Day 2: Sept 5. Boardman, OR to Swan Lake , MT

Our overnight stay near Burnt Fields Brewery was interrupted by the usual train passings but all in all, we slept well.

The trip for today began with an early departure from Boardman at 7:30 AM, meeting Diana at a planned gas station stop near the freeway. The route traversed eastern Washington, Idaho, and into Montana.

During the drive, I researched Samuel Boardman, the first superintendent of Oregon State Parks. He was instrumental in acquiring many of the state's current parks He was born in 1874 In Massachusetts.

The drive through eastern Washington shifted from flat grasslands to volcanic, rocky terrain characterized by sagebrush. Spectacular scenery awaited us upon entering Montana. It was a long drive and Tad was bored.

A traditional stop to view live rainbow trout and purchase huckleberry shakes was a must at St Regis, MT. A the "postage stamp sized" dog park was inadequate for a large dog so Kasey took Tad for a walk while Diana and I went inside the gift shop.

We arrived at Swan Lake before dark and greeted by Julie. We maneuvered the motorhome into a spot and went into the home of Jean Walker.

The evening was spent on the deck admiring the lake view and discussing Jean Walker’s crafts and her life in the local community. 

Dinner consisted of veal with Hollandaise sauce, salad, asparagus, and bread. The meal was prepared by Julie with assistance from Jean. A wonderful triffle was presented as dessert to cap the evening.

Adventures await tomorrow.

Day One — The Wheels Begin to Turn

September 3, 2026 | Roseburg to Boardman, Oregon 5.5 hours 336 mile

There is a moment at the beginning of every long journey when preparation finally becomes adventure.

For us, that moment came a little before 10:00 this morning.

Janice was up around 6:00 a.m., and I was up before 7 after staying awake into the wee hours getting ready for our eight-week, roughly 6,000-mile Fall Dusty Roads Wagon Train.

For the past several days, our lives have been governed by lists. More than 30 things had to be loaded into the motorhome. There were lists of things to finish at home, lists for Umpqua Watersheds, and all of those last-minute details that somehow multiply before a long trip.

One by one, we checked them off.

And then something nearly unprecedented happened:

We left home by 10:00 a.m.

We actually made our self-imposed departure time!

We drove down to the county road, loaded the bikes onto the motorhome, and pointed our little wagon train east.

At 10:30, we met our friend Diana Pace in Wilbur, and the adventure was officially underway.

The drive to Boardman took about five and a half hours and was surprisingly easy. Traffic wasn't bad, we encountered a little rain, and before long we were approaching Portland and turning east into the Columbia River Gorge.

That was when the landscape—and my imagination—really began to open up.

Driving alongside the Columbia, we began seeing signs marking the Lewis and Clark Trail. I found myself thinking about their extraordinary journey through this same country more than 220 years ago. Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery traveled down the Columbia toward the Pacific in 1805 and back up the river in 1806.

Our circumstances could hardly be more different. We have a motorhome, highways, GPS, music, audiobooks, comfortable beds and cold beer waiting at the end of the day.

But there is still something about following a river through an enormous landscape that awakens that old human desire to discover what lies beyond the next bend.

We stopped briefly at Multnomah Falls, hoping to get a closer look. The falls were only a trickle, and we discovered that access now requires advance arrangements that we hadn't made. So we took a photograph from a distance, climbed back aboard our wagon, and continued east on Interstate 84.

Eventually, we arrived in Boardman and one of our traditional stops: Burnt Field Brewing.

We have stopped here on previous trips and always enjoy it. It's a wonderful little place near the Columbia River, with good beer, excellent pizza and the nearby Al James barge display.

Before settling completely into vacation mode, however, there was one last bit of Umpqua Watersheds business. We held a KQUA radio meeting with Shane, Joseph and Julie and talked about the work ahead for our community radio station.

Then Diana joined us for dinner.

We spent a wonderful evening eating pizza, drinking beer and talking with Michelle, the owner of Burnt Field Brewing. We have stopped here enough times that Michelle actually remembered my name, which amazed me. There is something special about discovering these little touchstones along the road—places hundreds of miles from home that somehow begin to feel familiar.

