Important lessons learned on my Southwest road trip
“What story should I write about our trip?” I asked my husband, Jer, one evening while we were milling about the kitchen. I barely finished my last word before he jumped in. This is perfect, I thought, as he described the most life-changing lessons we learned on our road trip.
“Hold that thought,” I said as I ran to grab a notebook. “Now tell me again what you said.” But like many of our best ideas, the brilliance he just relayed was gone. I guess that was meant to be. Jer planted the seeds for this story, and I get to nurture it.
I’ve wanted to share some stories and lessons about our winter road trip with you. But it was one of those trips where I didn’t know where to begin. From driving through Iowa during the worst blizzard I’ve ever experienced. To a high-speed chase on a county highway in Kansas. To that night when they found 2.2 million dollars worth of cocaine on the beach we were camping on. This trip was filled with countless unimaginable twists and turns.
But as soon as Jer shared his idea, I knew he had nailed it. In fact, I heard other people say similar things as I journeyed through the American Southwest. Still, I knew something was missing. Then the next morning, the final piece of this life-sized puzzle fell into my lap. I came across an interview that tied all of my stories together with a renewed sense of hope and ideas to take action.
This trip—like most of our lives—was centered around the outdoors. We went backpacking, overlanding, camping, and hiking. I realize that not everyone who reads this loves camping and the great outdoors. But if you stick with me, I promise you’ll learn something new and feel better about where humanity is headed.
A road trip down memory lane
I feel like I should back up and tell you a little bit about this road trip. In early 2020, Jer and I took our first road trip to Florida to visit friends who were full-time RVers. Up until that point, we had never road-tripped together because it seemed ridiculous to waste four days of paid vacation driving across the country and back. As we were planning that trip, we went back and forth on whether a road trip even made sense. Then a friend suggested that since I have more flexibility in my schedule, I could drive and Jer could fly. Jer was on board as soon as I mentioned the idea, but to this day, he insists on joining me for the drive there. Even with the long and stressful travel days, he enjoys seeing the country from this perspective.
As I made my way home that trip, I noticed that people were acting really rude around Savannah, GA. If I was within an arm’s length of someone, they quickly moved away. Since I had been camping, I gave myself a good sniff. I smelled fine, and so I told myself that Savannans must just be rude. Then, the Monday after I got home, the entire country began to shut down.
Travel was a bit clunky those first few years of the decade. So, it made sense to simply continue our winter road trips. But this year we had different plans. We were celebrating our 20th wedding anniversary and had been planning a trip to Kauai. We got married in Hawaii and have made a pilgrimage every 5 years. And the one trip we made to Kauai was cut short by Hurricane Ana.
When I returned home from last winter’s trip, Kauai was still on the docket. But then I decided it was time to upgrade to an adventure vehicle I could sleep in. We tossed around the idea of campervans, minivans, and pickup trucks. I don’t know what happened in the process, but we both fell deep into the rabbit hole of overlanding.
Overlanding is vehicle-dependent outdoor travel to locations where the journey is part of the adventure. As a couple who loves backpacking and canoe-tripping, we thought this was the perfect addition to our future adventures. So, I bought a new truck and we began building out our first overlanding rig.
As we dove further into this overlanding thing, I quickly began to question whether or not Kauai was our next big adventure. I haven’t flown since 2019, and at this point in my life, I have no interest in the hassle factor. Secondly, this whole overlanding thing was turning out to be much more costly than we anticipated. Most importantly, though, we were eager to get out and use this truck. So, rather than spending our 20th anniversary in the lap of Kauaian luxury, we chose to drive to Texas and sleep in the back of a pickup truck.
Don’t mess with Texas
After three weeks of incredible backpacking, hiking, overlanding, and camping with dear Texan friends, Jer had to fly home for an event at work. Since he was flying out of Corpus Christ, I planned to drive home through Louisiana and Arkansas. But with a fresh National Parks pass in hand and the delusion that I could outsmart El Nino, I made a last-minute decision to head west. That meant driving across the state of Texas for a second time.
