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After Vail it was time to go home. They say its best to end on a high note, and that we did.

We drove 11 hours to get to a friend, Jawad, 's house in Iowa City where we got some rest and prepared for the long haul ahead.



We drove out of Iowa City at 5:30 the following afternoon and did not stop. I took the wheel at about 1am while Hamish tried his best to get to sleep. I drove through the night and into the day, watching the sun rise over misty mountains in up state New York. Though tempted to stop at the numerous firework and 'adult' superstores that seemed to appear far too frequently for the middle of nowhere, I kept my foot to the floor.



Coming closer and closer to home we slowly lost our minds. We were so near yet so far. New York, whats that, 5 hours from home?! From where we were, more like 10. It was draining. My body was in overdrive and on the verge of shutting down. It had had nothing to eat except fast food for almost 3 days. I had taken no excercise, mental or physical, in fact I had hardly moved at all. I hadn't slept properly for far too long. The only relief came from pretending to talk to other drivers, though it usually ended in swearing at them when they executed stupid manuvers. If I were to have met myself at that juncture, I would have been more than worried.

The roads began to look familiar and soon enough we chucked our neatly written out directions on the floor for we knew the way.

Hitting Boston rush hour traffic nearly finished me off. Nearly.

We drove up our little hill, parked in front of the garage and our trip came to a close with a high five and a hug.

Roll Credits.

Vail Valley, Colorado

Vail was exactly what we needed. A nice place to stay, nice things to eat, and some time to just do nothing. Hamish lived and worked in Vail for a ski season several years ago so we stayed with a friend of his. There was a good amount of time spent sitting on the sofa, mindlessly surfing the internet. But you don't really want to hear about that now do you.

The fun stuff.

We decided that our stay wasn't legitimate until we had summited one of the 14,000 ft peaks in the area, commonly knows as the 14ers. We assembled a crack team, filled our packs with as many Cliff Bars as they would hold and set off.

At this point I must take a moment to explain the glory that is a GMC Safari. And not just any old GMC Safari I might add, but Maddie (the person we stayed with)'s particular model. Affectionately know as Vanny, or sometimes Van Gogh, the van appeared to be quite plain at first glance, white paint, slightly rusting in places, normal. Its not until you (struggle to) open the immense sliding door do you get your first taste of the greatness to come. You are greeted by a cherry red interior, we're talking seats, carpets, dash and ceiling. A wooden box sits between the two front seats and pretends its a center console, but we all know its not. Turning the ignition results in a throaty rumble coming from the thirsty truck engine lurking beneath the hood. In fact the whole car is based on a pickup truck body, just with more seats and more red cloth. This build lends itself well to driving at speed down dirt roads in the woods, hitting potholes and whatever else gets in its way. There is only one driving style suiting for Vanny: Reckless abandon. Another nifty feature that you wont find on vans now a days is the lack of any kind of safety mechanism that might prevent one from opening the sliding door while moving. So, needless to say, we spent most of the time admiring our surroundings through the 1 x 2 m square missing from the side of the van, not the windscreen. So, what can you do with an engineering masterpiece like Vanny? Well you can make new friends on the highway, get some fresh air whilst clinging onto a seatbelt for dear life even shoot fireworks at cyclists. Believe me, we did it all.

After an exhilarating van ride though some crazy dirt road mountain pass we arrived at our 14er and set off rather enthusiastically. Every 5 minutes or so someone would utter the word, 'water?' and groans of agreement would signal a stop. We didn't actually need that much water but it was a good excuse to catch our breath, there isn't much of the old O2 up at that altitude, let me tell you. Having passed the tree line Hamish and I began taking every opportunity to partake in our second favorite road trip game involving rocks, trundling (© Tilly). Trundling involves rolling large rocks down steep slopes. Simple stuff really. Safety is obviously a huge concern so one must check for people / roads / houses below. Once a rock the size of a suitcase gets going it can tear through just about anything, bushes, small trees, other rocks, you name it. Above the tree line you can watch a rock trudle for thousands of meters until it disappears into the forest below or comes to rest. Definitely a worthy way to waste precious calories and oxygen whilst climbing a mountain.