After dinner, we took Tad for a good walk and settled into the motorhome for the night.

And now we're tired.

It has been several intense days of finishing projects, packing, checking lists and preparing to disappear down the road for two months. Tomorrow will be considerably more demanding: roughly eight hours of driving as we make our way to Swan Lake, Montana. Julie will meet us there, and we'll spend three days at the cabin of her mother, Jean.

After that, Minnesota awaits. We'll spend about three weeks there with family before pointing the motorhome east again—eventually traveling all the way to New York, with Canada, Michigan, friends, relatives and unexpected discoveries somewhere along the way. We hope to see Jonathan Foster in New York, reconnect with our former AmeriCorps member Ryan Kincaid, and discover whatever else the road decides to put in front of us.

And that's really the point.

We don't want to script this adventure too carefully.

One of my favorite parts of traveling is passing through little towns and wondering about the people who live there. What are their lives like? What do they love about this place? What worries them? What makes this particular bend in the river or collection of buildings home?

And meanwhile, inside our rolling little world, Janice and I talk. We listen to music and audiobooks. We laugh. Tad watches the world go by. Sometimes we talk about important things, and sometimes about absolutely nothing.

There is always a little sadness—and a little anxiety, in leaving home for such a long time.

But there is something wonderful about it, too.

For the next eight weeks, Janice and I get to simply be us.

Us, Tad, the motorhome, friends and family waiting somewhere ahead, and approximately 6,000 miles of dusty roads stretching toward the horizon.

Tonight, we're boondocking beside Burnt Field Brewing in Boardman, Oregon.

The lists are finished.

The bikes are loaded.

The first 250-or-so miles are behind us.

And somewhere beyond the Columbia River, tomorrow's road is already waiting.

Day One: a great success.

Together we are. Together we shine.

—Kasey

Day 12: 2026 Baja Expedition — Santa Inés to Ciudad Insurgentes 170 miles, 4 hours

We enjoyed one more delightful morning sitting on the beach next to the motorhome, drinking our coffee. At sunrise, Comet took Janice for a walk to the shoreline. She walked right up to the edge, then jumped back as the waves slowly crept toward her. She seemed just as mesmerized by this beautiful place as we were.

Our neighbors, Karen and Eric from Olympia, Washington, came over to say goodbye. Janice gave them her Umpqua Watersheds business card after writing the link to our blog on the back. We invited them to call us anytime they are in our area when we return home.

We packed up and headed for our next stop: 4 Points RV Park in Ciudad Insurgentes. We met Juan and Pedro Pacinni three years ago and have stayed at their campground both on the way to Cabo Pulmo and on the return journey.

As we creaked along the twisting, sandy six-kilometer wagon road back to the highway from Santa Inés, it once again felt like we were part of a wagon train, moving no faster than if we were in a horse-drawn vehicle. We spotted a hawk, but I didn’t stop in time for Janice to grab her binoculars. The cactus, the mountains ahead, and the ocean behind us deepened our appreciation for the adventure.

We reached Highway 1 and proceeded at about 40 miles per hour toward the small town of Mulegé. The road was full of twists and turns as we climbed steep mountains and wound our way along the rugged terrain. At one point, we passed an aqua-blue “Hotel California” perched above the road, complete with steps leading up to it.

Along the way, we passed several roadside memorials, simple crosses marking places where lives were lost. At one particularly sharp turn, we came upon five crosses. These moments are sobering reminders of the risks of the road, but they also feel like expressions of a deeper cultural belief, that those who came before us remain present in some way.

We have never stopped in Mulegé, though we’ve considered staying at a campground just south of town. It appears to be a popular tourist destination, with hotels, restaurants, and signs promoting outdoor recreation. Perhaps we will visit on our way home, though it feels more oriented toward consumption than the simplicity and connection we seek.

After Mulegé, the next major town is Loreto. The road between the two was the roughest we have encountered on this trip, filled with potholes that required constant attention and slow navigation. It’s essential to watch your mirrors carefully for vehicles coming up behind as you weave around the damaged sections. Fortunately, southbound traffic was light, allowing us to meander through safely.

