I left Breckenridge on July 3 and headed west without a plan. Iā€™d crashed the night before with my friend Sorrel, at the mountainside condo she was renting full-time. I was on a seat-of-my-pants road trip around Colorado without a place to sleep on the eve of one of the biggest camping holidays of the year. At a highway rest stop in the early afternoon, I sent a hail-mary DM to a college acquaintance named Emily who lived in Crested Butte to see if she was around and would let me crash.

ā€œCome through!!ā€ she responded. ā€œWe can go skiing!ā€

Weā€™d seen each other once or twice since graduation, but we were mostly internet friends who both loved nerding out on skiing, social justice, and reading. Two hours later, I pulled up in front of her house. Emily outfitted me with a cutoff Canadian tuxedo and we set off for Paradise Divide. We bootpacked up a 300-vertical-foot snowfield and made the most of what remained of winterā€™s snowpack. I laughed to myself as slush hit my bare legs with each turn, marveling at how much less interesting my day would have been if Iā€™d just tried to find a dispersed spot to sleep on my own.

I took off for my cousin Julieā€™s house in Salt Lake City, Utah, the next day, exhilarated by connecting the dots across the Westā€”without dropping a penny on lodging. Iā€™d started to travel this way in my early twenties, plotting destinations based on where I had someone to crash with for free.

Itā€™s a natural dirtbag urge to eliminate the cost of lodging from travel. To drive your truck down a Forest Service road and sleep in the back, to nestle under a throw blanket on your friendā€™s couch, to lay your sleeping pad in the dirt on BLM land. In the U.S, a small Air BnB for two adults typically costs $125, according to . On average, a hotel room will run you about , so staying for free can save up to $1000 for a weeklong trip. It can also put an otherwise financially out-of-reach tourist destination on the table. Lindsay, a renewable energy policy director friend of mine based in Rockport, Maine, admits that visiting Tahoe during peak ski season was only possible for her and her family because they house-sat for a friend who was away.

I worked in outdoor education leading trips for four summers, which meant I ended up with connections in exactly the type of places I wanted to go: a friend in Gunnison, Colorado, to crash with when it was a powder day, a place to stay in Jackson, Wyoming, when it was primetime to see wildflowers and float the Snake, folks to visit in Bend, Oregon, when it came time to recertify my Wilderness First Responder and ride bikes.

The savings on lodging are just the beginning. On previous visits to Crested Butte, a friend got me buddy passes at the resort and free slices during his shifts at the pizza place in town. When I crashed on my friend Eddieā€™s couch in Jackson Hole, he punched out my touring boots for free during one of his shifts at the shop. The rich get richer, as they say.

Saving money isnā€™t the only benefit of traveling this way. Crashing with friends may be a frugal way to travel, but having a network of people to stay with is indicative of social wealth. Being connected to folks in expensive mountain townsĀ  can open up the list of accessible destinations, and in turn, grow the network even more. I reconnected with Emily in Crested Butte while visiting my friend Colt who lived there, and when he moved away, I still had a place to crash.

More importantly, when Iā€™m staying with locals, I get to tap into the heart of each place in a way I wouldnā€™t if I came on my ownā€”following friends around the mountain and finding hidden stashes, tagging along to house parties, learning which pullouts along the river have fewer crowds.

For those without an established network of friends in mountain towns, there is , a service that connects budget travelers to a global community of ā€œfriends they havenā€™t met yet,ā€Ā  according to their website. When I was traveling in Argentina in 2013 with my college roommate, we met an American on an overnight bus who put us in touch with two couch surfing hosts in Barilocheā€“where she had just left and where we were headed. A few days later, we huffed it up a winding dirt road to meet JuliĆ”n and Alejandra, who not only let us blow up our sleeping pads on their tile floor, but cooked and played music with us, showed us around the city, and gave us priceless insider trail recommendations. We were supposed to stay for two days, but four days later, we were still there, soaking it all in.

In my mid-twenties, I lived alone in a three-bedroom house on the side of North Table Mountain that had absurdly low rent in Golden, Colorado. It was a thrill to be able to open my doors to others like theyā€™d opened theirs to me. Iā€™d pile friends in sleeping bags on the living room floor after karaoke nights at the dive bar in town, or unfold the futon in the gear room for visitors passing through to ski.

It was big enough that friends began offering it to their friends. My friend Emma was living in a tiny studio and had a friend visiting for a few days to take the Single Pitch Instructor course required to be a rock guideā€“could she possibly stay with me instead?

Iā€™d only met Betsy once, but it seemed like a no-brainer. This had something to do with having the space, and something to do with the way I wanted to be in the world. I wanted to be open to experiences and people and the ways we can mutually support each other. I wanted to leave room for magic.

Over the next few days, Betsy slept on the futon in my gear room, we split meals, and got to connect one-on-one in a way we wouldnā€™t have otherwise. Extended time in a shared space leads to a depth of conversation that just doesnā€™t happen grabbing a beer at a brewery or on a bike ride. She passed her course, hugged me goodbye, and headed back to Jackson. Betsy wasn’t just Emmaā€™s friend now, she was my friend, too.

A while later, my college roommate Natalie called me and asked if her new boyfriend could crash with me on his way back to Temple University, where they were both in med school. I hadnā€™t met Mark, and had just gone through a breakup. I didn’t exactly feel like making conversation with a stranger.

When he pulled up, I summoned everything inside me to get to know someone who mattered to someone who mattered to me. We hung out on my back deck, drank beers, and chatted and laughed for hoursā€”it turned out that having a favorite person in common made it easy for us to get along.

I went to bed that night reminded that I could still laugh, that there were still good people in the world, and that there might be joy and experiences I couldnā€™t possibly predict ahead.

When you live with your arms open to others, you never know when the karma might come back your way. Four years after Betsy slept on my futon, she became an editor at Backcountry Magazine. I got a text from her out of the blue saying, ā€œPitch me some ideas! Weā€™d love to publish your writing.ā€

Five years after Mark stayed with me in Golden, he married Natalie. When I fell trail running and tore my shin open, I FaceTimed Mark, now an ER doctor, from the parking lot to see if he thought I needed stitches.

