Returning to our Roots
The sensation of driving up the steep grade of Tioga Pass, greeted by the golden alpine meadows and cool streams, then slowly descending into the heart of Yosemite National Park Sweaty palms. Blood flowing quickly through our veins. Butterflies blooming in our bellies. We were Yosemite bound. The thought of being suspended thousands of feet over the valley floor, balancing on webbing no thicker than a thumb, began to consume our minds with each passing mile. Since departing sea level, we’d been eastbound for the high desert, the redwood forests, and everything in between. We’d set out to put the new rig (Toyota Tacoma x Limited-Edition Four-Wheel Camper) to the test on a classic California overlanding expedition.
We had each spent four years living full-time on the road (his: ’94 Dodge Ram van / hers: ’83 VW Westfalia) when we’d chosen to pause our travel-centric lifestyles to explore new avenues of opportunity—city life. They say you never know what you like, or dislike until you try it. Personally, I feel overwhelmingly confident as I recommit to the vagabond lifestyle and can live without a doubt that this is my desired path. At this point, we had each attempted the modern-day lifestyle for roughly one year. It was around this time we met; Travis had come to the same conclusion, and there was no other comprehensible solution other than to hit the road and return to our roots. We packed the rig with surfboards, slacklines, skateboards, hiking boots, and any other adventure accessories we could fit (including my furry four-legged companion, Koda). Days later we departed Southern California in search of roads accessible only with 4x4, and summit views only seen by those willing to put in the effort to get there. ⠀
The first hours of our excursion brought us through dusty desert roads which quickly became snow-covered mountain passes as we approached the summit of White Mountain. This desolate lunar landscape is where we would find the oldest trees in the world—the Ancient Bristlecone Pine trees! After watching the featured educational film–an obligatory first stop upon arriving at any Visitor Center–we made the drive up to the grove arriving with just enough time to explore throughout sunset. In years past I remember scoffing at the tricked-out campers with all the bells and whistles, whose inhabitants couldn’t leave city life truly behind. But as we woke up in our mountainside campsite at 9,000 feet elevation to violent winds and snow flurries, we were grateful to be nestled within the resilience of our climate-controlled camper. Omitting the lengthy stretch of pavement, we quickly descended down a steep 4x4 trail en route for our next adventure. Trading favorite tunes, laughing at stand-up comedy, and diving deep into discussions circulating around what fuels our passion for life filled the air; it felt incredibly natural to be back on the road.
California’s Route 395 is one of my favorite stretches of road in the US; the scenery dramatically changes as the highway ascends paralleling the Sierra Nevada mountain range. Pastels painted the sky above Mount Whitney as we explored the trails through the iconic Alabama Hills. Sunrise called for a brisk morning run beyond our spacious BLM campsite at the Buttermilk Boulders. Before departing town, we seized the opportunity to reconnect to the outside world capitalizing on fast Wi-Fi and fresh coffee in Bishop’s local town hub. We could spend countless surrounded by towering pine trees and impressive granite walls; you could almost feel a shift as we arrived. Contrary to what our internet research and trifold brochures stated, the colors of fall vibrantly decorated the valley floor. Our skateboards made perfect means of transportation for playfully cruising the paths after we established camp. We spent our first day hiking beyond the top of Vernal Falls to the apex of Nevada Falls where the John Muir Trail meets the mist trail; whether it was intentional, or entirely subconscious—we were postponing our walk in the sky.
Taft Point. Friends had gathered together before dawn to rig slacklines over the vacant space in the granite. Each line varied in distance ranging from 50 feet to upwards of 300. If you’ve ever hiked out to visit the exposed cliffs at the point, you know there isn’t anything but air between you and the valley floor. The sensation is adrenaline filling even for an experienced hiker. For those unfamiliar, highlining is an extreme sport in which athletes traverse dynamic webbing only an inch wide suspended high above the ground. Participants wear a climbing harness tethered to a leash which is secured to the line in the case of a fall. While the sport is thrill-seeking, each component of the equipment (harness, leash, and anchors of the line) is redundantly backed up for ultimate safety.
Nothing in the world can prepare you for slacklining; no amount of gymnastics, yoga, surfing, skating or any other orientation of balancing sports can ready your body. Beyond the physical skill, the sport of highlining requires extreme concentration, focus, and determination, blended with an array of breathwork and mental strength in order to delicately center your being.