If you’re unfamiliar with Texas, you should know that it’s kind of large and every Texan I know is damn proud of it. Here’s my attempt to offer some perspective.
I’m from Minnesota, as are many of you. There’s a town in northwestern Minnesota on the Canadian border named Noyes. I chose this location as the Canadian border town because it’s the most direct shot to Brownsville, Texas, on the Mexican border. The distance between the two is about 1,750 miles and passes through six states in their entirety. More than 600 of those miles are in the state of Texas. So, more than a third—35 percent—of the miles driven from the Canadian border to the Mexican border—through six states—are Texan miles. This is almost the equivalent of driving from the northern border of North Dakota to the southern border of Nebraska. Texas is a big state!
Since my original plan included a long saunter along the Gulf Coast, I felt like I needed more beach time before heading west back toward the desert. So, after dropping Jer at the airport, I did a quick resupply and headed back to Padre Island National Seashore, where we had camped with our friends and went overlanding down the world’s longest undeveloped barrier island.
The forecast was calling for high winds and tides over the upcoming weekend, so I opted to skip the beach and look for a spot in the first-come, first-served campground. When I arrived, all of the oceanfront spots were taken, and my only choice was an asphalt parking lot. This wasn’t ideal since I do most of my living outside. But I was hopeful that one of the oceanfront spots would open up and I’d be in the right place at the right time.
After coffee and a sunrise beach walk the next morning, I did a walk-through to see which sites might be opening up. As I walked back to my asphalt pad, a small, energetic, kindhearted, middle-aged woman approached me. “Are you going to be our new neighbor?” she asked enthusiastically. She introduced herself, and before I processed what was going on, she’d adopted me into their little neighborhood.
Before I thought about what I’d have for lunch that day, I was part of a community and had made five new friends I’ll never forget. Although our backgrounds and life experiences were as different as they could be, we savored our time together with shared meals, long hikes, and helped each other locate our possessions that were stolen by grackles.
Moving on
Although I would have loved to have more beach time, and it was hard to leave my camp neighbors and new friends, the 50 MPH winds that Sunday told me it was time to head west toward the Guadalupe Mountains. While the Guadalupe Mountains—which are actually an ancient reef—were amazing, snow pushed me out of Texas and into New Mexico. It wasn’t long before southern New Mexico’s perfect weather was interrupted by another snowstorm, which sent me further west into Arizona.
Arizona wasn’t on my radar for this trip, so I was as shocked as everyone when I landed there. I was even more surprised by how quickly I fell in love with the Sonoran Desert. I’ve always considered myself a water person. Having spent most of my life in the land of 14,380 lakes and claiming paddling as my favorite sport, the desert has never been that appealing to me. But then I went to Tucson and Saguaro National Park. Both of which overwhelmed me with their in-your-face beauty. And let me emphasize that I'm someone who rarely finds something nice to say about cities.
As the weekend approached, I struggled to find a place to stay. This is one of the challenges of not having plans and winging it. But just a little bit of research and I was on my way to one of the most beautiful parks you’ve never heard of—Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. 🤫
A happy accident
“Vikki?” I asked with a bit of hesitation as a familiar-looking woman walked by. “Oh, my gosh,” her husband replied with a laugh. “What are you doing here?”
Last year, while camping in Florida’s Wild Wild West, I stayed next to two lovely couples who invited me to join them for fresh oysters and craft wine. Although there was a few decades of age difference, we had a wonderful time together and I enjoyed getting to know them immensely. And now here they were, 13 months later, at one of the most beautiful parks none of us had heard of until this trip.
We enjoyed catching up and getting to know each other better. We took a lovely weekend hike. And savored a fabulous happy hour with their exquisite craft (aka homemade) wine. Unfortunately, I scored a last-minute cancellation at a bucket list park before I ran into them and had to leave sooner than I would have liked.