Crashing with friends turns hard goodbyes with people you love into a glorious network of landing pads all over the world. It converts people youā€™ve never met into people youā€™ve shared coffee and conversation with. It turns the mountain towns of the world into accessible and affordable destinations. It is personal and intimate in a way that hotels and Airbnbs and sleeping alone in your truck are not.

This form of travel may seem best suited to unattached dirtbags in their twenties, but it doesnā€™t have to be confined to that demographic. If youā€™re down to get creative with sleep solutions, you can keep your arms open to visitors and your mind open to visiting others. My 65-year-old dad parked his camper in our driveway when he came through Truckee, California, on a ski trip. I slept in Lindsayā€™s ancient van in her driveway when she was living in a one-bedroom apartment in Boulder with her husband and two-year-old. I stayed with Natatlieā€™s parents after my lodging fell through for her wedding, feeling like the fifth Taylor sister by the end of the weekend. We might all pass through moments of life where itā€™s easier for us to host or be hosted for a variety of reasons. I invite you all to join the church of You Can Always Crash on My Couch, where the belief in karma is strong, and the latchstring is always out.

A year ago, my partner, Andy, and I moved to Anchorage, Alaska. In some ways, it would fundamentally change the way we traveledā€“no longer would we spontaneously crash with folks on a multi-state road trip or have folks crash with us passing through to other destinations in the West. But in Anchorage weā€™d finally upgraded to a guest room with a real bed and a door that closed. The pain of leaving our communities in the West was eased by the knowledge that weā€™d be able to host people on their way to the Alaska Range, that we could lure visitors in with backcountry skiing and wild-picked berry pancakes and conversation around the breakfast table. And weā€™d always be able to go back to the lower 48, to our twinkling constellation of landing pads all over the country.

The post You Can Always Crash on My Couch appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

My partner and I always fight while packing the car for a road trip, especially around the holidays. It brings out the worst in us. Our stress and anxiety turn into arguments about how to organize the trunk, andā€”not kiddingā€”whether he really needs to bring his espresso machine. Help! How can we avoid another packing meltdown this month? ā€”Road Weary

As a minimalist packer, it drives me bonkers when people stuff their car to the ceiling with nonessentials. My mom is a notorious overpacker and lives in constant fear of not having enough snacks when she travels. Because I loathe driving, Iā€™ve just accepted that on even the shortest road trip with her, my knees will be crunched against the dashboard to accommodate gallons of water and a cooler of food jammed behind my seat. (If we ever got caught in a storm, weā€™d survive comfortably for a few days.)

My best friend, Katherine, usually argues with her husband, Carmino, about packing for their annual December road trip from Brooklyn to South Bend, Indiana, to visit his grandmother. Fights ensue because they think they have more room in their Jeep Gladiator than they actually do. ā€œYet every year we still pack it to the brim,ā€ she says.

Carmino is a wanna-be chef, so he insists on traveling with his own kitchen supplies, including a 25-by-25-inch wooden cutting board and numerous pasta-making machines and tools. Additionally, they head out with a Yeti cooler packed with artisanal New York City treats and return with his grandmotherā€™s homemade Polish sausage and pierogies to share with family on the East Coast. ā€œIā€™m talking like 90 pierogis,ā€ Katherine says.

In fairness, Katherine packs her own pillows, and sometimes blankets, for their hotel stays en route to Indiana, which drives him crazy. Getting rest during family holidays is essential, she rationalizes. ā€œAt least I use them all week long, versus one day,ā€ she says.

Why Does Packing for a Holiday Road Trip Feel Particularly Tense?

One of the biggest fights ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų editor Mary Turner ever had with her father was over a casserole dish that she placed in the trunk of the car when he wasn’t looking as they were about to drive to a relative’s house for Thanksgiving. “He discovered it right before he closed the trunk, and all hell broke loose,” she says. “He is super analĀ about what goes where in the car, and I apparently hadn’t followed those rules.”

Vacations, travel, and packing are cognitively stressful, says Sarah Pressman, a professor of psychological science at the University of California at Irvine. ā€œWe have to juggle a lot of mental tasks and questions,ā€ she says. For example: What needs to be packed? Will it fit? What am I forgetting? Will I really need this? Excessive cognitive load, she says ā€œcan be tiring, distracting, and potentially diminish our patience.ā€

Holiday travel especially is a pressure cooker of stress, says Los Angelesā€“based therapist Laurel Robert-Meese. ā€œYouā€™re often trying to get everyone elseā€™s needs met,ā€ she says. ā€œWhen youā€™re rushing out of the house to get to your parentsā€™ or in-lawsā€™, and know you might be out of your routine for a few days, stress is heightened.ā€

A huge trigger of travel stress is unrealistically high expectations, says Pressman. ā€œWe want everything to be absolutely perfect during the holidays or on a major vacation,ā€ she says. ā€œWhen our expectations arenā€™t metā€”for example, in a chaotic packing situationā€”itā€™s easy to be disappointed and lash out at whoever is around us.ā€

To diffuse the situation, ask yourself whatā€™s more important: that the car is packed a certain way or that you get to your destination safely and relatively on time, says Robert-Meese. ā€œAnd do you want to be right, or do you want to stay married?ā€ When someone throws a tantrum about a backpack being on top of the suitcase, or between suitcases, that typically represents something bigger, she says. ā€œIf someone is anxious about somethingā€”like seeing their parentsā€”that may manifest in criticizing something trivial, like where the suitcase was placed.ā€

Does Car Size Matter?

My friend Carly and her husband, Ross, live in Boulder, Colorado, and love road-tripping with their two girls, but they hate the Tetris of configuring everything just right into their vehicle. In 2017, they purchased a bare-bones but roomy Sprinter cargo van that they refer to as their mobile garage. But they quickly learned that when you have a bigger vehicle, you want to pack your entire house, including the espresso machine, a giant cooler that contains the contents of their fridge, a case of wine, plus all of their familyā€™s adventure gear. ā€œPretending we have a Subaru instead of a Sprinter might help with quantity control,ā€ she admits.