We continued through Loreto and turned west toward Ciudad Insurgentes, climbing into the Sierra La Giganta. Once again, we followed a truck slowly crawling up the mountain. After what felt like twenty minutes, the road finally leveled out, and for the next sixty miles, the highway stretched straight ahead. I stayed comfortably behind the truck, letting faster cars pass. Eventually, I overtook it when another truck approached from behind.

In three years of traveling these roads, we’ve only had one incident, during our first year, when a truck passed unsafely north of Guerrero Negro and clipped our driver-side mirror. Fortunately, I was able to move slightly right, avoiding more severe damage.

We arrived at 4 Points around 1 p.m. Juan, who also runs a trucking business, had a truck and trailer parked in front of our usual spot, being power-washed. We had lunch, waited for them to finish, then pulled in and set up camp.

4 Points offers electricity, water, a dump station, hot showers, and excellent Wi-Fi, so for the first time since leaving home, we had all the comforts of modern living. Juan was taking a siesta when we arrived, so we quietly settled in, took showers, and relaxed under the beautiful palapa, enjoying a gentle breeze on a low eighty-degree afternoon.

As always, Juan continues improving the campground, expanding the patio, planting palm trees and flowers, and now beginning construction on a small in-ground pool. A worker and his son arrived and began stacking bags of concrete and rebar nearby. I am always struck by how much care and effort people put into everyday work here, often with simple tools and methods.

Eventually, Juan came out and greeted us warmly with a handshake and a hug. He speaks excellent English. In his 30s, he has an eight-year-old son named Tony. When we complimented him on all he has accomplished, he responded humbly, “We will see.”

Later, his father, Pedro, stopped by. At 63, tall and steady, he was born on the farm that once encompassed this land. He lives just a few hundred yards behind the campground, in a small home we’ve visited several times.

I’ll never forget one of our earlier visits. We had picked up a nail in our tire in La Paz, three hours away, on Good Friday, when all the repair shops were closed. We arrived at 4 Points just before sunset. Juan assured us he would find someone in the morning. Sure enough, early Easter morning, someone came and repaired the tire for $5. Later that day, Juan invited us to a family barbecue. Surrounded by cousins, aunts, and uncles, we shared food and laughter. I told Pedro, “Ahora somos amigos para toda la vida.” He replied in English, “No… now we are your family in Mexico.”

That moment will always stay with me.

Tony and his friend Eddie, the worker’s son, came to play with the dogs. Rusty and Tad remembered each other from last year. Eddie, who is 11, was curious, and I did my best to communicate in Spanish about our travels. Neither he nor Tony speaks English, but somehow, we understood each other just fine.

Later, Juan told me that he and his family would be heading to Ligüí for the four-day Semana Santa weekend. He said we were welcome to stay and keep an eye on the campground while they were away. He never charges us full price, usually $10 instead of $30 per night.

We are humbled by his generosity and by the way he and his family make us feel not like visitors, but like we belong.

---

Closing Reflection

As we sit beneath the palapa, feeling the warm breeze and listening to the quiet rhythm of this place, we are reminded that the true richness of travel is not found in destinations, but in relationships. Roads can be rough, uncertain, and even dangerous, but they also lead to people who remind us what it means to be human. In these moments of connection, across language and culture, we find something deeper than adventure… we find belonging.

 For reference here is our Easter miracle blog from 2024 for the thousands of you following along 😉 P.S. For those who are following along, Thank you!

https://dustytrailswagontrain.blogspot.com/2024/03/day-26-getting-to-know-locals.html?fbclid=IwdGRzaAQ5ItBjbGNrBDkitGV4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkDDM1MDY4NTUzMTcyOAABHrsLLFRxb68GXTMoeGEOXCqTEkN6wS_RVBOAL-EG3XxmoEFf8HfmM0TBWbcc_aem_wwz5TtSaN-OCrPJ1MApsMw&m=1

Day 10–11: 2026 Baja Expedition — Santa Inés - 64 miles

We left San Ignacio before 9 a.m., heading for Bahía de Santa Inés, only about 60 miles away. It still took us over two hours due to a treacherous mountain road as we approached the coast.