We can’t afford to lose this
This is the perfect spot to share something I believe to be incredibly important as we move forward as a society. Four years ago, I wrote a post about the challenges of making friends as an adult. Four years later, there’s a lot I would update, but not this.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve recognized the richness that comes from having friends across every generation. My friends range in age from 30 to 80 and have all enriched my life in more ways than they know. These different perspectives and life experiences have taught, mentored, balanced, and grounded me—ultimately making me a better human. But it’s not just our chronological elders we should look to for guidance. I sometimes wonder if I would have finished my SHT Thru-Hike without the support of my spouse and a dear friend who is more than a decade younger than me.
Jer, too, has priceless friendships with elders who took an interest in him early in his professional career. They have helped shape him into the man he is today, and continue to do so when they get together regularly for Mexican food or pie and coffee. Then Jer gets to pay it forward with his team members by (literally) teaching them to fish and helping them build strong financial foundations.
I'm currently rereading one of my favorite books, and this quote landed in just the right place and time for this story. My most influential spiritual mentor, Richard Rohr, says, “Without elders, a society perishes socially and spiritually.” As I watch what is happening in the world around me, I’m afraid this might be true. But the good news is that each of us can take small steps to change this starting right now.
When you are young have friends who are older; when you are old have friends who are younger.
-- Kevin Kelly; Excellent Advice for Living: Wisdom I Wish I'd Known Earlier
Beautiful Arizona
I’m often asked how I find the incredible outdoor places I end up at. During last year’s winter adventure, I shared a post on Instagram highlighting some of my best tips. One of the things I’ve been doing for years is saving locations that look interesting to me in Google Maps. But as I mentioned, Arizona was never on my radar, so I had very little saved.
One of the few places I had saved was Yuma. But just the city. No parks, trails, or notes about why I might have saved it. My curiosity got the best of me, and I kept heading west. Since I’m not using social media for at least the next year, one of the ways I got to know the areas I visited was by making my first stop the local Visitors Center.
The Yuma Visitors Center had a huge section of brochures dedicated to the outdoors. After reviewing the information I gathered, I decided that my next stop would be one of the many wildlife refuges in the area. I ran some errands—which is always a bigger task than it needs to be while traveling—and realized that it was too late in the day to make my way to the refuge and find a place to spend the night. So, I found some lakefront BLM land just north of town.
It took me some time to realize that the time on my phone had switched over to California time and that it was much later than I thought. When I arrived, I was fortunate to find one spot left and a bunch of friendly people from across North America hanging out and enjoying happy hour.
That didn’t go as planned
“Whoa, that’s so cool. Are those hydraulic lifts?” a tan man with a Canadian accent who appeared to be around my age asked. “They are,” I replied. “Would you like to check out my setup?” Of course, he and his friends eagerly jumped at the opportunity.
By 10 am the next morning, I’d met and made friends with at least 80 percent of the people camping there. It’s rare to find that strong of a sense of community with travelers. And I can’t think of a time during the last eight seasons of solo camping that I’ve felt safer. So, although I arrived intending to only stay one night, I decided to stay another.
I met some amazing human beings there. I enjoyed hikes with a group that ranged in age from mid-30s to the edge of 80. In the evenings, we all hung out enjoying communal campfires and lots of laughter. Then, two nights turned into three. I met so many wonderful people, exchanged contact information, and have kept in touch with many of them. But eventually, all good things come to an end.
Although it may not seem like it, I do miss Jer when we’re not together. At the same time, this solo adventuring has been an important part of me becoming the person I am today. But while I was in Yuma, I knew it was time to start heading north.
It’s not all rainbows and unicorns
While camped in Yuma, I met a lovely couple from Idaho who shared with me their rule of three. They try not to drive more than three hours at a time, more than 300 miles per day, and stay at least three nights at each place they end up. I’d been going hard and taking in a lot since leaving Texas, so I did my best to adhere to this rule until the final 8 nights when I moved along more quickly.