The real fun of that afternoon was found in the most unlikely of places. What started as a joke ended with us all prying planks of wood off a destroyed old shed on the side of the mountain. Having established that the snow filled gully next to the shed which went almost the whole way back down the mountain towards the car, and that when fixed up with metal tips, planks make great improvised snowboards, we abandoned our quest for the summit altogether. An hour or so of hard work produced 5 snowboards complete with decorations and excited riders, practically running to the snow to get a piece of the action.

Although great fun, our second attempt at snowboarding was quite different than the runs we had taken on the prototype design a few hours earlier. The mid day sun had made the snow much wetter and stickier, enough so that my board gave up all together and was turned into a sled. And when the sled failed, I lay on my back and had the ride of my life with nothing but a rain jacket touching the snow and my backpack clutched to my chest. I felt like some kind of turtle whos day on the mountain had taken a turn for the worse.

None of us could really believe that we had, kind of, gone snowboarding in July. A day that will never be forgotten.

The rest of our time in Colorado found us at house parties, Celtic power-pop concerts, on rowdy bicycle rides in the middle of the night and occasionally clawing at scratch tickets like fiends. Ask one of us to hear the full stories in person and you won't regret it.

We couldn't have asked for a better last stop on our trip. A huge thank you to Maddie for having us to stay. Doug and Johnny, legends. Terrance, loved the conversation, good luck finding tenants! Steve you're a wiener.

Action shot of inside the van. Things to note: epic hat lives on and makes a great firework holder. Van door open. Red interior.

Our playground...

Hamish (green) and I (red) testing the prototype board.

The crew

Hamish, cool as can be.

Zion, Utah (Part 2)

The Virgin River has run through Zion Canyon for thousands of years and carved hundreds of feet down into the rock. Near the park entrance, the canyon walls are sloping and wide, however, as one drivers further in, the walls get steeper and closer together until the only way to continue is on foot. This is called The Narrows.

We literally walked in the river. Sometimes it was knee deep, other times it was chest deep. Setting off I couldn't believe that the girl in the adventure shop had got us to part with $8 each to rent walking sticks. The idea of paying for a bit of wood and then giving it back seemed ridiculous. I was slightly bitter to say the least. Yet, as I often found myself accustomed to doing, I ate my words. In fact, I had to lick that damn plate clean.

The current was strong and without the sticks we both would have found ourselves in the drink more often than would have been comfortable. Whats more I would have been eating a soggy lunch and crying over a soggy camera.

The further into the narrows we hiked the fewer people we saw. Maybe they got tired off struggling against the river, who knows. Its even plausible that some get claustrophobic. There is literally nowhere to go except to follow the river. The walls are between 4 and 10m wide depending on where you are and they go straight up. In wider spots where the sunlight can make it to the canyon floor and sediment builds up into earthy banks, trees and long grass grow; little oasis between the rock walls.

In theory one can hike all the way up river and out of the canyon, though Hamish and I ran out of sunlight before we could make it all the way to the end. Walking back with the current we made record time, despite stopping for food and drinks with some other travelers our age who had made a small campfire and invited us over.

Finally walking out of the narrows was like reentering a world left behind. Suddenly there was open space and the ground was dry. Needless to say, sleep came easily that night.

Zion, Utah (Part 1)

You may have caught onto the fact that Hamish and I have not been in Las Vegas for 2 weeks. Disappointing, I know. We are in fact home, and I have been lazy about bringing the final chapters of our trip to the great interwebs. So, without further a due, Utah.

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Hamish had been to Utah before some 6 or 7 years ago and had loved every minute of it. I had little idea what was there other than lots of red rock, and more heat. My lower expectations certainly amplified the level to which I was blown away by what we saw.

The sleepy little town of Springdale sits in the south easter corner of Utah, and next to the famous Zion Valley. It has more organic cafes and bead shops than almost anywhere I have ever seen before. A true haven for desert hippies. It seemed that everyone we met was there for the same reason, to spend time in Zion.

Locals and guidebooks alike told us of a strenuous and spectacularly dangerous hike to a place called Angels Landing. Seeing as we had happily romped around every other national park in bare feet and swimming trunks whilst everyone else wore hiking boots, carried walking poles and backpacks with water tanks in them, we figured that the descriptions we grossly exaggerated. Now, you’re probably expecting me to say, “oh how wrong we were!!!” but, for once, we were right.

