled through translation and our bare feet stomped to their favourite songs. We shared stories and laughter and connected. What started as resistance very quickly turned into an experience we had been craving, true human connection.

Jungle Juice

Sat, 27 May 2023 22:10:03 GMT

Cascadas de Minas Viejas

You know when you were a kid, and your parents would let you choose which flavour of slurpee, or ice cream cone you'd like at the local convenience store? Well, in most cases you couldn't choose just one, so a rainbow river would parade out the door in your cup or precariously balanced on top of a wafer cone. I remember two of my favourites were blue raspberry, and Mountain Dew in the slurpee cup or bubble gum and mint chocolate piled on top of the cone. I'm almost positive my choice for these flavours wasn't for the reaction of my taste buds, but more the feeling of tasting what earth has to offer. The escentric greens and koolaid blues moved their way from mouth to soul, and I knew I'd be chasing that feeling my whole life.

San Luis Potosí and the Huasteca Region brought flavours fit for a Michelin five star restaurant. Greens you would like to put in a jar and smell later for endorphins, and blues so unbelievable that you're convinced an elderly man sits a top the beginning of each river dropping food colouring every hour. We weren't prepared to fall in love so soon on our trip, but this place was created by cupid.

Ciudad del Maiz is our last stop before our self guided waterfall tour. We spend what feels like a night out in a Mexican film that begins in our authentic hotel room. A space barely big enough for a double bed is looked down on by a tv we remember from our childhood. When we attempt to power it on, Spanish blares over top white noise, and we agree on keeping the television in the off state. Our shower is stained with memories, and has no shower head, but it's still a shower. The windows are locked shut, so that we can absorb the poorly painted blue walls in their truest form, and all of a sudden we're laughing at the thought of sleeping in the chinook instead. Our evening is spent walking into town following our noses to some incredibly cheap tacos, and getting more comfortable with the fact we're the only travellers here.

The drive from Ciudad del Maiz to our first waterfall: Cascadas de Mijas Viejas can only be described as reflective. As the screaming of the chinook's motor takes a break, we close into a canopy of green. Our elevation is the lowest it's been in weeks and our skin is the first to notice. Every crack on my lips puff full again, a thin glow coats my once dehydrated arms and my hair grabs the back of my neck refusing to let go. It smells different. The vines hanging from the trees, I can smell them. The mango sitting outside the market with a bruise, I can smell it. There's something lingering too, sweet corn I think, but where is it?

You can tell you've been in the desert too long when a tree wrapped in green leaves sends your smile to the roof, and your belly in circles. Varieties of flora I've never seen before twist together as they shoot for the sun, and fruit tries its best to hang on for just a couple more days. Briefly, the green canopy fades behind us and what is revealed is horizon-wide fields of what looks like tall grass. But, there's that smell again! The sweet corn! Our road is now shared with ginormous logging trucks carrying what looks like burnt bamboo. The smell is unbearably potent as they zoom past us, and the curiosity couldn't run wild much longer. Google enlightens us, and we are pleased to learn that these are sugar cane fields. Matthew and I gaze in awe at the men working in the fields at 38 degrees celsius, and send cooling thoughts.

Once we've reached the point of uncomfortable in our own skin fidgety I'll do anything to get out of the truck antics, we're presented the entrance to the waterfall. Coming from our own version of waterfall paradise in British Columbia, I couldn't help but recognize the opposite personalities they have of the one before us. Waterfalls back home act as the guards of a very special gate which holds something even more special behind it that you're not allowed to see. They are loud, intimidating and powerful. Most times free falling from intense heights, and removing anything in their path. They provide from a distance and are always worth a second look. This Mexican cascade masterpiece is much different. Water folds over the earth and pours gently into a perfect pool as to not miss a drop. If you listen closely, you can hear the harmony as the they blend together rather than crash into one another. Swallows dive through the mist to cool off their wings and dragon flies catch dinner just above the pool. It feels as though if you looked away, everything would pause until you looked back again. A waterfall begging to be painted. "I'll stay still" it promises.

Colours so surreal I'm constantly rubbing my eyes expecting them to desaturate. They don't. And if there is a god, I'd like to thank him personally for this place.

We spend hours enjoying nature's spa, and then set the chinook up in the parking lot. It is here we are gifted our first ever firefly show. Little lightning bugs bounce around the truck acting like tiny lanterns for the night life outdoors. Goodnight small creatures, thank you for being such a sweet ending to a perfect day.

“The Devil’s Backbone”

Fri, 26 May 2023 15:00:11 GMT

All I see is Pines, All I smell is fuel.

Fourteen hours later, only five of which consisted of sleep, the TMC cargo ferry was nearing its port in Mazatlan, Mexico. We’re pretty sure we don’t need the Nescafé instant coffee circling through our cups as the nerves come to surface, but take sips anyways. It smells different here. The air tickles my skin with warm fingers from the top deck as we eye up our future. Matthew and I discuss back and forth how excited we are, but lingering is the faint fear of the unknown.

A man wearing an orange jumpsuit and a healthy coating of sunscreen on his nose guides us and the Chinook down the ramp and onto new soil. We’re here. Today we are driving the highway number forty from Mazatlan to Durango. Boasting the name “The devil’s backbone” this mountain route is labeled one of the most dangerous roads in the world due to its landscape, drug trafficking history and overall remoteness. Most importantly, it avoids all of the major toll roads and highways, which appealed to us instantly.

I’m sure most sane humans would read the history of this route and think, absolutely not. What we’ve learned lately is that sanity lives at the North Pole, and we reside in the South.

Our first order of business is to navigate through the city of Mazatlan, where motorbikes, scooters and pedestrians make up the majority of traffic. With no such thing as an organized traffic light, I’m proud of Matthew for growing eyes not just on the back of his head, but both sides as well. I can’t help but transport into a classic game of Frogger.

The big green sign for highway forty hovers above us, and the sense of adventure appears in tiny goosebump form across my skin. We wave cheerfully goodbye to the semi trucks roaring down the toll road, it’s just us and the locals now.

I thought after two months in Baja we would have climatized a bit to the heat, but the humidity has brought a new type of tropical sweat to surface. We quickly trade the dry desert plains for a twisted narrow goat trail road up and up and up through pockets of foreign groves. With each hair pin corner I hold my breath hoping there isn’t another larger vehicle coming at us from the other side. We pass a couple large touring busses and impressively applaud them for choosing this route. And after drawing multiple S shapes with the Chinook’s tires, we feel something.

I immediately glance over at Matthew, curious if maybe he just let off the gas accidentally. The whiteness flooding his face gives me his answer. A few minutes pass, and when he puts his foot to the pedal, another hiccup. Again, and again. It feels as though the truck is running out of fuel. Did we not fill up? A thousand questions bounce through the cab. Once we’ve heard enough, we pull into a shady side road to play diagnostics. This is not how I imagined our second hour in Mexico.

We hum and haw, point at parts, accidentally bump extremely hot parts, smell parts and bounce ideas back and forth. Luckily, we’re a very good team when it comes to this stuff, I guess practice makes perfect?

The reputation of the road is looming, but we’re surprisingly calm. At the end of the day, this is our story, and we’re going to make sure you read it twice.

Our final decision is to switch out the fuel pump. We carry a spare because spare parts hold the same value as water when travelling the world in your vehicle. If you’re stranded without either, you’re asking for trouble. Our fuel pump is an in-line fuel pump so it sits on the frame right below the driver door. Although fairly simple to remove, I’m sure Matthew’s idea of his first shower in Mexico wasn’t with gasoline. I lend a hand where I can, but he already smells like a gas pump. So, after some spillage, a few screams, but mostly laughs, the new fuel pump is in.

I turn the key, send the prayers up, and receive the cry of a hundred cats in return. The new fuel pump is not happy, and I can tell Matthew’s optimism is on a one way ticket back to Baja. Regardless, we hop in the truck, smelly and sweaty and send Sunday up the hill. We first dread the noise, but realize the hiccups are gone. Success! We think! Sort of!

Espinazo del Diablo highway represents that of the train tracks you built as a kid. You didn’t care where you put corners, how sharp they were or how steep the hill was after it. You could care less if the track sometimes faced backwards, and had no guard rail. As long as your train made it to the other side, you didn’t care about the in between. The Chinook leans into corners following suit with the motorbikes. Up and around and down and through, we glance at the map sometimes but get too dizzy. As we climb through the mountains, stout deciduous trees progress into lush pine forests providing the shade we’ve been craving. Cool air pushes its way through our vents as our ears pop and a sense of home lingers.

Due to the time spent showering in gasoline earlier today, we’ve only completed a quarter of this mountain road. So as the sun bows for our efforts, we pull off the highway into a pine grove littered with fire pits. As the Chinook creeps closer to the edge of the cliff, we can see the toll road way way way down there. I’m already so happy we chose this route. A celebratory bottle of wine from San Javier in Baja, and the cooler air lulls us to sleep.