We followed a semi-truck that geared down into first gear, crawling along at about 5 mph as it navigated the narrow, steep, and winding descent. Other semis climbed past us going uphill, passing so close it felt like they could high-five each other if someone leaned out the passenger window. When traveling in a heavy vehicle, whether a semi or a motorhome, dropping into a lower gear and letting the engine brake the descent is essential. The scattered roadside memorials serve as a sobering reminder: respect the road, or it will demand it.

Imagine driving a 29-foot motorhome on a 200-story roller coaster, that’s what it feels like. And somehow, I always feel a little safer tucked in behind a big truck, even as a line of cars stacks up behind us.

We reached the coastal town of Santa Rosalía, an industrial stretch where businesses line the road along the sea. As we descended from the mountains, we passed a large landfill, plastic and paper caught in the wind, scattered along the highway less than half a mile from the ocean. A stark contrast to the beauty surrounding it.

Janice spotted a taquería on the left, and I pulled over. I walked up to a small window opening into a dim room. A young man with a long, polished black index fingernail took my order. I asked in Spanish for twelve tortillas, "doce tortillas, por favor. He seemed unsure, checked with someone inside, then returned with exactly twelve tortillas for 25 pesos.

Back in the motorhome, we continued on to Santa Inés.

The final stretch was a six-kilometer dusty, rocky road, the kind we love because it naturally filters out the less adventurous.

After about 20 minutes, we arrived at the campground. Since our last visit, they had built a new office with showers and restrooms.

I greeted Martín: “Es bueno estar de vuelta aquí. El nuevo edificio se ve muy bien.”

"It’s great to be back, the new building looks very good."

He smiled and thanked us for returning.

We asked to stay two nights: “Nos gustaría quedarnos dos noches, por favor.”

The price was the same as Paraisol Misional. 300 pesos per night (about $16.58).

There are about 15 sites along the beach, and eight were open. We chose one at the far end and quickly set up camp. Before this trip, we had always stayed at Santispac, which is beautiful but often crowded. This place feels like a hidden gem.

We took Tad down to the beach, he was ecstatic. He and I went swimming, then sat together in the shade, watching the rhythm of the sea.

Later, Janice read posts to me about the “No Kings March.” She made a sign out of cardboard and had me take a photo of her holding it with the ocean behind her. She posted it to Facebook, expressing how much she wished she could be in Roseburg with friends.

I went down to the beach and wrote “No Kings” in the sand, then filled it in with stones. Janice joined me, and together we finished it. I flew the drone and captured the moment.

As far as we know, we were the only protest in this quiet stretch of Baja.

The tide is already working to erase our message, but we will return, again and again, to remake it. To stand, in our own small way, for something larger than ourselves.

Back at camp, we relaxed under the awning. A few people walking by noticed our beach artwork.

One of them, Steve, a man in his early 70s from Bend, stopped to chat. He’s been staying at the campground since December, paying $300 a month. He’s familiar with many of the same places we’ve stayed, including Paraisol Misional and 4 Points RV Campground, our next destination.

Our conversation drifted briefly into politics. He mentioned that “Californians have ruined Bend” and that over 5,000 people had attended a “No Kings” protest, though he thought people could make better use of their time. I smiled, acknowledged his perspective, and gently steered the conversation back to Baja. He struck me as a kind man, just someone walking a different path of understanding.

We had a splendid dinner of burritos made with our newly acquired tortillas.

Later, we met two other couples, one from Dallas, TX (John and Susie), and the other from Seattle, WA, Eric and Karen). They invited us to their campfire that evening, and we were glad to discover they supported our beach protest. We spent the night sharing stories, laughter, and future travel dreams.

This morning, we watched the sun rise over the ocean, then went for a swim. We listened to podcasts, talked, and walked the beach collecting shells and stones.

John, generously shared his Starlink Wi-Fi, giving us a stronger connection to the outside world, though part of us didn’t really want it.