I spent three nights in the wildlife refuge, three nights at Lake Havasu State Park, and three nights in Sedona. While I was at the refuge, I met an older outdoors couple, one of whom was a lifelong Arizonan. Along with Sedona, he told me that I couldn’t leave Arizona without seeing the Grand Canyon. “But I heard Sedona and the Grand Canyon are crowded,” I protested. He confirmed my concern but insisted that they were worth seeing.
Sedona was beautiful, and I’m glad I made the trip, but I failed big time with timing my visit. It just so happened that I landed there on a weekend, during spring break, AND a mountain bike festival. It was too much for my feral introverted soul, so I called it early on day one and promised myself I’d give it a second chance on day two. I spent the night in a muddy parking lot in the Coconino National Forest, which was hands down the worst place I stayed during the entire road trip.
I woke before the sun on day two, made coffee, and hit the road. I arrived in Sedona with more than enough time to catch the sunrise, but discovered that most of the trailheads are closed from Thursday through Sunday. I drove around for close to an hour, trying to find a spot to park my truck. By the time I got to the trail, it was getting crowded, but I made the best of it. When I got back to my truck, I found that someone had parked me in. But with a lot of back and forth, and the help of a kind city worker, I eventually got out. I wish I could tell you that this was the only time I was parked in during my short time in Sedona.
As I made my way to the next trailhead, I found that it, too, was closed. So, I found the next closest and drove around and around and around until someone left. After some much-needed lunch, I hiked over to the trailhead only to find that it was closed for the weekend. Again, I did what I could to make the best of it.
I was over Sedona pretty early in the day and desperate to find a new place to spend the night. After a bit of driving on some rough forest roads, I found an amazing secluded spot, which was exactly what I needed.
As I was getting settled in, an elderly man walked by, made some small talk, and continued on. About half an hour later, he circled back. I sensed that he was lonely and not doing well emotionally. I tried again and again to end the conversation as it got closer and closer to sunset. He eventually moved on. My brain was telling me that he was just lonely, but my gut was screaming creeper vibes. So, for the first time ever, I packed up and left just as the sun was beginning to set. By this time, there were very few spots left, so I settled on the best of the worst and called it a night.
One more night in Sedona, followed by a night in Flagstaff, and I was at the Grand Canyon. I got up early and beat the crowds, but when they arrived, they arrived in force. Again, I’m glad I went. And I enjoyed a very important interaction while I was there that I'll tell you about another time. But by day four, I was completely FRIED.
It’s not that I don’t like people. The story thus far has been about all of the wonderful connections I made on my journey. But crowds are rough for me. And as I’ve shared these stories with others, I’ve found that I’m not alone.
A winter storm was forecast for the afternoon I was scheduled to leave. As I was packing up that morning, the snow made an early appearance, and it escalated quickly. The drive out of the park was beyond stressful with heavy snowfall, slick roads, and a lot of inexperienced winter drivers in rental cars.
Once I got to lower elevations and the snow subsided, the drive north was breathtaking. I stopped for a hike near Page, and by the time I noticed all the tour buses, it was too late. I was in line to pay a $10 parking fee and couldn’t get out. Again, I did the hike and tried to make the best of it. But by the time I got back to my truck, I was done. I just wanted to go home and questioned whether I would ever travel again. I entered HOME into my GPS only to find that I was surrounded by intense winter storms. I didn’t know what to do, so I just started driving.
Angels do exist
If you’ve followed any of my other adventures, you know it’s never just rainbows and unicorns. I lost track of how much gear I had to replace on the previous year’s winter road trip. And my SHT thru hike was filled with injuries, illness, and SO MUCH RAIN. Looking back on these experiences, I can tell you that there’s a bit of truth to that saying—what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. But not only that. They also make the best stories.
But in the moment, I just wanted to crawl into my bed and cry. So, I called Jer and may or may not have. If I did, he didn’t hear it because my signal was terrible and I kept dropping the call.