Precious Cargo

Thu, 11 May 2023 15:42:40 GMT

Our time in Baja had to come to an end eventually. I just don’t know if we were prepared to leave its familiar essence. The peninsula brought something new around every dusty corner, the food had us saying yum at most hours of the day, and the people made us sure of our return. We fell head first into the routine of slow motion living (something we both are not used to) and knew the time had come to either leave for something new, or start a business making tacos and building Toyotas. Sounds like a pretty good life huh? We think so too, but found ourselves en route to the TMC Baja cargo ferry in La Paz.

It is Friday at 1pm, and our journey was just beginning.

1:15pm

A big flashing arrow and an English speaking worker would be helpful, but instead the Chinook rolls into an industrial lot with buildings omitting any form of signage. We’ve learned that the easiest way to make yourself look like a tourist is to drop your jaw part way, enough to catch a few flies, then hold your phone up to your face and turn your head so many times you’ve rubbed the tan right off the back of your neck. This is a spitting image of us, a neon sign hangs above our truck that screams “I’m lost!”

After locating a small sign that reads TMC, we gather our binder of all things, hold it close to our chests like we’re back in high school and make our way into the building. Calm, cool and collected, right?

1:30pm

Wrong building. We are directed towards inspection. Three big yellow arches give shade to the police and guards awaiting our arrival, but which one do we go to? A sign, would, be, sigh, NICE. My intuition chooses the furthest to the right and we come to a stop at the guard’s hand gesture. Immediately he comments on the truck in relatively good English. Him and Matthew discuss Toyotas, and once again, this machine we slapped together in a garage has taken the massive load of stress donkeys and put them out to pasture. Our inspection consisted of opening the back door, he didn’t even peak inside, hilarious.

1:45pm

We are directed to another very small building to get our tickets. At this moment we are unsure whether they will consider us a motor home or a truck/camper. The price difference is staggering, and I’m pretty sure Matthew has now measured the length and height of the Chinook five times in hopes of the latter.

2:00pm

Sticking out like sore thumbs again, we are crammed into a small room filled with Spanish conversations and a heavy stench of the air conditioning putting in work. A couple of men attempt to converse with our broken Spanish while we wait, and that comforts us.

2:30pm

Still in the tiny stuffy room, we can’t figure out why there are six females behind the desk all in uniform, yet only two are actually working. And then, a cake appears. Yes, a cake. The next thing we know we are shoo’d out of the small kiosk while the girls take photos with the cake. Honestly, I would love some cake right now.

2:45pm

I guess this is why they ask you to show up at 1:00 for your 6:00 boat ride. We are let back into the ticket room, and when our turn finally comes, we are pleased to pay 7,000 pesos for our truck/camper.

3:00pm

The instructions from the girl who handed us our tickets on where to park and wait for the remaining few hours we’re vague. We learn very quickly that this is not like our ferry system back home on Vancouver Island. There are no signs, no lanes, no designated areas, no P.A. Speaker announcements, no direction at all. Back and forth and back and forth, the Chinook has checked every corner of the lot for another overland vehicle, but only cargo. Workers gaze at the confusion radiating off of us, but seem to be more amused than helpful. To our hilarious, and awesome surprise, the gentlemen that had attempted conversation in the kiosk are driving a semi filled to the brim with fresh oranges. As they wave us over, one of the men jumps up and grabs us some. They may not know where we’re supposed to be either, but this small act of kindness sure cheered us up.

4:30pm

Using our finger binoculars, we can see our boat loading in another bay. The hurry up and wait game continues. Watching the men load each container in an orchestral manor is oddly satisfying.

5:00pm

Up the Chinook goes on the ramp to the top deck. We are directed in between a breast height wall, a semi on our left, and another behind. Ahead of us is the anchor’s intimidating rope. Watching in our mirrors as the workers chain everything down, we both look at each other and hope they do the same to us ha ha. To put in perspective how similar this is to a sardine-filled can, Matthew has to get out through my door due to the closeness on his side.

6:00pm

The air on the top deck reeks of truck exhaust, brake pads and an assortment of either fruit trying to make its last attempt at an escape, or the fish hanging out of the lingering seagull’s mouth. Men are dancing around the main deck finishing up tasks, so we make our way into the single room communal kitchen. We are served tacos, and share brief interactions with some of the drivers. It’s special experiencing the every day life side of this journey for some of these men, and as the roar of the boat fills the cabin, we can’t help but breathe into our new reality.

A sunset filled with strawberry custard helps us say goodbye to Baja, and hello to Mainland Mexico.

Paradise, Paraíso, Paradiso

Thu, 04 May 2023 16:12:29 GMT

The best things in life are free. The best things in life don't come easy. The best things in life are shared. The best things in life wake your heart up. The best things in life are the ones you least expect.

Our elevation drops around six hundred meters via a windy, pot-holed, loose gravel, make you want to smile, cry, vomit, hold your breath the entire way, Mexican shelf road. I am gifted the opportunity to drive thus road so that Matthew could capture the experience from above on the drone. I take small peaks at the view in between laser focus navigating, but try not to get distracted. To make matters a little more interesting, I hear a familiar "uh oh" as we watch the drone suck itself into a shrub along the cliffside. Off Matthew goes to retrieve our companion, while I pray to every god above that Sunday's brakes don't let go. It is taking everything inside me not to ask to switch, but there is a small fire in the pit of my stomach attempting to torch the fear. We keep going, with my trembling hands wrapped around the wheel, and once the road flattens, I have to admit, I'm proud of myself.

Michael goes first in his 60 series Landcruiser to check that the tide isn't too high. Now that we've made it to the ocean, the route to the beach we're aiming for is along the rocks underneath a cliff overhang. If the tide is too high, our trucks would be driving through salt water puddles which is undoubtedly NOT an option. Thankfully, the 60 series disappears around the corner and that's our queue. At this point in the drive my heart has left my chest and is surfing the perfect break beside us. All this scene needs is a paper map sprawled in my lap, and a compass hanging from Matthew's neck.

What is your idea of paradise? Is it a snapshot image of palm trees reaching over a perfect white sand beach? Is it knee deep with a fishing rod in water so clear the fish can't hide? Maybe paradise to you is in the mountains surrounded by nothing but the silence the snow brings. My idea of paradise varies as we touch different corners of the world. Paradise takes form as the little treasure chests Mother Nature hides on your life long scavenger hunt. And sometimes, if you're lucky, you're the first one to open the chest. I truly believe there is a paradise for everyone, and some share the same favourites.

San Cosme, also known as Saint Cosme welcomes us with a warm embrace you'll forever be coming back for. A cove fit for a painting holds palapas, sea shells and sand to wrap between your toes. Mountains act as the portrait background, and home many creatures that roam the night. A natural hot spring presents itself at peak low tide as natures secret plate of dessert. Dolphins make sure to wave when they pass twice a day, and the pelicans entertain our eyes when the sun sinks a little lower. Fruit coats the roofs of our mouth, and tequila washes it away. Smiling feels way too natural, as the salt falls between the creases of our faces. A perfect moon rise hums, and waves peel into the cove in perfect rhythm to serenade you to sleep.

Well Baja, you've been tough on our rig, but what you've left us with is a lifetime of memories.

Natures playground

Sat, 29 Apr 2023 17:58:18 GMT

Mesquite Canyon

Maturing into an adult can be scary sometimes. Stress lingers as the pressure from society forces your inner child to hide behind the curtains until asked politely to come out and play. Reminding ourselves that the inner child plays an important role in the person we are today, we have chosen a life that compliments that piece of our soul. Today we get to embrace that jungle gym temptation and immerse ourselves into one of Baja’s best kept secrets, Mesquite slot canyon.

Sunday the Chinook and Michael’s 60 series Landcruiser have been secretly discussing how much they enjoy rock crawling together. So of course, we must allow these horses to gallop. It’s so interesting watching the two very differently built vehicles maneuver through obstacles. Michael’s Landcruiser is much closer to the ground as it sits proud on 31 inch tires, and leaf springs. Noticeable right away is the unfortunate hang ups the leaf spring hangers cause. Otherwise, the mighty 60 wagon laughs at most of the terrain and screams old trucks rule the entire way.

Sunday tends to stare adventure in the face and screams BET! Propped on top of coiled suspension and 35 inch tires, the big rig sways back and forth as he flexes his muscles over the boulders. Quite the show off he is sometimes.

Pedestrians hike past us in disbelief that vehicles could even drive this far down the canyon. We considered parking with the other vehicles, but that inner child is screaming louder than ever today. Smiling ear to ear, I am outside with the camera, spotting and enjoying every minute of the show. The end of the “road” presents itself, and our group gathers whatever personal belongings they see fit for the hike. I have to laugh when I look at our friends holding a small backpack and a smile, and look down at what Matthew and I are bringing. The camera bag, drone, lunch, phones, towels, clothes sits heavily on our backs. We’ve got this.

All six of us make our way to the entrance of the slot canyon, and all find ourselves sizing up the narrow hallway ahead. Misshaped boulders invite us in while the morning sun kisses our sunscreen coated cheeks.