Tiny cars in Europe are a personal affront to many Americans used to SUVs. Yet when my friends and I go on ski trips to the Continent, my frugal friend Michael, who lives in New York City, inevitably always rents the smallest car. We manage to make it work after what Michaelā€™s wife, Meredith, calls ā€œthe great packing saga.ā€

Meredith is a pro when it comes to packing any size car. ā€œThe biggest or most angular or geometric piecesā€”like skisā€”go in first,ā€ she says. ā€œAnything that fits neatly in the corners of the trunk. Then itā€™s Jenga with smaller bags or soft bags. And finally, you plug every crack and crevice with small bags, extra coats or sweatshirts, or sneakers.ā€ Her personal bag, usually teeming with snacks and extra clothes, stays up front within easy reach.

Who Should Get the Final Say?

Delegating one person to pack the carā€”and being responsible for knowing where everything isā€”can reduce stress, says Pressman. ā€œSometimes one person has a special skill of optimizing the available space. So let them be the one to make those decisions instead of randomly throwing things in or fighting over what goes where,ā€ she says.

If one of your travel partners is super organized and wants to decide what goes where in the car, let them, says Pressman. Decide what your priority is. ā€œPick your battles to maximize happiness, and figure out who should be in charge based on personal strengths and preferences,ā€ she says.

Michelle and Andy Gilbert of Point Pleasant, New Jersey, are a perfect example. Michelle says she always forgets to pack all kinds of stuff: ā€œWe’ve had to stop for bras, toothbrushes, hair products, underwearā€¦. You name it, I’ve forgotten it.ā€ Her husband, on the other hand, is a meticulous packer; he makes a checklist on his phone and ticks things off as he packs.

ā€œWe are very different people,ā€ she says. ā€œHe laughs at me but never gives me a hard time. Itā€™s an unspoken rule that he’s in charge of any important documents, as well as packing the trunk or back of the car, especially if we have a lot to bring. I’m in charge of the front area of the car snacks, blankets, the fun stuff.ā€

If you anticipate going head-to-head about one specific travel issue, set some rules beforehand. For example, maybe the driver gets to decide what feels safest for their comfort in terms of car organization, but the passengers can take control over what goes in the back seat. What’s most important is establishing clear lines of communication and talking through individual priorities before packing and loading begins, says Pressman. Consider compromises, and work together to create a plan that will make everyone happy.

Kelli Miller, author of , suggests using a sliding scale between one and ten to determine who is more emotionally invested. ā€œIf youā€™re a seven when it comes to organization and your partner is a two, you take the lead,ā€ she says. Miller agrees that clear, constant communication is key.

How to Make Packing the Car Less Stressful

Plan Ahead

When we procrastinate, and then feel like we don’t have time to do what we need, that activates our stress response, says Pressman. ā€œThis heightens negative emotions and makes us more irritable and reactive,ā€ she says.

Carly says her familyā€™s packing history confirms this. If itā€™s done at the last minute on the day of a trip, it always results in tears, the silent treatment, and, inevitably, leaving an hour later than intended.

Miller recommends starting to pack at least three days ahead, to give yourself time to shop for necessities, decide who is responsible for what, and determine what nonnegotiable items have to make it into the car.

Assign Roles

When people have specific responsibilities, things feel more controlled and communication is high, says Pressman. ā€œMy husband and I typically make a shared Google Docs packing list of what we need and who is packing what,ā€ she says. ā€œThis reduces surprises and conflicts over forgotten items. I often find myself asking him the day before, ā€˜What am I forgetting?ā€™ And nine times out of ten he’ll remember something I forgot.ā€

But Make It a Team Effort

Carly tries to make packing a family affair. ā€œI recently discovered that I can give my eight- and ten-year-old daughters a packing list and put them in charge of their own bags,ā€ she says. ā€œThis relieves some stress, as Iā€™ve outlined what they need, and they are expected to execute. If they forget something, itā€™s on them.ā€

Everyone also helps haul bags and gear from the house to the van, and then her husband loads it.

Take a Breath and Laugh

If youā€™re fighting about how to pack the car, don’t feel like you have to push through while panicking, says Pressman. ā€œNegative emotions focus our attention and make it harder to find creative solutions to problems,ā€ she says. ā€œTake a breath, take a five-minute break, and talk about the good things that will happen on your trip. Even a quick knock-knock joke can do wonders to diffuse the tension and help you get back to the grind in a more helpful mood.ā€

One of her favorite jokes: Why did the tire get invited to all the road trips? Because it always knew how to roll with it!

Jen Murphy is the travel-advice columnist for ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online. She grew up in New Jersey, the only state where itā€™s still illegal to pump your own gas. Sheā€™ll cope with a messily packed car as long as she doesnā€™t have to fill the tank.Ģż

The post Use This Smart Advice to Avoid Fights When Packing a Car for a Road Trip appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

I think of my old car sometimes when I drive by the Walmart Supercenter. The parking lot there was essentially the launch point of my first real long-distance road trip as an adult, spanning ten days and eight states in the late spring of 2004. We drove my 1996 Pontiac Grand Am GT, a car that my friend Nick announced had taught him that he would “never buy a two-door car.”

I didnā€™t keep a journal of the trip, but I believe Nick said that while standing in the Watchman Campground in Zion National Park, on maybe our eighth day of wrangling gear in and out of the car’s back seats. We couldnā€™t use the trunk because it was full of everything I could justify bringing from my grad school apartment in Missoula, Montana, to our terminus in Scottsdale, Arizona, where I was moving in with my then-girlfriend. We tried to keep what we needed in the backseat, and of course to access anything in the backseat, you had to fold the front seat down, lean in, and bend around the corner.

I believe this type of two-door design was, and maybe still is, referred to as a ā€œcoupe,ā€ a word that is almost never paired with the word ā€œadventure,ā€ which is what we were trying to use the Grand Am for, and certainly not the word ā€œdirtbag,ā€ which is the type of adventure we were trying to have.

We left Missoula about 10 days before Memorial Day. Nick bussed in via a Greyhound from somewhere in Iowa, an 18-hour ride heā€™d probably never do again.Ģż So a car, any car, a space heā€™d only have to share with one person, probably felt like an improvement.

I had gotten the car through my college roommate Chris, whose brother, Andy, had bought it at an auction, repaired the one thing that was wrong with it (someone had tried to steal the passenger-side airbag), and then sold it to me. There were a few reasons why it was not the ideal road trip car, some of which were my fault.