So, I just kept driving with no idea where I was, what I’d do next, or where I'd spend the night. Then, I saw a sign. And that sign was for a BLM Visitors Center one mile ahead. I pulled into the parking lot, took a deep breath, and walked in.
I walked around, reading the interpretive displays, and grabbed some brochures about hikes in the area and a map of the National Monument. I wasn’t going to ask for help, just grab what I needed and go. And then out of nowhere, a woman I refer to as the Angel Lady asked me if I needed help. Her energy was calm and caring and exactly what I needed at that moment. I don’t remember exactly how I replied, but it was something along the lines of, “I just need to get away from people.” (It’s okay to laugh now. 😄)
She gave me a wonderful overview of the two-million-acre national monument and even pulled out some super-secret hikes you wouldn’t know about unless you met someone in the know. It was amazing and exactly what I needed after a week of spring break overstimulation.
Farewell tour
“I hope we cross paths again,” I said to the lovely couple I met during my final weekend before my long journey home. I was grateful for a final example of how the outdoors can be an incredible catalyst for human connection with people from different walks of life and at different phases of their journey. It reinforced that no matter how different we are, there’s almost always common ground.
As with all of my travel and adventures, I learned an abundance of lessons on this road trip through the American Southwest. But before I share those with you, would you consider doing something for yourself? Before reading my takeaways, could you hit pause and think about what resonated with you while reading this story? Bonus points if you write it down. I believe this moment of pause will make this time we’re sharing more impactful.
The most important lessons learned on my Southwest road trip
4 – Disconnecting from social media changed my experience
I mentioned this earlier, but as I write this, I’m four months into an entire year without social media. You can learn more about the whys and hows here. I realize that there are good things about social media. For example, finding places to hike and getting recommendations of places to go would have been far easier with social media. But at the same time, I truly enjoyed doing it the old-fashioned way and taking time out of my day to stop in at visitor centers and page through brochures.
There are two specific ways disconnecting from social media improved my experience. First and foremost, it improved the way I connected with people in real life. If I wanted to stay in touch with someone, we exchanged real contact information, not social media handles. More than any other trip, the conversation is still going on with quite a few people. And the fact that I wasn’t hidden away in my truck posting about my adventures made me more available for these priceless face-to-face connections.
The second benefit of traveling without social media can be summed up in this excerpt from a story I wrote about my journey to becoming outdoorsy.
“While I appreciate the friendships and opportunities social media platforms—like Instagram—have provided, I’m grateful it wasn’t around when we started camping. First, there’s a certain kind of magic when you go somewhere you’ve never been and have no idea what it looks like. It always exceeds your expectations.”
I wish I could come up with an adequate way to explain the awe and wonder I experienced in Arizona and Utah. I had zero expectations for what I would see and experience. And that resulted in a childlike delight I haven’t experienced in ages.
Otherworldly rock formations in Utah.
3 – People will surprise you when given the opportunity
Confession time. I can be a little judgmental. I assume part of it is how I’m naturally wired, and part of it is how I learned to survive in this world. But as Jer and I always say, what you love most about people, and what drives you crazy, are often two sides of the same coin. So yeah, I can be a bit of a jerk sometimes. But on the flip side of that, I truly believe that things can get better, and I take steps daily to leave everything and everyone better than I found it. Although I don’t always succeed.
It's easy to look at people and make judgments about who they are and how they live. But if you let that go for a second and get to know the heart that drives those choices, you’ll probably be surprised and delighted. I met many people who, on the surface, are very different than me. But by letting go of my ego’s desire to judge, I made friends with beautiful souls whom I intend to stay in touch with for years to come. Which is the perfect lead-in to my next point.
2 – We have so much to learn from EVERYONE we meet
I made friends with people who had very different backgrounds, education levels, careers, interests, life choices, and experiences. It’s easy for many of us to fall into the trap of thinking that what we believe and the way we live our lives is not just the right choice for us, but for everyone else too. I know this is true for me more often than I like to admit. But by getting to truly know people and what drives them, I was able to understand their why and gained a great deal of respect for how they live with intention. Even if it is very different than how we choose to live our lives.