The first few meters set the tone for the rest of the journey as we find ourselves taxying our belongings over our heads, forced to succumb to the depths of the first pool. A small waterfall standing above the pool requires luggage hand offs and careful foot placement. Pool after pool, we've transported into what feels like an Indiana Jones video game. We're in a slot canyon jungle gym scattered with surprise palm trees, song birds and even some friendly frogs. The pools range from bath water to refreshing as the canyon narrows, and we all find ourselves elated with the breathtaking beauty and playful experience. As we come to the final pool, we all wish we had more time and more daylight to do it all over again. Instead, we get to roam the plateau above at sunset which brings forth a different version of nature's art. Cacti line the trail, and intimidating jagged rocks kiss the lowering sun.

It's the three of us again tonight, and I think we make a great team. Michael chops wood, I attempt to gather smaller sticks, and Matthew is in charge of eating all of the chips while we're gone. Our first fire in Baja is toasted with a Tecate. We share stories and future plans and savour the warmth until the very last coal. As per usual, the canyon owls hoot us their stories from the day, and we drift off into another deep sleep.

So this is where the water is.

Fri, 28 Apr 2023 20:56:57 GMT

San Javier

Sunday spits and hums as we climb 700 meters from sea level into the classic Baja mountainous region. But something feels different. As I reach my arm out the window, my fingertips playing with the setting sun, I notice the silence. The chinook’s exhaust echoes over the hills. A small rancho peeks over dusty hills every few kilometres, but nature owns this area. To our most pleasant surprise, as we crest over the final hill, our tires take a bath in an overflowing river. Little did we know, this would not be the last, so we hop out of the truck and imagine what it would look like during the rainy season. Most likely uncrossable. Right now, the splash is refreshing, and we enjoy the next couple that appear on the route. This entire trip, we have come across very few areas with this much water.

The desert flora changes vastly when we roll into town. New dark green hues cover the hillside, and plants other than cacti frame each corner. As the song of the Chinook gets turned down to low, the tires add some drums as we roll over what feels like historic cobblestone. The low tapping of the drums is harmonized with playful song birds waltzing through the flowers announcing our arrival. Around the cobblestone corner, a golden hour show spotlights the mission. All this song needs is some bells and we could sell it.

The San Javier mission stands tall in the centre of the village, and holds stories from another lifetime. When we arrive, the doors are closed, but we enjoy gazing at the exterior as the afternoon hummingbirds begin their feed. Freckled along the stone walls are wild flowers providing dinner for these special birds. This place is special. Noticing the rapidly dipping sun however, camp was on the horizon. Sunsets in the mountains bring so many different layers to the colours, and we love spinning in circles to witness every different show.

Unsure why we chose a plateau in the desert to do some mechanical work, but here we are. This sweaty, sticky, unbearably hot morning Sunday gets a new fan clutch. We’re hot, but so is Sunday. We have been noticing unusually high temperatures coming from our home on wheels, and are hoping the fan clutch is the culprit. Once installed, we can only wait and hope to see a change. Good things come to those with patience right?

Today, we are driving further past San Javier down a dirt road to Santo Domingo where we will meet one of our subscribers and soon to be friend, Michael. We think the word road should be used loosely in Baja. A dirt road that may look normal on our map will dip through rivers, contain large boulder obstacles, and swallow your tire pot holes. Yet, halfway down said “road” we always come across a cute little house with a Honda Civic parked out front. This is the Mexican way, always outdriving us with vehicles we would never dream of driving here.

When we arrive at the rancho, we are greeted with the red bum of a familiar 60 series Landcruiser and a joyful smile beside it. We are the only two vehicles here, and that’s cool. After brief introductions, the boys make quick work of describing each corner of both vehicles. I’m not sure if the Toyota obsession blood runs heavy through all of its owners, but these two sure seem to have it tapped in their veins. I stand back and am in charge of the oo’s and awe’s as we walk around Michael’s rig. He will also be driving the Pan American highway later this year, so it’s interesting to see what creature comforts he has chosen for the endeavour.

Interrupting the truck talk, the rancho’s owner and son come up to Michael and ask if he would still like to see the cave paintings. New to our knowledge, we wait for his answer. He accepts and insists we join. No sooner are our runners on and we’re following the teenager down a dirt road. “Watch out for snakes” was all his father said as he sent us off.

After about a kilometre on the flat, Brian, or at least I think he said Brian stops us in our tracks and points up to a cliff. The cave paintings are at the base of cliff which requires a vertical hike, something we haven’t done in awhile. Huffing, and puffing I can smell Tecate reaching out from my pores. Once we’ve made it to the top, we turn around and take in the low light blanketing the neighbouring hills. Other than drone flying, this is the first time we’ve been able to take in our surroundings from above. The silent beauty the inland desert wears is one of our favourite outfits we’ve witnessed in Baja so far. I listen closely, and can hear cows munching, enjoying the cooler temperature as the flies leave them be. I can hear crickets getting ready for their dusk symphony, and flowers folding their pedals as they tuck themselves in.

Brian speaks very little English, so it’s fun interpreting the painted shapes and scenes on the rock wall with sign language.

After some well deserved Tecates, we all fall asleep to the song of the desert parading between the mountains.

I had no idea the effect roosters would have on Matthew until this peaceful morning turned not do peaceful in rapid fire. I have experienced travel in places where roosters wake you from your slumber at unnecessary times, and continue at their own leisure. This wasn’t news to my ears, so at 5 am I drifted back to sleep. Matthew however, hopped out of the Chinook to go have a stern talking with the alarm clocks. ( in his underwear ) They didn’t quite understand his English and continued. Maybe if he would have asked in Spanish? I can’t help but lose it with laughter.

Leaving places like San Javier is hard. The inland manages once again to take a little piece of our hearts and returns them just a little warmer. One last 4x4 for the rigs to a neighbouring oasis and our vehicles were aimed back to Loreto to stock up again.

Where the flowers match the walls.

Fri, 28 Apr 2023 16:47:28 GMT

Mulege.

A vibe sort of similar to that of a small European village. The intenseness of the main Baja highway narrows and curves down to sea level where Mulege’s charm flushes over us. Air sifting its way through the crack in my window has a tickle of moisture and a heavy floral scent. Did it just rain? At first glance, my eyes are drawn to the perfectly saturated colours slapped onto the tiny buildings. Large, almost towering plants of all varieties guard the homes and shops with their lives. Providing shade and comfort are the palms. Fed by the mighty river that owns the town, the palm trees are abundant and healthy as can be. The Chinook creeps through town on tiptoes as we fall for the quaintness of it all. Everyone we’ve come across is wearing their smile like a tattoo and we can see why.

As soon as we’ve accomplished laundry duty, it is time to find camp. Matthew scours google earth and see’s some potential on the water. The road we’ve chosen to take seems to be nestled in between a residential area which gives us a new perspective on the somewhat Americanized neighborhood. Remembering how identical the housing developments look back home, it is refreshing to see rounded corners, abstract colours and personalities splattered all over.

As the homes disappear behind us, we see a small dirt road aiming towards the ocean. We try not to keep our hopes too high for epic camp spots, but sometimes we just can’t help it. And just like that, similar to the moment you glance at the night sky and witness a perfect shooting star, a pod of dolphins project themselves as high as they can out of the water making sure we don’t miss them.

Our mouths wide open pair perfectly with children claps and wiggly toes. We have been told of the dolphins, but never expected to be front row to the show. We didn’t even see the ticket booth on the way in. To add to the elation of where we are, it seems we have this cove all to ourselves. Once the chinook finds its seat for the night, the calm of the late afternoon ocean calls us. We listen, secretly hoping the dolphins will join us.

The evening consisted of exploring the beach for treasures, which has rapidly become very therapeutic for me. Finding the remains of a life so different from that of a human fascinates me. All the while, Matthew enjoys the stillness from inside our home. While enjoying yet another taco feast, we watch two fishermen disappear into the sunset on a small dinghy. Their arrival back is sometime around midnight. Thankfully, it looks like the moon helped show them the way. Goodnight moon.

The sun wakes us up again, and it sure is becoming our favourite alarm. Salty and smiley, we venture into town for one last dose of the Mulege glow. Slow motion roaming allows us to see the hidden perfection in each misplaced plant pot, accidental paint drip, crooked sidewalk and chipped tooth smile. We love it here, but it is time to move on.

Bahia De Concepcion

When our Mulege cups were full, especially after a taste of the local brewery, we giggled our way down the highway. And as the light began to change, the coastal route takes us along some of the most famous coves in Baja. The beer definitely assisted in this moment, but the beaches are truly screensaver worthy. Each cove shaped like a tea cup painted blue and half filled with chai latte. Unfortunately, our tires remain on the tarmac as our wallets tell us to keep searching for something a little cheaper.

The sun strides its way behind the mountains beside us and focus our eyes towards the water. Time is ticking while we search for that hidden dirt road you’d miss if you were driving too quickly. Brake test! The chinook’s nose dives toward the ground and my chest wraps around the seatbelt. Matthew spots one, and makes sure not to miss it. Back and forth the camper rocks as we make our way down the trail.