The Canyon is closed to traffic so a lovely, propane powered bus took us on an excruciatingly slow ride passed countless Biblically named rock formations, cliffs and rivers (The first man to start naming thing in the valley was a man of the Lord, you see). We reached our stop and began our hike. Late afternoon had proven to be a good time to go, not too hot, not too cold, in fact, almost perfect. Countless switchbacks (turns in the trail, making an zig zag pattern up a steep slope) later and just as the heat was beginning to get to us, we reached a long deep crack in the rock called refrigerator canyon. A strangely cool prevailing breeze funneled through the rock and provided a great place to rest and rehydrate.

The chunk of rock we were actually trying to climb jutted out right into the middle of the canyon, it supposedly offered an almost 360 degree view of Zion but to get there one had to cling onto chains anchored into the rock. Letting go meant a 400m drop to the canyon floor below, the last quarter mile of climbing brought new definition to the phrase white knuckles. Reaching the top we realized it was all worth it, I present to you, Zion Canyon as seen from Angles Landing...

Canyon and the sky

Canyon floor

Las Vegas, Nevada

Our drive into Las Vegas, was quite different than what you usually hear. People often describe the change from dark desert to city lights as overwhelming. However, an approach from the east resulted in us seeing the city 20 miles before we actually got there.

“Is that Vegas?”

“Can’t be, its not big enough, and we’re still 20 miles out.”

“I don’t know, I think it is....”

Eventually it was established that the sea of golden light ahead was in fact Sin City. Several wrong turns later we were on Las Vegas Blvd., The Strip.

My jaw hit the floor. Never before had I seen such incredible lights, sounds and sights, all packed onto one street. New York’s Time Square has nothing on this place. I literally had trouble maintaining a safe distance from the cars in front because I was looking out the windows and up through the windscreen the whole time. You couldn’t have wiped the grins off our faces if you tried. Every 10 seconds one of us would hoot and shout pointing at some new fantastic neon discovery.

Hamish spotted the roller coaster on the side of New York New York and temporarily was transformed into a 7 year old. I soon followed and quickly did a U-turn. Before I knew it we were parked in some multi level car park. Do i have to pay for this? Is all our stuff safe just sitting here? Who cares, there’s a roller coaster!

Las Vegas casinos are something else. They are a mazes made up of slot machines, card tables and roulette wheels. The only people who seem to know where they are going are the cocktail waitresses, ever determined to pour more alcohol down more gamblers throats. An absolutely deadly combination of predator and environment.

We finally found our way to the roller coaster, paid an extortionate amount of money, and proceeded to laugh uncontrollably the entire way around the track. Definitely the right way to start our Las Vegas experience.

The place we had booked was outside the city quite a way so we had to drive through north Vegas and out towards Lake Powell. A few blocks off the strip and everything changes. Everything the hotels, casinos and showrooms chew up is spat out there. Drug addicts roam the streets and women showing too much skin whisper sweet nothings at you as you drive past the red lights. It is an ugly and frightening place.

After a glorious nights sleep in a real bed we headed off to see the hoover dam. Its quite impressive, but nothing like as cool as the bridge they are building opposite it. Yeah new bridge > Hoover Dam, its the truth, folks.

That night we smartened up a bit and wandered the Strip for several hours. Doing all the touristy things, the Bellagio fountains, looking at the fake friezes in the Venetian, and hunting for the ever elusive art collection, which turned out to be back at the Bellagio, next time... We saw a crew of African guys do an incredible circus routine at, surprise surprise, the Circus Circus.

Its all so incredible, so fake, yet so real. One truly has to see it to believe it all.

We shook hands that night and promised each other we would come back as soon as we were both 21...

With the daybreak we headed for Utah. A quick stop on the Nevada state line for a breakfast buffet at some casino ended up proving too much for us to stomach. We walked into the casino and it was like we were back in Vegas on the sunday night we got there. 10 in the morning, and here they were. People already drinking, on a tuesday, and pulling levers on slot machines like zombies in some kind of trace. The sight of it all was enough to blow ones mind and make them sick at the same time.

“...I’m done with Nevada”

For better or for worse, we saw it all and swiftly left it behind.

Thanks to our Canadian tour guide who texted me directions and info the whole time, much appreciated.