Before I had the opportunity to scoot out on a highline I thought I had a reasonable understanding of the necessary procedures in order to successfully walk a line. I was wrong. Highlining is quite certainly the most humbling thing I have ever tried. I dismounted, aching from the whiplash my body sustained after standing, fighting, yet falling time and time again. It was the kind of soreness that left me with a sort of painful inspiration to push myself further, to get out there again. This would not be my last attempt; I exhaled a deep, exhausted breath as I told myself I would one day conquer my fears. I stood in awe as I watched Travis approach the line with confidence; stopping to double-check the anchors, he secured his harness to the leash and received an obligatory buddy-check on his knot before proceeding. Though his mouth said he was terrified, his body expressed nothing other than calmness. He mounted the line, stood up effortlessly and walked its length, pausing in the middle to open his body 90 degrees towards the expansive valley opposing Yosemite Falls, standing in ‘exposure’ with his hands behind his back—an advanced posture. Tourists who’d stumbled upon the event, friends, and myself included, all watched in amazement. He rejoined me on the rock, and we began our trek back as the glow of the sun faded, casting shadows where the warm light once was.
A soothing night beneath the expansive sky is what we were both craving. Glacier Point, located atop the valley with a generous view of Yosemite’s most popular feature, Half Dome, created the perfect environment for us to nerd out. Travis is an avid astronomer; using the smooth slope of a large boulder as a couch, we reclined back, and he began to depict the story behind his favorite constellation—Orion. Tonight, was the Orionid meteor shower—a stargazing event that has been a personal favorite for years. Fireballs traced across the twinkling night canvas leaving trails that lasted for what felt like minutes. The deep coolness of the night began to creep into our bones and our eyes grew tired. We rejoined the rig and made our way back down to camp, stopping to admire the climbers camped precariously on the face of El Capitan. Headlamps decorated the wall as if to blend in with the starry night sky.
Though departing from an adventurer’s paradise is never easy, we turned the truck westward and began our descent towards the coast. Santa Cruz remains a community we relish returning to. It wasn’t long before we were greeted by a familiar smell of the salty ocean spray and the curl of glassy waves peeling off the point. Surfing has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember; Travis and I wistfully enjoyed the mornings in the ocean together. We prioritized time to be productive in the local library, clean the camper, and resupply before returning to the road.
Southbound for San Diego. With our home base being a half day’s drive we chose to take our time and savor our last evening on the road. In lieu of the ever-popular Highway 1, we banked inland after admiring the morning light cascading over Bixby Bridge. The option for a single lane dirt road will always suit us better. The trail toured through dense groves of redwood giants, giving us glimpses of the ocean’s turquoise tones. Travis expertly sourced a campsite atop a hillside with eloquent views where the ocean meets the mountainside. While I would normally be sad to be completing an adventure, we had already marked our calendars for our next voyage with our departing date only a few days away; the annual highlining festival in Moab, Utah. This evening I quickly cooked our favorite blend of veggies mixed with vegan sausage and we ran off to the top of the vista to soak in the sight of the setting sun. Colors danced illuminating wispy clouds that hung low within the tips of the trees. This evening’s sky was exceptionally magical; easily the most remarkable sunset we’d seen throughout our trip. As the curtain of the night drew across the horizon, it was clear this was the perfect close of our maiden voyage. Trekking back towards the camper, smiles carved into our cheeks, Travis pointed up at the constellation that brightly shone above the camper—Orion had just risen over the horizon.
While for some people the consistency of conventional life feels comfortably reliable, this structured way of living is precisely what drew us to the road in the first place. Narrow backroads, off-the-grid campsites, and vistas without another human in sight. The freedom to spontaneously choose routes with no distinguished timeframe, purposefully selecting roads requiring 4x4, hunting for dirt void of tracks. For us, the inconsistency and the wildness of life on the road, discovering places across the globe whilst simultaneously discovering a deeper connection within ourselves—this is what truly nourishes our soul. We rolled back into San Diego with an eagerness to shower, launder our clothes, and hastily repack to continue the pursuit of our life’s passions. Returning to our roots has flowed effortlessly, creating a source of realignment with what calls to our beings on a deeper level. This choice has infused us with confidence and excitement to chase our dreams as well as explore uncharted passages in the new adventure mobile, ‘Orion the Rig.’