Stumbling upon free camping like this is what Baja is all about. You just have to rustle up the patience, and strengthen that manifestation muscle.

How big is that fuel tank?

This beach is extra hard to leave, but we know we must press on. After an extremely fun beach workout, we make our way down the inlet to then cross to the other side and find another beach recommended to us. As soon as the Chinook hits dirt again though, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach starts yelling through a megaphone. Not necessarily a dangerous feeling, more like a being called somewhere else feeling. Thankfully, Matthew doesn’t fight the laundry machine going on inside me, so we decide to push to Loreto.

It is warm, but the highway isn’t busy, and there are no major passes between us and Loreto. The distance is roughly 55 kilometres. Out of nowhere, Matthew looks down at the trip count. He proceeds to ask me with a hint of lingering fear when we last filled the gas tank. I find the number, and put both in the calculator. 466 miles. Miles, because our Chinook is an American vehicle. Up until this point, we have been filling up at 400 miles as a safety blanket. ( Without a fuel gauge, we air on the side of caution. )

With this knowledge, and the confidence that the truck could go 500 miles, we send the prayers up rolled cautiously down the highway. A quiet, suspenseful drive I’d quickly relieved with sighs and high fives when we spot a town up ahead. Having this large of a fuel tank is great until you start to believe your truck runs on sunlight. A close call, and we have to laugh at the gas station when we see we’ve gone around 760 kilometres. Thinking back to my intuition about not going further to the beach sort of makes sense now.

Money well spent.

Sun, 16 Apr 2023 03:53:42 GMT

San Ignacio, and Santa Rosalia

Two towns that weren't necessarily on our list of stops, but most definitely proved worthy.

San Ignacio

" We came back to you for a reason." Having heard only one recommendation to detour of the main highway into this oasis town, Matthew and I were skeptical. Our intuition however, was first in line for the ride. Immediately we are greeted with an aroma so lush your nostrils transport into a Jurassic Park movie. Palm trees turn the brightness level down into a cool striped animation rippling down the windshield. The tropical umbrellas above lure us into their peaceful embrace. There is no sign of the blasting Spring sunshine, my skin isn't lapping up salt from the ocean like a stray dog, and the crackling of semi trucks is left behind us. We can breathe.

And then the gift giver reveals itself, a lagoon situated perfectly in the entrance of town. We roll slow, watching the sun twinkle as the wind pushes the water ever so slightly in different directions. Birds paddle around, occasionally diving under for their afternoon snack. Matthew spots a campground and directs the chinook to a spot right on the water. No need to check out other campgrounds this late in the day, this spot will do. 200 pesos ( around 17$ CAD ) for the night supplied bathrooms, showers and front row to the lagoon show. An evening spent absorbing the hydration leant by the greenery, quesadillas, and thoughts brought to surface from the silence.

Waking up to the sounds of mourning doves is common throughout Baja, and we're really enjoying their tune. Our lips lightly coated in coffee, and the corners of our eyes holding crumb remains from a deep sleep, we move our bodies around the chinook slowly with little intention.

Once the system has woken up, we gather the chinook, and our curiosity, and head into town. With town being only a mile away from camp, the quaintness truly sets in. Almost instantly, as we round the last bend, the architectural masterpiece that is the San Ignacio Mission stands tall before us. I have to lean out the window just to catch a glimpse of the top. The chinook finds a parking spot, while Matthew and I roam every corner of this stunning building. Our paths in slow motion, sometimes even in reverse, we quietly take it all in. It's really quite special to be able to appreciate such vastly different beauty then what we are used to. So far in the past, yet similarities to beauty found today are present.

After the self guided mission tour, we dipped our toes in a couple of the local shops, and wiped drool off of the corners of our mouths as we were offered home baked goods all containing local dates. Date squares, Seasoned dates, Date muffins, Date bread. Our frugal cards were showing however, so we decided to save them for another day. Walking back to the chinook, and having a look at it from a distance, we both decided he could use a bath. There is a car wash right at the beginning of town, so we decide to head there next.

Pulling the chinook into automotive establishments, and watching the flock of interest is still so satisfying. For the next thirty minutes, three young men strapped in gum boots and wash cloths carefully massaged what looked like years off the truck. I watch with stars in my eyes hoping to take some cleaning tips back home with me. And when the washing symphony was over, I watched the chinook smile as they dried him with love. Getting caught up in all of the excitement, we barely notice one of the owners poking at the rust on our fenders. Matthew starts up a conversation about them, while I glance around the shop getting the hint that these guys know a thing or two about auto body work. The next thing we know, we're quoted 100$USD each side. Not quite sure if it was the shock or excitement, but. we agreed immediately and planned to be back for Monday.

Today is a very special day. One that happens once in a lifetime. The stars have aligned, and brought with it my first Bestfriend since I entered the world. Chelsea and her partner Wren have been sailing around Baja for the past six months, and we have finally caught up to them. Santa Rosalia is the quaint little port town that has brought us together, and we get the honour of spending the evening on their floating home.

Santa Rosalia holds a beautiful mission designed by Alexandre-Gustave Eiffel, who also designed the Eiffel Tower. It sits perfectly in the middle of town, and we enjoy the company of relatable history. The day and night flowed effortlessly with exploring, sharing, loving, laughing, feasting and beautiful memories I will cherish forever. It was truly special to see the similarities cruisers have to us overland travellers. We joked about the minimal laundry, frustration of simple errands, cheap taco feasts and losing track of the date entirely.

Saying goodbye is always hard, but we know in our hearts it's only a see you later. Our compass pointed back towards San Ignacio for the body work, we were keen to stay at the other palm tree filled campground in town. What intrigued us about this one was the openness of the sites forcing social activity, which we have been searching for recently. The excitement smeared across our faces at the thought of a shower is priceless. I'm not sure we had the truck in park before we both began bathing.

Surrounded by all walks of life, we glanced at the different rigs parked in the field. Large RV's hold retired couples that have been coming here for years, small school busses converted into tiny homes carry young couples on their first big road trip. And of course, there's an abundance of the ever so popular sprinter vans which seem to hold all sorts of characters. It's fun staying in campgrounds like this. We worked hard to be here, and although we may chase solitude, we also love sharing our journey, and learning from others.

We spent two full days in the palms. Showering extensively, sleeping just as much, and exploring more hidden corners of this quiet little town.

Just a couple miles down the road and we are back at the Werillo body shop. We're not even out of the truck before the guys start pulling off the fenders. I can tell Matthew shouldn't watch, so we walk back into town and enjoy a traditional Mexican breakfast, accompanied by one of the local mutts. We do our best to kill time by writing, roaming, and setting up the hammock in a nearby palm grove to catch up on some reading. When five o'clock hits, we head back to find Sunday still torn apart. I think it is safe to say the shop driveway is our camp site tonight. Unfortunately, our peaceful couple nights in the palms came to an abrupt end as we listened to the battle of stray dogs all night. Not all camp spots in Baja are glamourous.

We wake up to warmth. An uncomfortable warmth. A sticky, sign that it's going to be a hot day, warmth. Today, we have chosen to stay with the chinook in hopes of adding some pressure to the timeline. Learning very quickly that we must surrender to the Mexican work day, we keep busy with our own tasks inside the camper. The mid day siesta is the part we worry most about, as we would love to be on the road by sunset.

Keeping ourselves busy inside the sauna is hard. This is the first day we were unable to escape the heat, and all of a sudden I don't blame the guys for taking so many breaks. Thankfully, when the sun started its descent, we noticed an alarming pep in everyones step. And in the blink of an eye, we watched the finished product land on the chinook. To say we were at a loss for words is an understatement. We were ecstatic! This tiny home we brought to life was now officially rust free!

Smiling from ear to ear, we said our goodbyes, and drove off into the sunset in style.

Sand to Sea ~ Catavina to the Coast

Sun, 26 Mar 2023 06:16:34 GMT

If you’ve ever travelled in Baja Mexico , you know that the transition between different terrain and ecosystems is rapid. One minute you’re watching your step through cactus groves, and the next you’re wrapped in a blanket of sea salt from the oceans affection.

This journey we’ve decided to embark on starts in Catavina and trickles through valleys of lush desert vegetation, abandoned moments in time, and then spits us out on the rugged Pacific Ocean . Our route is roughly 175 kilometres (110 miles) of off-road driving on un-maintained dirt roads. We have prepared the truck and ourselves for 3-4 days of travel before our tires reach pavement again.

We are travelling in our 1976 Toyota Chinook that we have 4x4 converted by placing the body on top of a 1996 Toyota Land Cruiser chassis. We have a 160L (42gal) fuel tank underneath, as well as a 60L(15.2gal) water tank, and 20lbs of propane. We packed enough food for a week.