I had packed the trunk almost full by the time Nick added his stuff, and then attached a trunk-mount Yakima bike rack to haul an old Schwinn mountain bike all the way to Arizona, so if either of us wanted anything in the trunk, we had to remove the bike, pull off the bike rack, and then open the trunk. The bike and the rack, of course, fell off the back of the car multiple times on bumpy mountain roads, first on our way up and down to the Mt. Pilchuk trailhead outside of Seattle. The summit was in a cloud when we arrived at the end of our short, steep hike.

People sleep in all kinds of adventure vehiclesā€”old vans, new Sprinter vans, RVs, trucks with toppers, trucks with campers, station wagons, even in sedans in which the back seats fold down. The Grand Amā€™s seats did not fold down. And we couldnā€™t recline the front seats very far on account of all our stuff in the backseat. Still, we slept in the car twice, because we were young and durable, and had no other options, once next to the ocean somewhere near Aberdeen, Washington, and once near Barstow, California, where weā€™d driven after hiking up Half Dome and being unable to find a campsite anywhere near the park.

We camped almost all the other nights, except for a couple nights we spent on friendsā€™ floors in Seattle and Bend. The trunk light somehow melted a hole in Nickā€™s Therm-a-Rest on the second-to-last day of the trip, so he slept rather uncomfortably on our last night in Mexican Hat, Utah. Weā€™d walked into the ranger station at Natural Bridges National Monument late that afternoon and asked about campsites, and in an I-swear-this-actually-happened exchange that Iā€™ve written about elsewhereā€”itā€™s so dumb it sounds like I made it upā€”the ranger said, ā€œYou guys donā€™t want to camp here. Youā€™ll be done with this park in an hour. Tell you what: Are you intense?ā€

I looked at Nick, kind of shrugged, and nodded. We were young, fairly fit, and maybe looked pretty intense, I guess. The ranger went on to tell us to head south to Valley of the Gods, the entirety of which was BLM land, and we could just pull off the road and camp anywhere we found a spot. We thanked him for the advice and left, and I was unlocking the car door in the parking lot by the time I realized what heā€™d actually said. Over the roof of the car, I said to Nick,

ā€œOh, he meant ā€˜in tents,ā€™ like are we camping in tents or do we have an RV.ā€

ā€œYeah,ā€ Nick said, not understanding my confusion.

The low clearance of the Grand Am meant we didnā€™t get too far into Valley of the Gods before we chickened out and drove back to the paved highway, and spent the night in a paid campground behind a lodge in Mexican Hat. It was not that intense. The next day we drove through Monument Valley, checked out the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, and gave the car a well-earned rest in a visitor parking spot at my girlfriendā€™s apartment complex in Scottsdale, after the biggest adventure it would ever go on.

To be fair, I had not bought the car under any pretense of it being a ā€œroad trip vehicleā€ or ā€œadventure vehicle.ā€ I bought it because it was a pretty good deal, from a trusted friend, and I was not very picky about cars. And I didnā€™t treat it that wellā€”I bought it in 1999, if memory serves, and I have been sober since March 2002, but the period of time between was a bit rough on the car. The inoperable driverā€™s-side window was my fault (rolling it down when it was iced over), as was whatever went wrong with the front right wheel (hit a curb at high velocity). The windshield had been shattered once (a friend tried to jump over the car as we were leaving a party; I eventually got it repaired), and the trunk-mount CD player had been smashed by a full beer keg that rolled into it (on the drive back to our party).

Still, it was what I had, and entering the job market in 2004 with a graduate degree in journalism, I wasnā€™t exactly ready for a down payment on a new BMW. Or any car, really. I worked for a year in the Phoenix area, and then moved to Denver, where the Grand Am was even less useful, because, you know, snow.

Luckily, Nick, who lived in Denver, had bought a 2004 Toyota Tacoma, and was willing to drive to Summit County ski resorts in the winter and mountain trailheads all summer. One winter day, though, I drove up to Rocky Mountain National Park to snowshoe, and met a guy my age who also happened to be from the Midwest. We chatted all the way back to the parking lot, and when I stopped behind the Grand Am, he asked, ā€œIs this your car?ā€

I said, ā€œYeah. Itā€™s kind of a Midwest car.ā€

He said, ā€œItā€™s kind of a meth car.ā€

I wasnā€™t about to defend the Grand Amā€™s honor. I mean, its overall aesthetic didnā€™t exactly scream ā€œNOT a meth car,ā€ but it also had never really let me down, at least not in a big way. And although we never drove my car to a trailhead if there was any sort of questionable dirt road involved, I thought of the day the previous summer that we had taken Nickā€™s Tacoma to climb Grays and Torreys peaks. The road to the trailhead was rough with bumps, holes, and big exposed rocks, and I was glad Nick had volunteered to drive his truck.

But then, about a half-mile from the trailhead, the Jeep in front of us slowed, and in front of the Jeep was someone in a Honda Civic negotiating a very tricky-for-a-sedan spot in the road, backing up, re-orienting, pulling forward, backing up again, and then sending it, with nary a scrape. The Civic made it to the trailhead just fine. I lived in Colorado off and on for 15 years, and I learned that whenever you think that a Forest Service road is impassable by anyone without high clearance and 4-wheel-drive, youā€™ll always see that someone made it up to the parking area in a goddamn Honda Civic.

The Grand Am survived our 10-day, eight-state road trip, and saw its share of national parks and quite a few Forest Service roads, but it was never my first choice if anyone else was willing to drive their vehicle for a day of hiking or skiing. One night in February 2006, I was cruising up Josephine Street in Denver with my then-girlfriend, and a guy floored it from a stop sign on 5th Avenue, not seeing us until his car bulldozed into the front passenger side of the Grand Am at full speed. We rammed into a light pole on the street corner, hard enough to bend it, but not hard enough to knock it over. Just after we came to a stop, I looked over to my girlfriend and asked, ā€œAre you OK?ā€ She answered yes, she thought she was OK. A few seconds later, I quietly but excitedly said, ā€œI think the carā€™s totaled.ā€ The carā€™s destruction, of course, being the only way I would be able to replace it, with my $25,000/year salary at the newspaper. As soon as the insurance money came, I found an all-wheel-drive 1996 Subaru Impreza Outback on Craigslist. I figured it could take me anywhere I wanted to go, and it did.

