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.