In preparation for the remoteness of this route, we carry items such as:

Garmin In Reach (for emergencies)
Starlink Mobile Internet
Recovery gear such as Winch, Straps, Maxxtrax
All necessary tools for the truck
Extra fluids for truck (and us)

In this blog Matthew and I (Stacey) will be simultaneously sharing our memories and notable moments through journal entries in the field. We are very early in our Baja tour, but this route holds a special place in our hearts. We hope to inspire you, the reader, to challenge yourself and embrace the unknown. Some of the greatest parts of the world haven’t even been found yet, or felt.

March 14t h, 2023

With the tires aired down to 12 psi in the front and 18 in the rear, a tickle of excitement roars with the exhaust as we glide through the sand. Mister sun is somewhere above us making sure we get the full desert experience today. It’s hot and sticky in the cab of the Chinook, but the guitar strings bellowing from our portable speaker pair perfectly with the hues outside. Somehow, I don’t notice the heat much. Distracting my internal temperature is the foliage that is fanning out through the hills beside us. Naturally, my head is hanging out the window in true canine form as I take it all in. Cacti known as Cardons stand above two stories tall and age almost a hundred years. Underneath the giants lay other abstract forms of cacti we can only describe as Doctor Seus like. Especially the tall gangly tree known as a Boojam tree of which some curl in perfect whoville fashion. Lucky us, we are gifted a Spring bloom that fills our noses with endorphins, and freckles the overpowering greens. Surprisingly refreshed as our eyes fixate on the folding layers the desert is offering, we press on.

Our drive from Catavina was nothing short of epic. Dry desert rock protruding from the earth in oval shaped towers turned into mountainous climbs surrounded by cactus forests. The drive progressed through miles of single track and mostly gravel terrain with the occasional sand bar and dried up creek bed. We travelled for hours in the heat of the day and stopped several times to let the truck cool down. I am fascinated by the spacing of the flora in these deserts. Everything seems to have its own space and rarely does anything seem crowded. The elephant trees are my favourite.

Today we began our journey at 11:30am, and arrived at the ocean at 6:00pm, 76km later. We took many breaks, and had lunch at one of the huts in the middle of the cactus forest. You will find a few abandoned ranchos while crawling through the hills if you’d like to break up the drive and enjoy a night under the stars amongst the giants. San Jose was our goal. Although we arrived in the dark, the ocean rewarded us with its melody as we fell asleep on the cliff side.

March 15th, 2023

The inconsistent waves and their almost out of tune rhythm; That seventh loudest crash perked my ears through the night, but thankfully the other six lulled me back to sleep. Salty air filled the Chinook and the sun danced among the sea shells. I can’t imagine how quiet it would be without the waves. We are alone out here, but somehow don’t feel that way. Nature and animals have a way of welcoming, even from a distance.

Waking up to the ocean waves and the sea breeze feels home-like for us west coasters.

After some coffee and ocean appreciation, we pack up and seek a cove to settle in to for the rest of the day and night. We will have many choices along this route, but I am sure we will find the right one. However, for the next couple hours the ocean fell away from our view as we zig zagged through volcanic shale. Today, I am grateful for our new Falken tires. The confidence they have brought as we tackle earth’s roughest terrain is noticeable. We round over one more hill and spot our home for the night.

We found our home for the night in a beautiful horseshoe shaped cove. Barefoot beach walks under the now overcast sky was our flavour of pass time. In perfect timing, we popped the chinook’s top, grabbed a blanket and enjoyed the solitude. Clouds dissolved around us, and they gifted us condensed moisture gifts. Now it really feels like home.

March 16th, 2023

I blink my eyes open to find softness. This morning there is no hide and seek with the sun rays. There is no temptation to crawl deeper in the covers for warmth. This morning is stillness. Near surfaces hold tear drops of moisture as our breaths collide with the ocean’s song. With no sun to motivate, we enjoy extra coffee inside and watch the waves. Solitude, again. Since beginning this route, we have encountered two locals that seem to be fisherman. Other than that, it has been the two of us, the coyotes and the birds.

Before we leave, it is most certainly necessary that we touch our tires on this impeccable sand. Back and forth and back and forth. The joy this brings is truly unmatched.

This coastal road is wild. And I really mean that. Not how sometimes it’s used to describe mundane things. This road, is wild. We found beaches seemingly barren of human life other than the occasional fisherman, and cactus forests I could only imagine in story books. In between salt flats and red dirt roads, we found cove after cove. Our camera is getting a workout for sure. At this point, you could come out here for weeks and beach hop through amazing surf coves. As long as you're prepared of course.

The Pacific Ocean has the incredible talent of revealing the rugged, untold secrets of everything it touches. Rocks fall victim to erosion patterns with horror movie edges, and shells get entangled with the ending. Waves carry carcasses to shore like gifts to land for staying put. It’s incredible what you’ll find if you look close enough at what the ocean is trying to tell you.

47 years of memories squeak from the camper with each bump, and we can tell it’s time to find camp. You could park anywhere on the side of this route and be gifted with a view. Ours is on the edge of a cliff over looking one of the last coves of the route.

A tecate each in hand, we left the truck and meandered down to the beach for sunset. The sheer volume of incredible crab, muscle, clam and other amazing sea shells is staggering. Each one is worth keeping, but we’ve decided, one per beach otherwise the Chinook would be full of them. This beach we found ourselves on had a unique surprise waiting at the end. Layers upon layers of fossilized crustaceans embedded into the sandstone from the lapping tides.

March 17th, 2023

The waves are extra loud this morning, so we begin our trek inland extra early. Though not without a couple more drives on the beach as we crest into Puerto Blanco. Seldom, we say our goodbyes to the coastal life and welcome back the gruelling desert terrain. Only 55km roughly to the road, but somehow that seems like a lifetime.

The next 30kms of road were brutal, taxing and utterly gorgeous. Between washed out sections mixed with high elevation shelf roads, our patience was dwindling, even amidst the beauty. After six slow hours crawling through the desert, we found ourselves on the top of a cactus painted plateau. A gorgeous sunset felt like a reward for the efforts everyone showed today, and the crickets sang us to sleep.

March 18th, 2023

Our elevation is a good indication that today will be one of the easier days. Down the winding “middle road” we go. With the sun shining our path, we brave the mighty Baja head wind. New wild flowers we haven’t seen before come into our gaze, and that makes us smile. This section was fun, and really fit for a perfect finale. Only stopping a couple times for abandoned rancho exploration, and a surprising oasis, we made great time. And then all of a sudden, in the distance, a semi truck roars down the tarmac. We did it! We cheer and share many high fives. What was supposed to be an off-road route to the ocean very quickly found a spot in my memory bank for when we gave into the adventure. We had no choice but to surrender to the unknown.

We would recommend this route to anyone with a sense of adventure, a craving for solitude, and curiosity for Baja's magical secrets.

For those travelling to Baja, or simply the deeply curious, we post our camp spots and coordinates from this route on our Patreon.

Morning Magic

Tue, 28 Feb 2023 17:54:01 GMT

Drinking coffee in strange places.

Sunday morning coffee seems to be the theme. Our eyes rise with the happy ball in the sky, and with weak muscles we pull the curtains to confirm it’s identity. Once acquainted, Matthew reaches all of two feet to set the kettles bum on fire. A brief sniff of propane and our noses perk up as their internal alarm starts to beep. No reason to be horizontal? We sure don’t need one. Back into the bed of folded pie layers, our bodies like a warm peach filling

The sun starts to bounce through different corners of curtains trying to find our vulnerable corneas, yet fails. Fixated on each others morning features, the silence holds so much. A soft maple glaze coats early eyes, skin soft and supple with creases from the hug of a neighbouring pillow. Seconds turn into minutes as we savour the warmth of it all.

Our only reason to break eye contact and unfold the limb pretzel begins and abrupt squeal. The chemistry begins as the scalding water meets a layer of ground espresso. Together they dance through the French press cylinder and release an aroma of serotonin. Our mouths, which haven’t seen much exercise this morning, are finally showing off their stretches.

We are directed to the waiting room one last time while the bean water takes form. Reaching for the nearest writing utensil, our cloudy morning thoughts dissolve onto paper. It has now been an hour, and we have shared only a few mhms and crooked smiles. The sun and I however, we’ve spoken of the moon, the stars and the album of yesterday.

No timer needed, we know when it’s just right. The cauldron pours its contents into small mugs releasing a delightful, steamy hue to the windows.

Something as simple as the sound of coffee falling with gravity sure does tickle the senses.

Once the last drop has been consumed, and the corners of our mouths hold leftovers saved for a near future tongue interaction, we surrender to the sun. The glow fills the canvas and our skin drinks up what’s left.

It’s hard not to smile writing about our mornings on the road. How lucky to start each day in pure elation.

– Stacey Tourout

The Road To Denver

Fri, 16 Dec 2022 06:32:24 GMT

Day 1, Clown car departure.

If we don’t leave today, we won’t beat the snow. If we stay, we will find more things to upgrade and leave in the new year. If we don’t leave today, we won’t get the sponsor we’re chasing all the way to Denver. If we stay, we get more time with our families, maybe even Christmas. If we leave, we will stay faithful to our following. These are just a handful of contemplations juggling through our brains today, all doing a very good job of talking over one another.