Of course, I didn’t form deep connections with everyone I met. There were several people I hope I never cross paths with again. Those people, too, left me with important lessons and invited me into a space of self-reflection.
1 – We are more connected than divided
I shared a story in the section titled “Belonging”, in the aforementioned piece I wrote about making friends as an adult. In that story, I noted how neither Jer nor I have ever felt like we truly belong. Not in our families of origin, the school system, the corporate world, or the greater community. I think that was something I was still rumbling with when I wrote that piece. But for better or worse, the first few years of this decade changed that.
Here's the thing. If you and I sat down and dissected everything we believed about wellness, economics, education, spirituality, politics, etc.; I guarantee there would be plenty of areas where we disagree. Even when I zoom in on my closest relationships, there are moments when I secretly cringe at what they’re telling me. And I’m sure they have those same moments with me. But just because I disagree with someone doesn’t mean they’re dead to me. And I usually don’t believe that it’s on me to change their mind. As my mentor Seth Godin once said, “Just about anything worth learning is worth learning the hard way.” And as someone’s wise grandmother surely said, “those convinced against their will are of the same opinion still.”
At the same time, I guarantee that if we had those same conversations and looked at where we were in alignment, we’d find that there are even more areas where we do agree. I imagine that if just twenty percent of us made this a daily practice and shared our stories with others, we’d start to see a cultural shift.
Science and stuff
This story has been brewing for more than three months. I’ve had glimpses of insight, but it never felt complete. I was left searching for something.
Then one morning, an interview with Todd Rose, CEO of the non-partisan think tank Populace, fell into my lap. Populace is dedicated to building a world where all people have the chance to live fulfilling lives in a thriving society. Before that morning, I’d never heard of this developmental psychologist, author, and social entrepreneur. But just minutes into the interview, I knew this was the missing piece.
To try and keep this short, I’ll highlight the most relevant points. If you would like to learn more about the research he’s involved in, you can find that here. And you can learn more about his books here. The following is a summary I extracted from the interview transcript.
Right now, in American society, there's an enormous amount of social pressure to say the right thing. [That’s because] our brains have a conformity bias. We prefer to be with our groups, not against our groups. And that's okay. [Except that] we are absolutely terrible at estimating what our groups think because your brain thinks that the loudest voices repeated the most are the majority.
On Twitter alone, 80% of all content is created by 10% of the users. That 10% isn't remotely representative of the rest of the public. If only 10% of people hold a view but you think it's 80% your brain is like, that's the majority and unless I'm willing to go against my group I'm going to say nothing. The result is a massive Collective Illusion.
The perception is [that there is] this deep polarization in our society. The truth is that in almost every aspect of life that matters most, we have so much in common it's unbelievable. I'm hoping that by people understanding [this] phenomenon, they can stop and say, you know what, there's no point anymore to just blindly going along with what I think everybody thinks [because] I'm probably wrong.
The good news about Collective Illusions is they're disastrous when they're in force but they are fragile because they are lies. History has shown us [that] when we shatter them you unlock social change at a pace and scale that would be unimaginable otherwise. It's We the People that have succumbed to these Illusions and only We the People can shatter them.
We can get somewhere unbelievably remarkable in America in a hurry. And all it takes, as simple as this sounds, is for everyone listening to speak up. In their neighborhoods, with their families, in their churches—respectfully [and] humbly. You might not be right. Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you're right. But you owe it to your fellow citizens to respectfully give your opinion. If you do that, if you take that small act of courage, you will be part of something that history will look back on as ushering in an incredible new era of American prosperity—not just materially but psychologically.
-- Todd Rose
Thank you for taking the time to read this story in its entirety. I hope that it left you feeling more hopeful about our future. Before you move on with your day, I ask that you take a few minutes to think about how you might apply something from this story to your life. Again, you always get bonus points for writing things down, even more points if you take action.