The Grand Am was a bad fit for the lifestyle I wanted at the timeā€”I was chomping at the bit to see the world, and the world I wanted to see didnā€™t have smooth roads leading to it. It was a piece of gear that didnā€™t work that well. But when I was first starting out, none of the stuff I had was very goodā€”cotton pants, clunky hiking boots, bargain backpacks that didnā€™t fit, a heavy sleeping bag, the cheapest climbing shoes I could find, thrift-store snowboard pants.

Would some better gear have been nice? Sure. But Iā€™m glad I didnā€™t let it keep me from getting out there.

The post An Ode to the Worst ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Carā€”and All the Places It Took Me appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Camping in 120 degree heat can be deadly. But can it also be beautiful? What started as a larkā€”a road trip in search of very, very hot weatherā€”became an exercise in humility for writer Leath Tonino and his buddy Sean when they spent a night out in the desert. Their mission was to find the hottest patch of sand they could drive to, camp out, and survive. But as the mercury climbed and the sun obliterated their minds, their Mad Max adventure started to look more and more like a window into something amazingā€”and terrifying.

The post A Holiday in Hell appeared first on ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Online.

Colorado is home to four seasons of vast wonders, with its mountain views, wide-open spaces, and opportunities to connect with the land. Itā€™s no surprise the state attracts hikers, mountain bikers, skiers, and road-trippers from around the world. But Coloradoā€™s beauty is on full display in fall, when the landscape transitions into a golden masterpieceā€”a dream for any outdoor enthusiast. To fully capture the magic of , we talked to three members of the , an inclusive community dedicated to mountaincraft education, adventure, and conservation.

Road Trips

Fall road trips are an excellent way to explore Coloradoā€™s diverse landscapes. The best person to ask about the stateā€™s is Matt Enquist. As the author of Coloradoā€™s Best Hikes for Fall Colors, Enquist has driven all over the state in search of the best destinations to see the changing leaves. He lives in a hiking, skiing, and climbing havenā€”the San Luis Valley, in south-central Colorado. The area is home to Great Sand Dunes National Park and Preserve and the impressive Sangre de Cristo Range.

ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų: Colorado is packed with beautiful driving routes. What do you love most about fall road-tripping in Colorado?Ā 

Matt Enquist: I love the fresh, cool air and the hunt for the perfect campsite. Thereā€™s no time to be outside like in the fall. The beauty of the changing leaves, the perfect weather, and the opportunity to get outside before a long winter truly make fall the best time of year.

Out of all the fall road trips youā€™ve been on in Colorado, which one is the most memorable?Ā 

When I was writing my book, my research took me all over the southwestern part of the state. The drive from up to along the famed , through , and down into via was truly incredible. The route has jaw-dropping color at every turn, prominent peaks, and some of the best camping Iā€™ve found. Ouray is full of hot-spring pit stops, Ridgway has great food, and Last Dollar Road is an adventure in and of itself. The dispersed camping overlooking Wilson Peak and its sea of yellow, red, and orange aspen leaves is world class.

Mountain Biking

The cool fall days in Colorado are perfect for mountain biking. And Riley Hanlon knows the stateā€™s mountain biking trails well as a Colorado Mountain Club member and a freelance filmmaker based in . Home to miles and miles of glorious mountain biking areas, including North Table Mountain and White Ranch Park, Hanlon loves spending time riding with family near the Front Range and beyond.

Thereā€™s nothing quite like biking through colorful aspens in the crisp autumn air. Can you describe your perfect fall ride in Colorado?

Riley Hanlon: Itā€™s finally time for layers and warm drinks! After the heat of summer, I get so excited for brisk fall mornings. I enjoy having cozy layers and hot coffee for the drive to wherever Iā€™m riding and getting to start with some layers on for the ride, shedding them as I go without ever getting too hot. My perfect fall ride in Colorado also includes finding the best spots to fly through golden aspens!

If you could only recommend one Colorado mountain biking destination to someone planning a fall visit, what would it be and why?

People staying in the Rocky Mountain Front Rangeā€”from to ā€”tend to focus on getting out to or other far-out destinations, but I personally love . You can get some lift assist at if thatā€™s your thing. Or get laps on the trail systems off Vasquez Creek for some easy-access rock rolls and great flow through aspen groves. And afterward you get to stroll through the village or get a beetroot latte from (my favorite!). Itā€™s an enjoyable day trip from the Front Range or a good first or last stop on a camping trip out in the mountains.

Hiking

When it comes to finding scenic fall hiking trails in Colorado, Urszula Tyl knows exactly where to go. As a trip leader for Colorado Mountain Club, Tyl spends a lot of time safely guiding hikers into beautiful areas. She also enjoys exploring new trails and backpacking in Coloradoā€™s pristine wilderness. Her vibrant energy and zest for getting people together outside made her the perfect person to ask about fall hiking in the state.

Colorado is a well-known hiking destination with a seemingly endless selection of trails to explore. Why is the stateā€™s fall hiking unlike anywhere else?

Urszula Tyl: There are many reasons I look forward to fall hiking in Colorado. Fall brings pleasant temperatures, making it a perfect time to enjoy a hike. As summer ends, so does the monsoon season, which brings less risk of afternoon storms and more time on the trail.

Colorado also has spectacular fall foliage. The aspens all around the state begin to change color and create a beautiful contrast against the green pine forests and mountain landscapes. You donā€™t have to go far to get a glimpse of fall color. However, many areas across the state, such as , are especially breathtaking to see. If you visit RMNP in fall, you might hear elk bugling, too.

There are a variety of ways to experience the magic of fall in the state. Whether youā€™re looking for a multiday adventure, a morning hike in the mountains, or a cool evening stroll along the river, the options to get out and explore around the state are seemingly endless. There are trails for everyone in Colorado, including accessible trails in .

To experience the magic of Colorado trails in the fall, what area do you recommend visitors explore and why?

For a truly magical fall hiking experience in Colorado, I recommend exploring the in . This trail offers a fantastic opportunity to witness the vibrant fall colors of the aspens among the rugged mountain peaks and pine trees.

The 3.1-mile Raccoon Trail is easily accessible to anyone staying in the Front Range and provides beautiful panoramic views throughout the hike. As you meander through the colorful foliage, youā€™ll find serene spots that capture the essence of fall in Colorado.