That tickle in the pit of your stomach letting you know things could go wrong either way, and yet for some reason it seems easier to take the risk.

Errands, vaccines, insurance and more. Not my favourite flavour of an afternoon but last minute seems to be the theme. Once that’s over, we move on to aesthetics as we take the truck in for its new decals. The amount we’ve accomplished before 2pm is astonishing.

Ice covers the blacktop as we cruise back down to the garage to finish packing. Every moment driving this machine still feels like a weird pass by dream. The glances, rubber necking stares and hang loose hand gestures keep us company down each highway.

We return, an very quickly the jobs have been delegated. I’m responsible for packing our entire lives out of the trailer and into 40 square feet, while simultaneously helping with the build. Matthew, Jason and Jeff work like elves on Christmas Eve tackling tasks on the truck in record time. Before we can blink, the rumble of the clown car fills the garage and we’re off!

Our first stop is Beban park where we have set up a send off with local ‘friends.’ To our surprise, the first group we see are perfect strangers, followed by family and a few of our good camping pals. Moments like this validate why we’re doing what we’re doing. Our dream is to inspire, so when people feel connected enough to our story that they want to meet us, our cups are overflowing.

We took a couple group photos, enjoyed full wrap around squeezes, held in tears, and recognized the last chance to pull chute, but turned the key.

We were off.

A quick jaunt down to the ferry felt very “normal” until we glanced at the side mirrors, no rear view, no wait, both. Our entire lives shoved, squeezed, pulled into this vehicle we call home.

The warmth of the clown car essence leaves us so tickled with excitement that we spend the whole 2 hour ferry ride sitting in the back of the Chinook. We can barely see each other, but share an occasional cheers with a delicious beer gifted from good friends. I manage to finally release the tears I’ve been holding in all day.

The ferry docks, the Chinook roars its engine, and we cruise to my cousins house for a good nights sleep and good company before the first leg of the journey.

Friday.

Most people are waking up today thinking to themselves “thank goodness that week is almost over.” Other’s are excited for weekend adventures shared with friends, and some can’t wait to to melt on the couch. Some are excited that it’s their weekend with the kids, and others are thrilled that it is not.

To us, Friday is just another day. No excitement or expectations put behind it. Besides, the last three months have blurred into weeks full of Mondays, and weekends that may as well be considered non existent. We managed to squeeze a beer in every day around 5 o’clock, so I guess you could say to some: we have had 3 months full of Fridays.

On this Friday, we wake up to the stirring of kids stomping around the house chanting our names every so often. The nicknames we hear are very creative, and we can’t help but giggle. It’s 8 am, which doesn’t seem early, but with a belly full of wine, and a head filled with good conversation into the wee hours, 8 am is early. As soon as we could even consider the idea of going vertical, in storms the nickname creators themselves. Forced to rise, we meander down following the smell of fresh coffee. A slow morning is just what the doctor ordered.

Snowflakes then invite themselves into our view through the front window, and that’s our queue to make our departure. A big hug goodbye and we are making our way through the city of Vancouver.

We had a couple of errands to run before making our way to the border, so we started with cutting keys. Easy enough, though parking this boat we’re driving isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Once the keys are cut, and the propane hose acquired, we made our way to Overland Outfitters.

Building our community has been one of the most rewarding parts of becoming YouTubers. The feeling of others wanting to be apart of our success is unlike anything I’ve felt before. I wouldn’t say it feels undeserving, or unfamiliar, more like a golden invitation into the world I’ve always dreamed about. This was why we were at Overland Outfitters. The owners want to be apart of our journey to South America, and in the form of gifting us some of their incredible products. When we throw the chinook in park in front of their storefront and are greeted with warmth and new friends, we feel that incredible feeling. How amazing to meet like minded people that share the same excitement.

Next on the list was Disturbed Industries. We hate to admit it, but the reality set in quite quickly of the fact we hadn’t test drove the chinook before this first milestone. Notable problems began to come to surface.

Let me say that out loud again. We did not extensively test drive our vehicle before our trip. It’s not to say we didn’t want to, we just fell into the hands of a deadline and wanted to keep our word to an upcoming sponsor. Call us crazy, but some of the most drastic decisions shape your life forever.

Ryan at Disturbed Industries leant some knowledge and comfort as we prepared for the border into America. Were we ready?

The last stop on the list for the Vancouver tour was Matthew’s aunt Helen’s house. A proper warm send off was definitely what we needed as I abruptly hit the 5:30 am alarm on my phone and forced tired eyes to welcome this Saturday morning. Helen has made a paper sign that reads “Argentina or bust” and I truly can’t imagine more motivation than a physical piece of paper that reminds us of our end goal. Goodbyes get harder every time, but they come with the comfort of a new beginning.

“Where is your proof that your going to Mexico?”

I can feel my heart in my chest. I can hear Matthew’s heart ringing in my ears. Who knew you could sweat at -4 degrees. The stress of a border crossing is familiar to anyone, but ours especially acts as the gateway to completing our deadline of driving to Denver by Monday for our appointment. This moment of driving 100 meters was huge, and it needed to go well.

There’s a part of me that almost tried to black out this border crossing, but in my heart I know I’ll want this memory saved for a later date. A list of wrong things to say to a border officer are as follows: This is our home, we live in this motor home. We have inconclusive jobs that may or may not exist. We don’t have proof that we are actually going to Mexico, and we clearly have no idea how long it takes to get to Mexico. To frost the cake that we had kindly baked for the lovely female border officer, only one of us was double vaccinated. Our passports were held, and we spent the next half hour waiting to receive our information just to be sent back into Canada.

It’s funny to me, recalling our reactions to such stressful moments. We huff and puff and go red in the face for all of ten minutes until we know in our hearts we need to push through and perceiver. It’s an unspoken bond Matthew and I have, and so far it has worked wonders. We just met the wall that is the Covid vaccine, and are forced to plan our next move. Matthew is not double vaccinated, and unfortunately the information we were given online about the border regulations was incorrect. Off we jetted, or at least as fast as our 3.4L motor will take us to the nearest pharmacy.

A brief timeline:

7 am: We have now been to 2 pharmacies, both without the second dose for Matthew. Breathe.

8 am: We have been to 4 pharmacies and are waiting for others to open.

9 am: Vaccine dose appointments have been made, but no one seems to have the Pfizer shot we need.

10 am: We get word from Shoppers drug mart that the Agriculture building is offering all types of vaccines. Sounds like our cup of Saturday morning tea!

10:30 am: Matthew is officially double dosed from the foreign Abbotsford barn, and we decide to try a different border crossing.

11:30 am: We are in America.

Would you rather?

Everything really is bigger here. Fast food and gas station signs reach for the sky, and I can’t help but wonder how they got there and who has to change the light bulbs when they go out. The highways stretch 5 lanes wide, and everyone seems as though they are on a mission.

As soon as we crossed the border, we lost cell service and confidently decided to use road signs to get to our next destination. Fooled very early, we wound up in a parking lot in the wrong direction, and realized we had no time to dilly dally. On went the Data Roaming. Goodbye sweet 8 dollars, I would have rather you went to a cold beer. Nevertheless, we were on the interstate and making good time.

Although we didn’t make it across the border until noon, our spirits were high as we began to crawl up our first mountain pass in the Chinook. The motor hummed a sweet tune and kept us company while we played countless games of would you rather. Night fell quickly, and so did the motivation to keep moving. The nearest town was Richland, in Eastern Oregon, and there we set up outside of our first Walmart campsite. Glamorous only to some, here we have access to a washroom, wifi, water, food and aisles to browse if we really get bored.

At this point we have travelled from our damp island cold that soaks into your skin and leaves a scar, to a new, dry cold that passes through your skin so quickly that you don’t even have time to blink before your lips chapped. Grateful for our diesel heater, we crawl into our warm bed and shut the curtains. My heart flutters with joy as I read the stitching “made by mom” in the bottom corner. We then fall asleep with the hopeful thoughts of arriving in Denver tomorrow.

There’s a reason people test drive their vehicles close to home.

A Sunday morning like any other. It’s crisp outside, but cozy in our little home. Reaching even an arm out of the covers is a challenge. I make the first move into the drivers seat and taxi us to Starbucks, then it’s Matthew’s turn when our caffeine level has reached operating temperature. What happens next, I’ve almost pushed entirely out of my memory bank, so bear with me.

As we curve down from Richland onto the interstate again, tiny snowflakes cloud our vision. The road seems clear, with a small foot or so of leftover snow in the ditches and beyond. It doesn’t seem as if the snow is sticking so we maintain highway speeds of around 50-60 miles per hour. It’s at this speed when everything goes sideways, literally. With one extra feather of the accelerator, our rear end swings into the other lane and the rest of the motor home joins the dance. A couple heart wrenching sways across both lanes and Matthew gains control again to pull us to the side of the road.

