The morning sun shone through the transparent nylon canopy of the tent, as the evening's sleepiness lifted from my eyelids.
For a moment I forgot that I wasn't lying in my comfortable bed, but instead I was waking from a peaceful slumber under the pedestrian path of a bridge located outside of Montana's Glacier National Park.
I could hear the rushing river directly below me, and the chirping of the birds overhead. The sun was peaking over the monstrous trees illuminating the clear babbling river, the air cold and crisp; the ambience was both peaceful and surreal. It was a scene from a post card.
It was magical. Moments like this made the whole road trip worth it, and it was only Day 4.
Backtrack two years prior: While sipping cheap red wine, overlooking the Vancouver horizon from my dining room table, I confessed to my friend Erin that although I had been riding a motorcycle for a year, I had never gone on an extensive road trip.
To my surprise, Erin put down her wine glass and stated matter-of-factly: "I'll go on a road trip with you."
"Alright. Let's do it!" I agreed, and we set off on our first road trip down the West Coast of the United States. But that's another story (I am trying to forget the time I ran out of gas, or how terrified I was of speeding through windy roads).
We agreed that this second motorcycle adventure would be even more remarkable than the first.
Our wish list consisted of places we wanted to visit: Glacier, Rushmore, Yellowstone, Zion, Death Valley. The list was long and ambitious (and we didn't make it through all of it). We both agreed that exercise, healthy food, and adventure were mandatory, as well as camping, which would cut down on costs and allow for us to be more flexible in our travel.
We had three Golden Rules: Don't Die. Balls out. Don't get raped. In that order.
We also compiled a "Rules List" that would shape our travels during the three weeks on the road. The list included (among other things): Sing karaoke together, eat pie in every state, watch a sunset, watch a sunrise, buy a tacky American shirt, eat a potato in Idaho (they are known for their potatoes), don't use Facebook during the trip, skinny dip in every state, say "Y'all" once a day and check out at least one roadside attraction.
The plan was simple: See as many phenomenal sights as we could, be open to ever-changing plans, meet interesting people, and have as much fun as possible.
The morning of our departure, before strapping the last of our gear to the back of our bikes, Erin handed me a small gift for our road trip: a pair of red, white and blue socks, one striped, the other donning stars.
And off we went, two Canadians travelling through America.
Not even a few hours into Washington State, we were waved down by another motorcyclist on the Cascade Highway. Donning leathers and a skull cap, he told Erin her front light was out. Realizing there were no bike shops in close proximity, we rode to the small town of Concrete, where Erin impressed Bobby (a frequent visitor of the shop Eagles in Flight) by swapping out her burnt fuse for a new one.
"Oh, I guess y'all didn't need any help with that, hey?" Bobby stated.
I suppose it's important to note the dynamic of being female motorcyclists. For the most part, our interactions with others while travelling were interesting (to say the least). Old biker men were usually the only ones to approach us (apparently we looked intimidating to younger folks).
The conversation always started by enquiring about our bikes (Erin rides an 800 Suzuki Boulevard and I ride a 750 Yamaha Virago).
The conversations were always the same: opinions about the distance and duration of our trip followed by, without fail, the following onslaught of questions:
"Is it just you two?"
"Yup."
"No one else is riding with y'all?"
"Nope."
"Just you two?"
"Uh, yup."
"So, just you two, huh? Oh."
The scenery was always breathtaking: the windy roads, the trees, the animals. The mornings were always brisk and we layered tights under our jeans and hoodies under our jackets. By the time early afternoon rolled around, we were already sweating in our armoured jackets. Gas stations served as opportunities for us to talk about what we saw and where to go next, and a chance to snack on the nuts and peaches we tucked in our luggage.
Once we reached our evening destination Erin would set up the tent at the campsite while I prepared dinner. We often devoured our veggies and beans overlooking a sunset. One of the most memorable ones was when we were perched on top of Bryce National Park watching the setting sun illuminate the orange and yellow sedimentary rocks. At Lake Tahoe, we set our alarm clock two consecutive mornings in an attempt to catch the morning sun.
The first morning we accidentally slept in, but jarred ourselves awake and ran towards the water as the sun peaked over the horizon. The second morning we woke up a tad earlier to give ourselves enough time to make coffee in anticipation of the first light. There were countless dawns and dusks where the energy of the sun was superb.
Driving towards Yosemite National Park, the distant smoke from forest fires created an opaque pink tone that illuminated the sky as the sun dipped and re-emerged behind the trees and mountain tops.
The scenery slowly began to change as we rode down Utah Heritage Highway 89. The grey roads turned a dusty orange as we entered Zion National Park. Both of us were excited to explore this beautiful landscape. We parked and immediately stripped off our multiple layers of long johns.
We then took the shuttle to the Temple of Sinawava and set off to hike Angel's Landing, a 3.9-kilometre hike. We climbed briskly but watched our footing on the last half-mile, since the drop-off of 1,760 metres made the shuttle bus below look like a tiny speck. We both sighed in awe as we dangled our feet over the side of the cliff snacking on the carrots we brought.
After dipping in the muddy Virgin River, Erin and I were determined to get our Zion Junior Ranger badges. Each National Park has their own Junior Ranger program aimed at children to learn about environmental issues, animals and plants related to the park.
We frantically filled out our booklets: What animals did you see in the park? Did you see any garbage in the park? Did you pick it up? Match the track to the animal. Write a poem about something you saw in the park.
In order to be ordained a Junior Park Ranger we needed to complete the booklet and attend a Ranger Talk held in the amphitheatre. Wearing our full biker attire (leather vests and all) we rode up to the theatre (which was filled with children and their parents) and took a seat in the back as the ranger talked over a slide show of "How to be a detective in the park."
When the ranger asked the audience how you could detect animals in the park, Erin was first to shout out "By its poop!" along with the other four-year-olds.
We were inaugurated Zion Junior Park Rangers and received a gold plastic pin we both wore proudly on our vests as we rode out of Zion towards Las Vegas.
Along the way, we continued to check off items from our Rules List.
Skinny dipping in every state is a rule that seemed easy to accomplish, but in some instances required strategic planning. Quick disrobement at isolated lakes, rivers, and oceans was simple.
However, the state of Nevada proved to be difficult. Since we spent less than 12 hours there, finding the perfect time to take a quick dip in a random hotel pool without being detected was a challenge. But we did it.
Eat pie in every state. It doesn't get more American than apple pie, and honestly who doesn't like pie?
Every few days we would indulge in a slice of decadence. There was the Washington pie, which was special being the first state slice we were able to cross off our list. Idaho's razzleberry pie was mediocre to say the least, while the banana cream pie in Nevada was (almost) too rich to finish. Montana's apple pie, accompanied by a scoop of huckleberry ice cream, was Number 1 on my list, while Erin's favourite was California's gluten-free peach that was recommended to us by a lovely couple neighbouring our campsite. Utah's key lime was sublime, and the homemade raspberry pie we had in Oregon was the final piece, and boy did we savour every last bite.
The last days of our trip were spent riding the Olympic Peninsula. Avoiding the rain at all costs, we said goodbye to America.
Being on home soil felt odd, yet comforting. Our last evening was neither remarkable nor mundane, it was honest. The nights of sleeping under the stars, bathing in lakes, and finding solace in long stretches of empty road were long gone.
Neither of us wanted to face the reality of everyday life because we knew those things didn't change in the three weeks we were gone. But instead, we changed. I suppose adventure does that to you.