Death Valley, California

Leaving Yosemite we headed south east to Sequoia National Park. I’ll keep this bit brief because I was very ill and spent most of that day admiring the insides of each and every one of the park’s public restrooms. Furthermore, my camera was out of batteries so there no photos. Sequoia Park in 9 words. We saw the largest trees in the world....and a marmot (look that one up).

Moving along swiftly.

We camped that night at a place called Lake Isabella. Upon our arrival the campsite’s Caucasian population increased to a grand total of 2. Following our departure that number once again returned to 0...

We had wheels rolling in good time that morning for we were on a mission. A mission for the largest-brimmed hats in all the lands. Why would we need such hats you ask? Because we were about to enter Death Valley National Park, of course. Why is it called Death Valley, you ask? Because its the hottest and driest place in North America. So yeah, big hats were a must.

Two lovely old ladies in a antiques shop outside of the Park pointed us exactly where we needed to go, but not before insisting on telling us everything about themselves, the Park, life, the universe and everything else. Something gave me the feeling they didn't get too many visitors.

The local hardware store fitted us out with 2 excellent straw hats for the fair price of $8 a piece. We may have looked like two migrant workers about to pick fruit amongst the never-ending, and perfectly spaced rows of trees in the California, but it mattered not the least.

Well pleased with our new accessories, we managed an unprecedented 16.5 mile freewheel into the park. It set the benchmark for what would turn out to be an incredible day. Mid-freewheel we were not prepared to stop at the pay station to get into the park. This may explain the expression on the ranger’s face when we turned around, having finally come to a halt, and went back. He was obviously not impressed with the two shirtless, slightly sunburned young men, wearing ridiculous hats, even more outlandish grins and driving the car with surfboards on the roof. To tell the truth I probably wouldn't be either...

It was only about 10 in the morning but the thermometer outside the Ranger Station read 109 F. It was most certainly time for an ice cream.Though they started to melt before we even got them out of the packet, the heat was no match against our jaws in this epic race against time.

How could I stay as cool as this ice cream in such a hot place, I though to myself. I was somewhere mid bite when it hit me. After several minuted rummaging through my backpack I emerged victorious with my Speedo held high. The best was to stay cool was undoubtedly to wear as little clothing as possible. And thats exactly what I did.

The events of that day are relatively disassociated in my mind yet at the same time held together by constant stops to drink from our gallon jugs of water. Conversations in the car would trail off after several minutes, then one of us would always break the drowsy silence with a complaint about the heat.

The desert is breathtaking. We passed sand dunes similar to those in the Sahara, and slat flats which stretched on for miles. The whole valley, is of course, as the ‘valley’ part of the name implies, is surrounded by mountains which soar up to 7000ft in places. Water somehow managed to trickle through the salt flats at the lowest place in the United States, -282 ft below sea level. It seemed impossible that it didn’t evaporate right away, yet there it was.

On arrow straight, un-patrolled and un-driven roads the Golf proved it still had something left in it by briefly pushing its needle over the 100mph line. A cheer rang out and we let the old girl take it easy for the rest of the trip.

Constantly looking at our map as we drove, we ruled out any sites which required more than a half mile walk due to the heat (at this point it was somewhere around 115-120 F). This may seem rather pathetic to you, but go there and try it yourself.

An experiment in which we attempted to fry an egg on the pavement failed, much to our surprise and disappointment. We figured that if we had tried it at high noon instead of 5pm we would have been successful, who knows.

Did I mention how hot Death Valley is? Oh, I did? Good.

On our way out we made a last minute decision to drive up to a place called Dante’s Peak, a foreboding name if ever there was one. The golf struggled up the last 1/4 mile which was some 14% inclined (think ski runs!). It proved to be as good as the rest of the day combined.

Stepping out of the car we were greeted by an alien feeling, coolness. The breeze was more refreshing than the vast amounts of water we had drank that day could ever be. We bathed in the wind and gulped down the refreshing air.

A man ahead of us had the right idea, and by the right idea, I mean he had a Corona in his hand, so cold drips of perspiration were falling from the bottle in a steady stream. Despite the newfound drop in temperature I wanted a swig of his icy beverage so badly that I felt like an alcoholic. Instead of a drink, he offered us his Canadian humor and endless stories from the road and his youth.

Having said our farewells we climbed back into the car and set out sights on Las Vegas...