In the few minutes it took to come to a full stop, my mind travelled impressive lengths through key frames of the past three months. From the very beginning, when the Chinook was a vehicle we could crawl down into, and people called ‘cute.’ The body removal, motor removal and interior removal. The days when we would succeed and feel accomplished, and the days where it felt like it would never end. Watching and painting bigger parts after bigger parts onto a tiny little canvas, and pouring everything we had into it. Giving up everything to make this dream come true all the while watching our bank accounts take a beating when we hit roadblocks. The moment it was “finished” and tears yanked themselves down my face. What we had accomplished did not come easy, and it took everything we had. Knowing that in a blink of an eye, a sneaky foreign road coated in ice could take all of that away was humbling, and unbelievably terrifying. My emotions and fear got the best of me and I lost myself in the melancholy.

Now would be a good time to see if our 4 wheel drive works, right? Also on the list of things we should have checked before driving to Denver in the middle of winter. I jump out and lock the hubs, and Matthew tests it on the shoulder. Nothing. We look at a map, and find a small town about 20 miles ahead. Despite my feeling of not wanting to move an inch on this dangerous highway, we knew we couldn’t stay on the shoulder much longer or we would get caught in this storm for good. I held onto every handle in the vicinity and tried to keep cool while Matthew guided the Chinook very slowly with hazard lights on the rest of the way. By the time we get to Umatilla, a very small town known for its prison, the snow level is about 4-5 inches. We know we’re not making it any further today. The Chinook slides into the nearest motel and we get a room. Feeling defeated mostly, but also incredibly grateful to be safe and upright, our breathing returns back to normal. Unfortunately our date with Denver will have to be pushed back until we can figure out our 4 wheel drive, or the roads miraculously clear up, both seem out of reach.

One way to cheer us up when it feels like the weight of the world becomes too much, is to find the nearest pub or brewery! We’ve learned from experience not to dwell on the roadblocks, but instead, throw a party in the intersection. Russ’s pub is a short snowy walk from the motel, and it truly is as wholesome as it sounds. We are welcomed with the smell of tobacco, stained carpet, and spilled beer. The jingling of slot machines act as intermissions between the country music blasting from the jukebox machine. We can tell right away that we are the only foreigners that have been through in awhile, and the warm welcome from the bartender makes us feel as though we aren’t so unfamiliar after all. After devouring a couple beers, and a house recommended taco pizza the size of half the bar length, we play a couple games of pool and head back to the Quality Inn.

Postponing such an exciting opportunity is not what we wanted, or planned. Our hearts ache with the thought of letting people down, but we know we can’t push ourselves or our vehicle past its limits. We let our sponsor know we weren’t going to be there, and they are more than accommodating. Encouraging us to take our time, and get to Denver when it feels safe to do so. That was more than reassuring, so we decided to push on at our own pace.

25 miles a day keeps the worries away.

Our time was brief in Umatilla, but memorable to say the least. Before hitting the highway again, we noticed on our maps that there is a road in town called Chinook avenue. Naturally we had to snap a couple pictures and document the coincidence.

I have to admit, moments like this make me want to wrap the Chinook up in a blanket or a tarp or a ghillie suit so no one knows who we are as we crawl down the interstate going 20 miles per hour with our hazard lights on. It stings a lot when small cars fly past us, but don’t worry, our egos are still in tact, we promise. 25 miles later and Pendleton is what the sign reads as we see the familiar welcoming gas stations and McDonald’s arches. Civilization feels so good when we’re on edge. In this town, we’re hoping to fix the 4 wheel drive, and also decipher why the Chinook darts all over the road unexpectedly. Who knew our first few romantic dates on the road would be to Napa auto parts, O’reilly’s and Walmart. It’s a good thing we didn’t bring fancier clothes. With nothing in the local radius, we turn to calling cruiser shops throughout Oregon. We’re suspicious of our manual locking hubs, but also didn’t take apart the differential at all during the build, so are pretty much spitballing ideas. A shop in Portland has the flanges we need to convert our vehicle to always be in 4 wheel drive. This at least could get us over the rest of the mountain passes into Denver where we will figure out the real culprit. Ordered and shipped to the local Napa, and now we wait. Walmart campsite number two is served.

The Boot kicker.

I blink one eye open and immediately shut it again after a surprising glimmer of light strikes through the curtain. What an incredible surprise to be greeted with sunshine on this winter morning. We gather ourselves and agree to make the most of our time in Pendleton. First stop, coffee. We walk over to the Ground up coffee stop and order two of the most popular: the Boot Kicker and the Rodeo. If that doesn’t scream small town country vibes, I don’t know what does. Both delicious, and filled with enough sugar to keep us going for the next few hours. We then post up in the Napa parking lot and tinker on the truck, taking advantage of not laying in the snow.

Once we feel like we’ve had enough mechanics for the day, we venture out on a couple dirt roads searching for the euphoria we felt just a few days ago. With the immense amount of tire poking out from the front fender flares, we are quickly covered in a layer of farm mud, and we can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous we look. That fuzzy feeling seems to be back. The Chinook gets parked in the nearest parkade downtown, and we travel back in time through the different stores and historic features of Pendleton. All of this exploring and knowledge capturing deserves some good grub. A local recommends a place called OMG! And we are thrilled to try it out. All I can say is Macaroni. Burger. There’s some things that people say shouldn’t mix: pineapple on pizza, ketchup on macaroni, Diet Coke and rum. I’m here to tell you of two things that do belong together, and that is Macaroni and a classic locally sourced Beef burger. Oh and hand cut fries as well, check and mate.

Off we roll to our favourite Wally campsite filled with the wifi juice we crave, but something feels different tonight. Almost uninviting. We try to ignore this intuition while sharing phone calls with our families reassuring them we’re still smiling, but then comes an aggressive knock on our cab windows. I crawl to the front to find a girl no older than us, in a bad state. I open the window a crack and ask if everything is alright, and she states her car is dead and needs a jump. Good karma is good karma, and we need that more than ever right now. Matthew bundles up and we park the Chinook in front of her car. In the bustle of getting the hood open, the stress may have taken over and the poor girl locks her keys in her car. We could feel her helplessness and continued to offer help. Finally the only option was to break the window, and Matthew got to do the honour. I don’t know if I should be surprised, scared or impressed with how quickly he managed to get into the car. For now, I’m impressed. A quick thank you, and the girl was on her way, and so were we. Something felt off about our stay at the Wally this evening, so we drove a ways to the local visitor info centre and posted up there in hopes of a more comforting feeling to fall asleep to. Very loud Christmas music and a pass by train every few hours for some reason put us at ease.

Dead Man’s pass.

The mornings here are filled with the sounds of people continuing their routines. The mad dash to get to work on time, the strenuous task of getting the kids to school, and the never ending construction zones. Id say we more imagined waking up to the sounds of the ocean, and soft morning song birds, but I guess this will do for now.

Today, we fix the caster. The caster on a vehicle very simply has an influence on the directional control of the steering. We are assuming that our caster is out a couple degrees, and that may be the reason the Chinook follows the crown of the road, and darts where it wants. As one could guess, we don’t have a shop to work at, so the local Ace hardware store parking lot is our choice of location.

Thankfully it is sunny again today, so playing mechanic is a little more enjoyable. Strangers fall victim to the rubber neck as they head into the hardware store, and we end up having some great conversations, one in particular that recommended a Toyota guru down the street. When we finish the caster job, we find this muffler shop and look for Mason. Of course, he comes outside straight away as we pull up. We’re in the right place. We fill him in with what is going on with our non existent 4 wheel drive, and like clockwork, he begins to tear apart the hub. I enjoy the company of Red, the dog inside where it’s warm while the boys chat and tinker. In no time at all, it seems as though it is fixed? A sigh of relief, and pure excitement, we say a quick goodbye snd a huge thank you to Mason for lifting us out of our slump.

Our goal is to get over Dead man’s pass before dark, so onwards and upwards we go! Us and the rest of Pendleton have the same idea. Sandwiched between semi trucks, we crawl into a cloud as we wind up the mountain. Our eyes are blessed at the top as we poke through the cloud cover into what feels like heaven for a moment. The sun is blinding, but welcomed with open arms. An enormous feeling of success pours over us as we fly from summit to summit, and down into Baker city.

The fanciest saddles I’ve ever laid my eyes on, thick accents that remind us how far we were from home, generous strangers and a humble small town glow is what we left with in our pockets from Pendleton.

The sun goes to sleep early these days, so it’s a dark arrival into Baker City and a truck stop is our home for the evening. A nice change from our Walmart routine.

Idaho, or are you?

Stress is definitely starting to remain present through the longer lengths of driving. Playing music doesn’t seem to ease the tension, as we want to stay alert for possible mishaps with the truck. We play road games, but they only last so long. The amount of coffee running through our veins also doesn’t help the agitated energy circling through the cab. As we pass the ‘Welcome to Idaho’ sign, the air feels a little warmer, and we start to get the feeling we’re getting close. The truck gives us confidence on straight, we’ll maintained roads, however a minor change in road grade throws us on the roller coaster ride we didn’t ask for. 8 hours on the interstate and emotions set in again as we feel the truck is unsafe to drive at night while it walks all over the road. We have to stop for the day. Burley serves us another Walmart experience, and we are accompanied by three friendly cats surrounding the Chinook before settling into bed.