We watched brown pelicans diving for fish and spotted stingrays gliding just beneath the surface of the water.

Tomorrow, we head to 4 Points RV Campground in Ciudad Insurgentes, owned by our friends Juan and Pedro Pacinni, whom we met two years ago.

Closing Reflection

There’s something quietly powerful about this stretch of coast, where rugged mountains give way to open sea, where isolation becomes connection, and where even a simple message written in sand can carry meaning far beyond its brief existence. The tide may erase our words, but not the intention behind them. Like the road that brought us here, steep, winding, and uncertain, we continue forward with care, curiosity, and a steady belief that even small acts, shared in unlikely places, are part of something much larger unfolding.

Day 8–9: 2026 Baja Expedition — San Ignacio

We are thoroughly enjoying our three-night stay at Parisol Misional Campground.

The staff here are always working to improve the campground, and their care shows in every detail.

Yesterday, I took Tad for a hike up and over the lava mountain behind our motorhome while Janice and Comet made breakfast. The staff have spent hundreds of hours creating trails and building small aqueducts along the hillside. About halfway up, we came across the ruins of a large home, something built decades, perhaps even over a century ago.

Whenever I encounter a place like that, I find myself wondering about the lives that unfolded there… the stories, the laughter, the quiet moments. Memories once held within those walls, now roofless and slowly returning to the earth.

At the top of the mountain, we were rewarded with a spectacular view of the village of San Ignacio. The mission stands at its center, embraced by a sea of date palms, oasis of life in the middle of the desert.

Last night, Janice, Tad, and I enjoyed a wonderful meal in the village across from the town square. At least two other dogs joined us in the outdoor seating area. We ordered margaritas, and somewhere along the way we accidentally added chips (tapas) and guacamole to the order—a wonderful mistake. The fresh tapas, salsa, and guacamole were outstanding. We ordered a second round of margaritas, and we both agreed they seemed… a bit more generous with the tequila.

After dinner, we walked the two blocks back to the campground. Workers were still out, even near 8 p.m., building new sidewalks along both sides of the street—another sign of a community steadily investing in itself.

It was still warm in the motorhome, the temperature had reached nearly 100 degrees, so we sat outside and talked about the day. As I looked up through the palms, I thought I could see hundreds of stars shimmering between the leaves.

Then they began to twinkle… and move. For a moment, I wondered if we were witnessing some great cosmic transformation, or if perhaps that last margarita had contained something a bit more “magical.”

O

I shared my observation with my wife—the scientist, and she gently suggested that what I was seeing was moonlight reflecting off the palm leaves. As my vision adjusted, I realized she was absolutely right. Were it not for her steady presence, I might very well have torn off my clothes and run through the campground proclaiming the end of the universe!

Even so, it was a remarkable moment—one that reminded me how thin the veil can be between perception, imagination, and reality.

Now it is Friday, and several more campers perhaps fifteen, have joined us. Despite the mix of people, dogs, cats, and children, the atmosphere remains incredibly calm and respectful. It is quiet, save for distant Mexican music drifting through the evening air and the gentle wind moving through the palms. It is… mesmerizing.

This morning and much of the afternoon were spent working on Umpqua Watersheds projects, Zoom meetings, staff coordination, and drafting comments on federal agency actions. To be completely transparent, I also took a well-earned 64-minute nap while Janice continued working diligently. I eventually rose and completed my comments opposing the Trump administration’s proposal to prohibit nonprofits receiving government funding from engaging in DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion) efforts. It is a troubling proposal, one that carries many shades of darkness, and I was grateful to lend my voice in opposition on behalf of Umpqua Watersheds.

It has been another beautiful day in paradise.

Tomorrow, we continue our slow and intentional journey south toward our ultimate destination: Cabo Pulmo National Park.

Closing Reflection

There is something quietly profound about this place, where desert meets oasis, where history lingers in abandoned walls, and where moonlight can momentarily become a universe in motion. Here, between work and wandering, conversation and stillness, we are reminded that life is not just about reaching a destination… but about noticing the wonder along the way.