Me, post revelation.

Me, hydrating on a sand dune.

Hamish at the lowest point in the United States.

Again, Badwater Basin.

Salt flats. View from 5000 something feet above sea level down to -282 ft below.

Dante's View. Thanks to our Canadian friends for taking the photo!

Yosemite National Park, California

Yosemite was a zoo.

As with any zoo there are the exhibits and there are the people who go there to see them. I found it impossible to keep my sight skywards, towards the immense waterfalls and rock formations which towered hundreds of feet into the air, when, right in front of me I could see America in it’s many shapes and forms. America came in small shapes, and big shapes, sunburned shapes, and shapes that didn’t speak English. America rode motorcycles, drove RVs, and the brave few took to the park on foot. Everywhere I looked I was overwhelmed by stars, stripes and people who looked like they would die in the mud to keep the flag flying.

The great American Family vacation has been reborn. A hurting economy means people are ditching airplanes in favor of automobiles and are slogging around these great states to see what has been on their doorstep all along. By the looks and sounds of it, most are pleasantly surprised.

Of course there are also the international tourists. Asians carrying more technology than their slender frames can handle, Germans peering intently at maps, and Brits, constantly complaining about sunburns.

All these are really a given at any National Park. What made Yosemite unique was simply the volume of all the aforementioned. Finding parking spaces often involved staring contests with mini-van wielding mothers and quick clutch / accelerator action.

Being slightly more vertically blessed I had fewer problems raising my camera over the heads of the masses, however those of smaller statures must have had to battle to see anything at times.

I suppose you want to hear something about the park then?

Well, its incredible. It seems like rivers spill over the valley walls everywhere you look. The water falls for so long, its just mist by the time it gets to the ground. Standing next to one for more than a few minutes will probably leave you with hypothermia. The wind these things generate is unbelievable and chills a person right to their bones.

The view from Glacier point was well worth the 45 minute drive thought it was slightly doubtful wether the Golf would make it up all those inclines.

... Despite my efforts, my brain refuses to string words together any longer.

The photos speak for themselves.

Click them to make them bigger.

View down the valley.

Wish You Were Here, California

My watch would later tell me that it was the single greatest hour of our trip so far, but it could have been days, years even that we spent in the rocks and coastal desert scrub that evening. Time was a wash.

Somewhere north of San Francisco two young men pulled over and got out of their car. Naked bar swimming trunks and sunglasses they silently wandered through the thistles and long grass, drawn by some intangible force to the rocks ahead of them.

Hawks rode the thermals above while mice and rabbits dared each other to run the gauntlet between their burrows below. Lizards eyed the boys’ every move, darting from under falling feet at the last second.

Wars raged thousands of miles away. Men with white collars sat in offices somewhere, making decisions that would impact the boys’ lives somewhere down the line, but none of it mattered.

Paul Simon once sang, “I’d rather be a forest than a street...I’d rather feel the earth beneath my feet.” His words were written on every rock, every blade of grass, and the sunlight danced on the water to their rhythm.

Exchanging glances and flashing grins, the boulders were soon conquered and the pair triumphantly looked out over the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean stretched in front of them, a blanket of blues and golds.

A shutter clicked and a moment was captured forever.

Redwood Coast, California

Hunting for places to pitch a tent after dark has to be one of the most frustrating things ever. The phrases, “campground full” and “our spaces are only $62.70” seem to be a common motif for the California coast.

Be that as it may, every once in a while the (twisted and spiteful) camping gods smile down on weary travelers and bless them with incredible places to stay. Our first night on the Redwood Coast was just such an occasion.

After some 5 hours of driving and countless U-turns we drove our trusty VW up a dirt path into the woods and left it there. With nothing but iPod screens to light our way we descended into a gorge and found a rock beach next to a swift moving river. Indifferent to the sloped, lumpy ground we set up camp and crashed.

The next morning I stumbled out of the unbearably hot tent and shielded my eyes against the glaring sunlight. Slowly adjusting to the brightness, I was confronted by possibly the clearest and bluest river I have ever seen, some 15 steps from out tent. It was as if someone had poured gallons of dye into the water, neither words nor photos really do it justice.

After breakfast we simply sat there, basking in the warm sun and taking it all in. A hidden paradise.