After your hike, unwind in nearby Golden, where there are plenty of food options available. One of my favorites is the , a food hall with a diverse range of dining options, plus beer, cocktails, and wine on tap. Enjoy a variety of foods, from Mexican to sushi, and take advantage of the rooftop with views overlooking Clear Creek.

Colorado is a four-season destination offering unparalleled adventure and recreational pursuits, a thriving arts scene, a rich cultural heritage, flavorful cuisine, and 28 renowned ski areas and resorts. The stateā€™s breathtaking scenic landscape boasts natural hot springs, the headwaters of seven major rivers, many peaceful lakes and reservoirs, 12 national parks and monuments, 26 scenic and historic byways, and 58 mountain peaks that top 14,000 feet. For more information or a copy of the Colorado Official State Vacation Guide, visit or call 1-800-COLORADO. Follow Colorado on , , , and .

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Iā€™ve tried just about every type of camper there is over the years. In addition to testing for ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų, Iā€™ve personally owned a teardrop, a Casita travel trailer, two shell-style truck campers, an Airstream, and even my own homemade slide-in truck camper (yes, I have a rig problem). And yet, while weā€™ve been willing to try pretty much every other setup on the market, my wife Sarah and I have always stuck to a single hard guideline: No vans.

We have never been van people. Sarah and I both find most of them too loud, awful to drive in the wind, not very capable off pavement, and, most importantly, prohibitively expensive. So, you can imagine my surprise earlier this year when Sarah looked me in the eye and said she wanted to take a van on an upcoming cross-country trip.

Actually, surprise might be an understatement. We have a perfectly good Tundra clad with a sitting in the driveway, next to a 2005 Airstream Bambi weā€™ve been remodeling over the last few years. What could a van do that our campers couldnā€™t?

A lot, it turns out. But first, some background on the trip. This spring, I was deep in the final planning stages of a 2,700-mile bikepacking trip along the Great Divide Mountain Bike Route. My plan was to leave Antelope Wells, New Mexico, on June 1 and arrive in Banff, Alberta, sometime around July 15th. Sarahā€™s not a cyclist but she wanted to join for part of the trip. The plan was for her to meet me along the route somewhere in Montana and be the sag wagon for the last two weeks of the ride, after which weā€™d road trip home together.

She thought the trailer would be too cumbersome for some of the roads weā€™d be driving and a pain to maneuver through cities. Plus, understandably, she didnā€™t want to pull the thing by herself. The Tundra/Tune combo, while a perfect rig for off-road adventures and shorter trips, isnā€™t enormously spaciousā€”or easy to work remotely from. Sarah also brought up something up I had never had to consider as a white male: a van would offer her more security as a solo female traveler since she wouldnā€™t have to get out of the vehicle, or pop anything down to leave if she felt uncomfortable somewhere.

So, I reluctantly set about looking for a van to try. Though, deep down, I was also a little excited (I do love a new rig, even if I never pictured myself giving #vanlife a try).

At this point, Iā€™d been following for several years. The Colorado Springs-based brand originally offered interior kits for DIY builders, and have since switched to doing conversions themselves. In a world of $250,000, ostentatious Sprinter van builds, the idea of a high-quality camper conversion that sounded almost too good to be true. Only one way to find out: I called them up and asked about testing one of their vans. We ended up choosing a slightly more kitted out, $24,500 build dubbed “.” Here’s how it went.

Wayfarer Vans Walt Build: Review

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How Wayfarer Works

Unlike custom van builders, which will do just about anything to any van, Wayfarer keeps costs down by only of Ram ProMasters and Ford Transits. You can bring them a new or used ProMaster or Transit, so long as itā€™s a 2014 or newer. These vans cost less than Mercedes Sprintersā€”and typically have lower maintenance costs. Itā€™s usually a lot easier to find a Ford or Ram dealer for service.

Wayfarer offer four buildsā€”dubbed the Walt, Walter, Wilma, and Wilfordā€”which each correspond to the different van models, as well as a couple layout options within each build. But perhaps the biggest perk of going with Wayfarer is the time a conversion takes. Since they stick to a set number of models and floor plans, they have all their materials on hand and their builds dialed. That means they can convert a van in just a couple of days. To put that into perspective, a lot of van builders take weeks to complete a conversion. Iā€™ve even had friends wait for more than six months for a build on a new van.

The Build

The demo van we tried was a , which is based on a 159ā€ wheelbase, high-roof Ram ProMaster 2500. The buildout consisted of a galley cabinet with a sink and flip-up counter space, seating for three, a bed in the back, boot boxes, and overhead storage cabinets and compartments. For the furniture, Wayfarer uses UV-treated, 9-core baltic birch thatā€™s water- and scratch-resistant, while the walls, ceiling, trim, and cabinet doors are composed of laminated composite materials.

Soft panels cover any other exposed surfaces, like the wheel wells. Wayfarer insulates each van with 100-percent wool batting, and includes sound-deadening insulation in the subfloor. All that insulation, along with smart touches like the soft panels over the wheel wells, gravity hinges, and more, contributed to a very quiet cabin and pleasant driving experience.

There were also LED lights in the ceiling and an insulated partition (which you can easily roll up and store out of the way) to separate the living space from the cab. Magnetic window coverings for rear windows are also included in the $24,500 base price. Our demo van had some bonus features, like a Propex heater, extra storage cabinets, and for the doors. (Wayfarer will add any of these to your own build for an additional fee.)

The Test

Sarah picked up our van at Wayfarer HQ in Colorado Springs and spent a few days road tripping through Wyoming and Montana, and finally met me outside of Lima, MT. By the time she caught me, she was already smitten with the van. The lower exterior height of the ProMaster and driver’s seatā€”which sits higher than that of a Sprinter or Transit, and offers a better view of the roadā€”had proven to be far more comfortable for her, and the van seemed significantly less affected by wind gusts on the highway than the other vans weā€™ve driven. It was also much quieter than previous vans weā€™d tested, presumably due to the lower roof height of the ProMaster and the amount of insulation Wayfarer uses to deaden road noise. And, thanks to the quality of the interior build, there was no noticeable rattle from cabinet doors or fasteners.