Roam a little, would ya?

Today, we crest into Salt Lake City. High rises, 5 lane highways, fancy outdoor shopping centres filled with clothing price tags that will rip your jaw out of its holder, and the refreshing feeling of belonging. This afternoon we direct ourselves to the ROAM adventure company warehouse to receive our sponsored awning and storage pack. The garage door opens at dusk and we’re greeted by the team. After being handed a couple of beers sent by the owner, Nick, we get the run down on everything and can’t hold in our excitement. All of a sudden the stress of the past week dissipates and we are laughing, sharing and finally taking in the accomplishment of making it this far. Watching people beam with passion while they work is so contagious. The Roam team handles the awning with care, and installs it with precision. Within an hour, we are kitted and have gained true overland potential. Having this awning is such an incredible part of this trip. It will provide shade in the heat, shelter in the rain, and a big stamp of rad on the side of the Chinook.

The kindness continues, and the guys let us camp in the yard with free wifi and protection for the evening. We close our eyes with the excitement of the Denver arrival nearing.

Equipt with gas station cuisine.

Wakey, wakey rise and shine in another beautiful concrete jungle. A quick organize of the living quarters and we make our way to the first of many “rigs and coffee” meets we plan on attending. This one is held at Equipt Expedition Outfitters’ brand new Salt Lake location. As we pull up, we are greeted with the vehicle front ends people back home dream about. Bumpers that match body lines around the truck and haven’t been cursed with the rust blanket. Recovery gear from head to toe of brands we’ve never even heard of. Tires that scream put me on a dirt road, and liveable spaces including low pro rooftop tents and interior build outs. We’re already drooling in the parking lot, and then we dip our toes inside the show room. Wow seems to be the word I heard tossed around the most.

Unfortunately the off-road community just isn’t as evolved back home, so we are little fish in a big pond here, with very difficult to hide stars in our eyes. Meeting the owner Paul, and getting to share our story was truly rewarding in itself. Maybe we will come back one day, and share even bigger stories with new friends. For now, it’s time to finish this trek.

After yet another full check over of the truck, bolts and fluids included, we hit the interstate. We peak at Gaia, the offline maps we’re using, and noticed a possible shortcut through Scipio that gets us on the I70 to Denver a lot quicker than the I15. We decide to ask the local gas station, and while there, discover something very wrong. We found out the road doesn’t go through, so while pulling out again to the interstate, we hear a clunking sound in the steering. Not good. I can see the look on Matthew’s face, and I’ve grown to recognize when something should actually be worried about. We pull the truck back into the gas station and begin to problem solve. The steering bushing at the firewall has come loose, so every turn is jarring and hits both the exhaust and the firewall. We need rubber.

It’s a good thing I love foraging, and make my way to the mechanics shop next door. On the ground buried in the snow I find old heater hose, and random chunks of other hose laying around. It’s hilarious seeing Matthew’s face light up when I bring forth such gifts. A whole lot of glue, gorilla tape and this random donated ground rubber and things seem to be back to normal. I’m unsure at this point what normal is.

It’s almost nightfall, but first the sky pukes strawberry sherbet from under the clouds and we watch in content silence.

Darkness is all we see as we turn onto the I70, and we know we have to push to beat the next snow storm. Up and up and up some more, winding through what we can only guess are beautiful Utah canyons. We tell each other out loud over and over again that we’re positive there are no views, nothing to see here. This helps a lot, because we’re pretty sure we may regret doing this section at night. Either way, we keep good pace, and decide to end today in Green River, the almost half way point. We are accompanied by no less than 50 semi trucks at the truck stop. Clearly we all had the same beat the storm mentality. It’s funny how used to this routine we’ve become. Free wifi, bathrooms and convenient food. I’ll call us the Gas station runners.

Is this Mars?

Arriving places in the dark can be quite disorienting at times, and this was no exception. As I step down out of the Chinook I truly can’t believe what I’m seeing. For a moment I can’t honestly remember where we are, because in my mind, we got abducted last night and are part of a new colony on Mars now. Dry, flat landscape that stretches so far we can’t see the end, and crater like rock formations in heavy oranges and red catch your eye as you turn your head. For a moment we reflect on what we must have missed on our journey last night, but decide not to dwell on it.

Our home has a familiar sweet aroma of exhaust this morning as we pull out of what we hope to be our last truck stop campsite. A brief self guided tour through Green River, and our tires hit the final stages of the I70 to Denver.

Our nose pointed straight for what we can see is forever. The image in front of us is a highway that looks as if it was painted perfectly in between sections of plateau and rolling red rock. Not a tree in sight, only small scraggly shrubs barely holding on to the earth below. A light layer of snow dusts the hills, which reminds us that winter in the desert is still winter.

Lunch at chipotle in Grand Junction reminds us what vegetables taste like, and we look forward to the day our fridge is hooked up and we are cooking our own meals in the Chinook. Things are going very smoothly, and then we meet the Colorado river. The next 100 miles drag through spectacular canyons that hug the river the entire way. Sometimes the best views are the ones you aren’t prepared for, and these ones reminded us of home. While I filled my own memory bank with unforgettable views, Matthew formed his hands into the steering wheel and didn’t let go as he was navigating our untrained dog around each bend. Unfortunately tunnel vision is all he gets.

We can feel how close we are, and I keep glancing down at the map to confirm my suspicions. One after the other, we pass chairlifts and ski resorts right off the highway. This gives us an idea of how high we’ve climbed, and we can’t help but be proud of our motor. The sun that has kept us company all day dips behind the neighbouring mountains and traffic comes to a halt. Matthew and I share an annoyed glance, and throw fists in the air sarcastically. A traffic jam on our last 50 kilometres proves to be the final test before reaching our destination. Crowding the highway this evening are semi trucks trying to beat the storm, exhausted skiers racing to get warm, and us. 2 extra hours on the highway, and a very stressful drive in the dark and we are in Denver!

There were many moments I caught myself accepting the idea we weren’t going make it here in the winter with no four wheel drive. At last, the Chinook is in Denver, and the first leg of our journey is complete.

Who is Toyota World Runners?

Thu, 31 Mar 2022 17:55:44 GMT

Or, what is Toyota World Runners?

on HOW IT STARTED:

Hi, thanks for checking in.

This is our first ever blog post, so we figured an introduction was in order.

At the time of writing, TWR is 27 months old. Our first YouTube video went live on January 17th 2020. In that time we've had plenty of opportunities to figure out what this brand is all about.

With humble beginnings of starting and growing an Instagram account and YouTube channel we initiated our journey and launched ourselves into the world of content creation and brand building.

ON THE TRIP:

It all started with an idea.

Back in 2017 I was struck with the idea to attend a festival in Argentina that would be based around the solar eclipse that was happening in December of 2020.

However, I was dead set on driving .

Stacey and I started dating in April of 2019 and about 3 months into our relationship I divulged that I was going to drive to South America. It was a bit of an ultimatum for her, but luckily she is an avid world traveler and was equally as stoked on the idea. Behind the stoke came all the questions of HOW, and the other logistics of such an undertaking, but we'll save that for a future write up.

I had concluded that we would start a YouTube channel and build up an online income somehow so we could make the trip possible. It was all a mystery still at that point, but the desire what alive and strong.

on us:

Stacey and I are 90's babes. 93 till infinity! We both hail from beautiful Vancouver Island and grew up in neighboring towns. I'll spare you the sappy details, but it's safe to say our interests, dreams and values align perfectly. She also shared this strange addiction to Old trucks which was a like magnet for me!

We both have interesting stories of careers and travel. Perhaps another post about that? I've always had a passion for creative endeavors, yet have often locked myself into worldly pursuits of finance and money while stifling my creative pursuits. Stacey helped free me of that.

Every year since she left high school she had gone on an epic trip for 1-2 months backpacking and exploring incredible parts of the world. I remember creeping her Facebook album called 'being a life liver' and was always left inspired and in awe. She has been the largest motivator of this pursuit in starting TWR and our trip.

ON COMMUNITY:

Y'all are rad people!

Around a year into our content creation journey we realized something very cool was happening... People were enjoying our stuff! That was a neat feeling. It also sparked the realization that this is a genuine community of people who share similar values.

Values of adventure, honest living, being a life liver! And of course, badass old trucks!

With that knowing, we will be doing our best to create something that makes you feel a part of this community, because you are! The people we've met, had conversations with and who engage with us on our socials are truly what keep us excited to keep going!

So, I'll leave you with this - what do you want to see that would make you feel even more connected to this community? Maybe a forum to post and ask your own questions and share your builds? I think that would be pretty sweet! Maybe a discord channel to have conversations on? We're all ears!

Thank you so much for being here and reading.

Until next time, remember,

BE RARE

and,

EVERY SEASON IS CAMPING SEASON.