A strong recommendation from Ben Small later led us to another gem, Stout Grove.

Never before have I felt so positively tiny as I did standing next to the trees there. Towering hundreds of feet tall and wider than our car is long, they are truly a sight to behold. We wandered speechless for about an hour or so, staring at the canopy in disbelief. Every now and again the silence would be broken by two of the giants bumping into each other with a deep, unearthly thud. ‘Please stay on the trail’ signs were frequently ignored as fallen skyscrapers tempted us to walk along them, leading hundreds of feet into the pristine forest.

Once, again, there are no words...

Our campsite.

..and this was a small one...

wandering....

Me climbing into the underside of a fallen redwood.

Corvallis & Ashland Oregon

Never have I welcomed a hot shower and home cooked food as I did upon arriving in Corvallis. We traded stories, stayed up late mercilessly criticizing American television, and slept on real beds. And to top it all off we left clutching a shopping bag full of snacks and sandwiches. A huge thank you to the Mr. and Mrs. Cleland as well as Val and Stephanie for having us to stay!

We arrived in Ashland late afternoon and once again were spoiled by home cooked food and access to hygiene facilities. Alex introduced us to all his friends whom I had heard so much about whilst in Ecuador. The next two days were spent concocting massive breakfasts, climbing mountains, making bonfires, sharing new discoveries in music and videos, sleeping in and then doing it all again. There is nothing like picking up right where you left off with an old friend...

Hamish Slack-lining in Triangle Park, Ashland.

Myself, with Tilly in the background.

Alex about to bike off to his graduation!

And for those of you who do not wish to see Hamish's bum, scroll no further!!!

Hamish getting 'natural' on top of Pilot Rock, Oregon.

Canon Beach, Oregon

Let me preface this by acknowledging the concerned messages I have been getting from friends and family alike in regard to Hamish’s haircut. The flat-top look was laid to rest and my brother once again resembles a semi-respectable member of society.

and now, on to the next chapter...

The vibrations were getting nasty in Westport and our VW Golf yearned to once again put rubber onto the 101.

A 6 hour drive south found us in picturesque Canon Beach, Oregon, but we weren’t the only ones. You see, Canon beach is, as previously stated quite picturesque, picturesque enough for someone to want to make a film there. And what better a film to make in Canon Beach than The Goonies!? If you’re not familiar with the cult classic children's film, The Goonies, then I would suggest renting it and preparing yourself for a memorable two hours.

As I was saying, they made this film there some 15 years ago and now all these moons later, Goonies lovers flock from all over the nation (and world?) to Canon Beach to celebrate the film and themselves. Occasionally we would see these odd individuals roaming the beaches and sidewalks decked out in Goonies memorabilia, muttering to themselves and cursing the fact that time so cruelly aged their once favorite child actors.

The surf was decent so we spent two days down at the beach camping...yes I’m going to let that sink in for a second...camping....

It may have been the worst idea in the world. We may have made the amateur mistake of paying through the nose for a private campsite. We may have had bloodthirsty raccoons circling our camp stove and food. And we may even have sworn to each other that we would in future avoid camping at all costs, but of course this is all hypothetically speaking.

Surfing at dawn, showering and rinsing our wetsuits in an ice cold waterfall and then cooking bacon and eggs in the car park became a morning ritual, well, for two days at least.

Determined not to be ripped off once again for a place to pitch our miserable tent, a church with a lovely patch of grass behind it was located and selected as our campsite. We were practically ready, tent pegs in hand, to stay the night behind this house of the Lord, when a friendly stranger asked us about our trip and ended up recommending we stay at a state park just down the road. Despite its endless knowledge, the internet will never best the wisdom of real people...

Having surfed our brains out and enjoyed countless hours in the beautiful sunshine we programmed out GPS for our next sto....oh.... thats right we don’t have GPS, however we make up for this with out amazing ability to pull U-turns (or to flip a b**ch, as we like to call it) in even the hairiest of situations...

Check back in soon and don’t miss the dastardly duo’s next adventure as we head inland!

*cue Star Wars music*

Breakfast on the beach...

Manzanita to the south...

Canon Beach to the North

Oswald state park and beaches.

Here is a time-lapse video I took driving over the bridges from Washington to Oregon. Its sped up hugely, not to worry Mum, we don't drive THAT fast.