roadtrip! moving CA>WA
Leaving behind one life to start another doesn’t happen in a single moment—it happens in the whirlwind of packing, paperwork, and the miles between. The apartment echoed with emptiness as we did the final walkthrough with our landlord. The car keys felt heavier in my hand, our lives now crammed into every inch of our cars—each item carefully deemed “boat-worthy and necessary”. We stopped to get the final Salty Saguaro purchase paperwork notarized and said “au revoir” to Long Beach. We had about a week before we could move onto the boat—just enough time for a quick trip to visit some of our favorite spots and friends along the way.
Hitting the Road
The familiar Los Angeles skyline faded in the rearview mirror, bathed in the hazy golden-hour glow of the smoggy evening. My grip on the wheel tightened. “This is really happening,” I muttered to myself, my gaze fixed on the road. “Bittersweet” is the only word that even comes close to capturing the complexity of our emotions. The excitement ahead, the gratitude for the lives we built in SoCal, the loss of proximity to some very special people, the relief of leaving behind Los Angeles traffic, the pride of taking a leap toward a lifestyle that better serves us, the fear of taking on a challenge outside our comfort zone, and, of course, the excitement of moving onto a boat. Every mile felt like shedding one version of ourselves and stepping into another—exciting, terrifying, and overwhelming.
A few weeks before the move, we had dinner with some close family friends in Arizona. When catching up with friends, we are commonly asked how we will document our journeys. That night, the question came with a twist: a dear friend asked if we would do a “V-log”…we all had a chuckle knowing he was referencing a vlog (video blog). As we sat in our last SoCal rush hour traffic, I remembered this conversation, got my phone out, and started recording my first-ever vlog. Don’t worry, I was hands-free and paying attention to the road.
As embarrassing and awkward as it felt to record myself talking to the camera, it was also cathartic. It gave me a moment to reflect instead of just barreling ahead. Are they awkward to watch back? Absolutely. Will we post them as we begin sharing more about our lives with the world? Probably. My only ask is that you be gentle when we do. But when I put the phone down, the quiet of the car felt even heavier. Jared and I had prepared for that, though. We’d packed two-way radios—not just for practicality but to keep each other company, sharing every random thought and ridiculous observation as we drove.
While the car ride itself was lonely, Jared and I knew we’d eventually get to spotty cell service, so we took a couple of two-way radios with us. Not only were the radios practical—allowing us to check in with each other about pit stop plans—but they also let us share our random thoughts as we processed the many emotions, called out “must-see” things as we passed, and laughed together when ridiculous things came to mind.
A Hot Spring Sunrise
Throughout our time in Southern California, the 395 corridor and Eastern Sierras became somewhat of a second home. We chose this route knowing it would be some time before we took a road trip through the area again. The sun began to set, and we made a push to get to our first overnight stop at Wild Willy’s Hot Springs.
We arrived under a sky littered with stars, too exhausted to do anything but crawl into our sleeping bags. The Eastern Sierra air had a bite to it, sharper than I expected after hours in the car. The faint smell of sagebrush lulled me to sleep as I pondered the Milky Way visible above. At sunrise, the golden light stretched across the valley as we padded our way down to the hot springs. We undressed and slipped into the water as steam curled into the morning air. The warmth, a stark contrast to the mountain breeze, greeted the day with a quiet soak. Warm and relaxed, we hopped back in our cars and headed north.
Smith Rock Reunion
We pulled over to let the cold river water sting our feet before crossing into Nevada. A quick coffee stop outside Reno fueled us for the next stretch—miles of nothing but open road and the most rural of rural towns. Finally, a familiar sight—we rolled into Smith Rock. Jared’s friend was already waiting at our campsite, a fire crackling, pizza on the table, and a cold beer in hand. The perfect welcome. Unable to keep my eyes open after dinner, I left the guys to their story time while I curled up and fell asleep to the sounds of laughter and crackling firewood. We packed up the next morning and spent some time hiking around Smith Rock State Park, a sport climbing mecca familiar to both of us. The sharp peaks towered around us while the river snaked by the trails, filling our ears with the soothing sounds of running water. Coffee, a breakfast burrito, some groceries, and we got back on the road for the shortest leg of our trip, up to the Columbia River area where we were scheduled to spend a weekend kite surfing and hanging with a couple of friends who feel like home.
Kite Surfing Highs & Lows
We crossed the border into Washington and checked into a lovely little cottage in the middle of nowhere, Lyle. Excited about kite surfing the next morning, we cooked dinner and settled into each other’s company. We woke up, made coffee, and moseyed back across into Oregon for kite surfing in Hood River. I donned my wetsuit and harness, grabbed a kite and board, and hopped on a jet ski with a guide to head downriver for some kiting practice. I found my groove flying the kite and body-dragging back and forth through the river, regaining confidence with each new launch. Finally, I got on the board, up and riding. Ahhhhhhh—that feeling! The waves sliding beneath me and the wind doing its thing while I maintained control of the kite. In that moment, the world was MINE!
And suddenly…a crash! The kite pulled hard, a violent yank that sent my stomach plummeting. I hit the water with force, water stinging my nose. I surfaced, gasping, laughing at the sheer intensity of it all.
The wind got gusty, and as I tried pulling the kite back in for a relaunch, the thin lines wrapped around my hand, searing into my fingers. Swollen hands and bleeding cuticles—I called it & we headed back in on the jet ski. We grabbed lunch at a local food truck—worth the wait in line—and headed back across the river for a winery stop and then back home, where we’d make dinner and soak in the wood-fire-fueled hot tub. Up the next day, and we did it all again (minus the crash & rope burn). A couple of other friends from the Portland area drove up to join us and cooked the most amazing Turkish feast. The smell of herbs and grilled lamb filled the air. I tore into a warm piece of flatbread and soaked up the yogurt dip with a sigh of pure satisfaction.
Last Camp Before Boat Life
The following day, there wasn’t enough wind for kite surfing, so we found a local bakery for brunch and said our goodbyes, continuing our journey up north. Throughout the trip, I had become obsessed with finding poppies, so we stopped along the Columbia River for photos when we saw the bright orange blooms of happiness. We snagged a campsite at Millersylvania State Park for one last night in the wilderness. The bright green forest was dense with trees and ferns, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. It felt like the perfect Washington welcome. We boiled water, dug into our last freeze-dried camping meals, topped it off with “blueberry cobbler” for dessert, and hid from mosquitoes in the tent until we fell asleep to the sounds of the forest.
The next morning, we packed up for the last time, stuffing the last remnants of our old life back into the cars. The drive to Olympia felt different—quieter, heavier, like the final steps toward a cliff’s edge. As we pulled into the marina, my stomach fluttered. There she was. The Salty Saguaro. The road behind us and everything ahead floating before us in the water. I gripped Jared’s hand as it hit me—this was really happening.