Weā€™d most recently tested a 144-inch wheelbase, high-roof Sprinter equipped with an interior build from , which takes a different approach to interiors. ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Wagon opts to keep things modular with a lot of aluminum components. While we liked that vanā€™s minimalist build, we found the interior was so loud you could barely hold a conversation at highway speeds, and we felt the Sprinterā€™s ā€œCrosswind Assistā€ feature was overly intrusiveā€”and even a bit scary. Obviously thereā€™s a lot that goes into making a vanā€™s interior quiet, including the dimensional differences of the Sprinter and ProMaster (a high-roof ProMaster sits almost 10 inches shorter than a high-roof, AWD Sprinter, for instance), but clearly Wayfarer has figured out some secret sauce to keeping their interiors quiet, too.

After spending more than a month living out of a one-person tent, I felt like a king once Sarah arrivedā€”despite the fact that Walt isnā€™t the fanciest van Iā€™ve spent time in. Compared to something like a Winnebago Revel, ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Van, or Storyteller Overland Build, itā€™s much more utilitarianā€”but I actually appreciate that. The modern interior design is simple but beautiful, the cabinets and furniture feel extremely well built, and it doesnā€™t feel so fancy that you feel bad about tracking dirt and messy gear inside. It feels like it was made to be used as an adventure rig, not a showpiece.

 

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The longer we spent living in the van, the more we both grew to really appreciate Wayfarerā€™s simple approach to the build. In lieu of a complex, expensive electrical system, they power the camperā€™s lights, fans and fridge with a that charges via the vanā€™s alternator and two solar panels on top. Instead of a traditional plumbing system with pipes to freeze and a water pump to break, two five-gallon water containers (one for fresh, one for gray water) sit under the sink. To get the sink flowing, you simply work a small hand pump. That saves waterā€”and means you never have to winterize anything since you just pull out the jugs or empty them when it gets cold. Thereā€™s no shower or bathroom, but there is space for a portable composting toilet. We just brought along our and rinsed off outside.

Downsides? Truthfully, I couldnā€™t find many. It was never really cold enough for us to use the Propex heater, but I could see some people preferring a gasoline-powered heater like a or that could be plumbed directly to the vanā€™s gas tank, eliminating the need for an additional fuel source. Iā€™ve had good luck with Propex heaters in other rigs, though. Also, at six foot one, the vanā€™s bed in the ā€œregularā€ layout we had was too short for my six-foot-four frame. Thereā€™s an option for a ā€œlongā€ layout, but you lose some seating to accommodate the longer bed, which is a bummer.

Top Takeaways

The vanā€™s simplicity reminded us that a lot of rigs, including our Airstream, are overly complex, and filled with ā€œluxuriesā€ that, while seemingly nice, just tend to break and become one more barrier to getting out and enjoying a trip. For instance, while our Airstream has an oven with a built-in stove, a propane-powered fridge and a shower inside, weā€™ve had our propane system leak and our water pipes freeze up. The trailer, and a lot of rigs, also have complicated power systems with wiring diagrams that you need to be an electrician to understand, let alone fix if something goes out. We had zero issues with any of the components in the Walt during our time in it, and I canā€™t really imagine having any given that thereā€™s not much to fail or maintain.

We also found the ProMaster to be plenty capable, and we put the Wayfinder build to the test on some seriously sketchy roads. Once, Sarah was forced to spend several hours driving a dirt ā€œroadā€ near Glacier National Park that turned into a rough two-track and then a shelf road over a mountain pass. It was slow going, but she made it, and the interior stayed rattle-free. Weā€™ve taken more expensive campers down lesser roads and had cabinets fall off of walls, refrigerator doors break, and more, which is a testament to Wayfarerā€™s build quality.

I think the thing I appreciated most about the van and Wayfarer in general is the value proposition. Iā€™ve always been drawn to value-oriented rigs to review because I think thatā€™s what most folks can afford. Besides, nobody needs a $250,000 Sprinter, EarthRoamer, or other crazy expedition rig. With builds starting at $21,200 (or $24,500 for the Walt model we tried), and some ProMaster models starting around $50,000, you could realistically get into a brand-new camper van for under $75,000, which is almost unheard of these days. Bring Wayfarer a used van, and you can cut that cost down even more.

To be completely honest, I wasnā€™t expecting us to like the van as much as we did. I sort of assumed it would work for the trip, but weā€™d return the van and quickly forget about it. I couldnā€™t have been more wrong. Since we got back, we keep finding ourselves wishing we still had Walt. Weā€™ve even passed on a few last-minute trips because they sounded like too much work without a van, or we decided they would burn too much gas in the truck (we averaged about 20 mpg in the ProMaster, versus about 13 in my Tundra).

Weā€™re so smitten, in fact, that we will be buying a van of our own, and bringing it to Wayfarer for a Walt conversion later this year. If that doesnā€™t tell you what I thought of the Wayfarer Vans Walt, I donā€™t know what will.

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Nothing beats a good old-fashioned road trip. Except maybe a good old-fashioned road trip thatā€™s FREE! Rambler Sparkling Water wants to set up one lucky ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų reader with everything they need for the ultimate glamping road trip. Lodging, car camping gear, gas money, and a nearly endless supply of Rambler to make time on the road even betterā€”itā€™s all included in the grand prize package. Check out the details below and enter for a chance to win. Follow for bonus entries.

Rambler Sparkling Water Road Trip Giveaway Prize Package:

• A yearā€™s supply of Rambler Sparkling Water (16 cases of 24 cans)
• $1,500 gift certificate for a glamping stay
• $500 gift card to document the memories
• $1,000 gift card for camping and road-trip supplies
• $1,000 gift card for car camping gear
• $1,000 prepaid Visa eGift card for all the extras

Ramblerā€™s signature Limestone Mineral Blend and crisp carbonation create a unique flavor profile enhanced with electrolytes for a premium sparkling water without the sodium. Rambler is sustainably sourced, non-GMO, is made in the USA and proudly supports American Rivers. Learn more about the minerals at .

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Sometimes, the journey really is the destination. Thatā€™s definitely the case with a good, old-fashioned road trip. The freedom of the road is the whole point. You can go anywhere, stop anywhere you want, and travel at your own pace. Schedules are loose, and wrong turns are just reroutes to something new and exciting. But even the chillest road trippers know that planning and preparation make every trip a smoother ride. ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų tapped expert travelers for their advice. These road-trip pros have zigged and zagged all over the United States in search of adventure and family-friendly camping spots. Use these tips to make sure your next road trip is your best yet.

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Some places are made for road trips. With its big skies, wide open spaces, and welcoming small towns with a uniquely-Montana vibe, Eastern Montana is one of those places. Travel east on U.S. Route 2 and U.S. Route 12 and enter a world of prairies and badlands where the road meanders like a river and the locals are as colorful as the landscapes. Here you can roam as far and wide as you can dream. Where to start? We mapped out eight adventure-filled itineraries that cover the best recreation, wildlife, and historical experiences across the region. Click the link below to see step-by-step itineraries, plus videos, photos, and more.

Traveling through Montana isn’t just about hitting points on a map; it’s about stopping for stories waiting to be told. Montana brings out something unique in all of us, something you can almost touch, even if you canā€™t perfectly describe it. In Montana, itā€™s less about where youā€™re going and more about the experience of getting there.

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Nothing says adventure quite like a road trip. You know the feeling: your vehicle is loaded with gear, and you have your favorite co-pilot, playlists, snacks, and drinks. Finally, itā€™s time to punch your destination into the GPS and hit the road. The only thing you might not be looking forward to? Gas stations with nothing but junk food and dirty restrooms. Fortunately, thereā€™s an alternative. If youā€™re driving through the Midwest or West, you can find a or along the way for fuel, clean restrooms, fresh coffee, and hot food. But thatā€™s not all. Maverik and Kum & Go offer a next-level convenience store experience that makes it part of the adventureā€”something to look forward to. Whatā€™s that experience like? We tapped a road-trip lover on the Maverik and Kum & Go team to break it down for us.

ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų: What makes Maverik and Kum & Go the ultimate stop on the road to adventure?

I travel a lot, and being on the road you realize how much it affects your mood and energy to have quality fuel and food stops. Whether Iā€™m exploring national parks in Utah, Colorado, or Washington or road-tripping across rural parts of Iowa, Missouri, or Michigan, I can always count on Maverik and Kum & Go to have safe and inviting storefronts, clean bathrooms, friendly staff, my favorite snacks, and freshly prepared food.

Plus, the locations are all over. Maverik and Kum & Go convenience stores are located along popular travel routes from the Midwest to the West Coast, making them an easy choice for anyone seeking a delicious hearty meal, fuel savings, and more. The two brands came together in 2023, expanding their footprint to fuel adventure for customers in more than 800 locations across 20 states and growing.

Every fun road trip includes crave-worthy snacks and drinks. What food and beverage options can travelers find at Maverik and Kum & Go?

Maverik and Kum & Go both offer a wide variety of affordable food choices that pair well with adventure. All of the hot food is made fresh at every store, every day. And with breakfast and lunch burritos, pepperoni pizzas, sweets, and other quick bites, the selection includes something for any craving.

When Iā€™m on the road and want a hearty meal, the M.O.A.B ā€œMother of All Burritosā€ is my go-to. Itā€™s stuffed with Black Forest ham, applewood smoked bacon, Maverikā€™s own country sausage, scrambled eggs, tater tots, and a natural three-cheese blend. But sometimes I go for a Green Chile and Sausage Burrito, featuring Kum & Goā€™s signature green chile queso. Itā€™s nice to know I have filling and flavorful options to keep me fueled and ready for even the most challenging adventures. If I need to satisfy my sweet tooth, I can count on mouthwatering pastries and stuffed cookies. My favorite is the iconic Macachocochicoconut cookie.

As a coffee drinker, I love the Bean to Cup coffee machines, which prepare every brew at peak freshness, no matter the time of day. But if Iā€™m craving something fizzy instead, the fountain drink stations offer nearly endless combinations of soda flavors, syrups, add-ins, and ice types. The fridges are always stocked with an impressive selection of energy drinks and bottled beverages, which expands my options even further.

How can travelers save at Maverik and Kum & Go during their road trips?

Definitely join the rewards program! Maverikā€™s ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Club and Kum & Goā€™s &Rewards treat members to savings on food and every gallon of fuel, plus discounts on drinks and snacks inside the store. Both programs feature an easy-to-use app where members can access exclusive deals, fuel discounts, freebies, punch cards, and more. And on a long road trip, those savings add up fast.

Save on Your Next Road Trip

Download the Maverik Rewards and Kum & Go apps to register and begin fueling your adventures with exclusive benefits today. To upgrade to Maverikā€™s Nitro card, which gets you even more perks, pick up your free physical Nitro card in store and link it to an existing ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Club account.

Why is the Maverik and Kum & Go experience unforgettable?

Maverik and Kum & Go are more than just convenience storesā€”theyā€™re destinations that enhance the travel experience, catering to the needs of adventurers. This approach has earned the loyalty of road-trippers.

The stores are a welcome respite after a long day of driving. Maverik and Kum & Go focus on creating a clean and consistent shopping experience with well-stocked, organized aisles that are brightly lit and spacious. Year after year, Maverik has been awarded by nationally recognized outlets for having the cleanest convenience store restrooms.

What else can travelers find in Maverik and Kum & Go stores and online?

Maverik and Kum & Go are always offering ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Club and &Rewards members new and exciting in-store promotions. Stay up to date on the latest offers in the storesā€™ respective rewards apps, then redeem your freebies and exclusive deals at the counter.

Plus, Maverikā€™s new features a wide range of adventure-themed goods. From hoodies and tees to tote bags and tumblers, thereā€™s Maverik swag for every occasion.

fuels adventures in over 500 locations and growing across 13 western states: Arizona, California, Colorado, Idaho, Montana, New Mexico, Nebraska, Nevada, Oregon, South Dakota, Utah, Washington, and Wyoming. For more information, visit and follow the company on , , , and . To save on every gallon of fuel, earn freebies, and get other great rewards, download the Maverik app and join the ŗŚĮĻ³Ō¹ĻĶų Club card. To boost your rewards to the next level, upgrade to the Nitro card.ā€ÆĀ 

Kum & Go, a leading Midwest convenience store brand, serves customers in nearly 400 locations across 12 states: Arkansas, Colorado, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, North Dakota, Oklahoma, South Dakota, and Wyoming. For more information, visit.Ģż

In 2023, Maverik acquired and, together, the two brands serve customers in more than 800 locations across 20 states and growing.

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