The first day of our 2026 Baja Expedition started very early. As is too often the case these days, I woke at 12:30 a.m., my mind full of thoughts. I’ve also been dealing with persistent itchiness in my right arm and thigh, remnants of a poison oak encounter back in late January. I suspect it was aggravated by the two shingles vaccinations we received in January and March. I’ve been treating it with oatmeal lotion and an ice pack. It’s a minor irritation, but the itchiness can be maddening, one of those things you simply can’t think your way out of.
About thirty minutes into the first day, I got up, settled into my recliner with an ice pack, and wrote a Facebook message to our dear friend Catherine, who is in the final days of hospice care due to cancer.
Janice and I, along with many others, have been doing what we can to support Catherine and her son, Nathan. As is so often the case, in our efforts to give, we have received so much more in return. It is an honor to walk alongside them during this time.
My thoughts were focused on what will likely be our last time with Catherine in this form.
I remember vividly the moment she first told me she was battling a life-threatening illness. It was after a summer gathering at our dear friends Ken and Jenny Carloni’s home several years ago. I helped her carry a few things to her car, and she shared her burden with me. I told her then, something I believe with every fiber of my being—that life is never terminal. That the essence of who we are has no beginning and no end. That we are all part of something greater, connected to a sentient universe, and that what we call a lifetime is just one expression of that existence. I hugged her and thanked her for trusting me with her truth.
In the years that followed, Catherine held the cancer at bay and continued to live a full and meaningful life. We shared many special moments—Thanksgivings, Fourth of July gatherings, time with the Carlonis, evenings with our friends Jeri and Woody, and events at Umpqua Watersheds.
We were always grateful for more time.
Last summer, she told us the cancer had progressed. Janice and several close friends began taking her to treatments in Bend. I always felt that Janice’s time with Catherine was as healing for her as it was for Catherine.
On our final day in Roseburg before this trip, we brought corned beef and cabbage, leftover from St. Patrick’s Day—to Catherine and Nathan. We sat and talked. Catherine shared that she was now receiving morphine around the clock to manage the pain. She gave us a small booklet explaining what to expect in these final days.
It was hard to leave. But we focused on being present, letting them both know how deeply we love them.
They were, and still are, in my thoughts at 2:00 a.m. on Day 2.
I want to share the message I wrote to Catherine, because it captures what she and Nathan mean to us, and I don’t want to lose that part of this journey:
"Early morning thoughts…
I often feel restless before hitting the road, trying to understand why we are leaving our beloved Umpqua—our home, our friends. This time is the hardest, because I know you will be leaving us soon.
And yet, I feel more certain than ever that taking this journey is the right thing to do.
Thank you for sharing the booklet that helps us understand your road ahead. I was with my mom five years ago as she passed, and I still feel her presence every day. I feel your presence now—and I know I will continue to feel it after you’ve gone, as will all who love you.
In my heart, it feels like we have known each other long before we met. As we drove away from your home, I had the sense that you were there when I was born, perhaps a reflection of your life’s work bringing children into this world.
You are an angel to me, Catherine. You always will be. Your grace and your love will continue to bring comfort.
I am saddened that you are leaving this life with so much physical pain. Your bravery and grace during this time mean more than you can know to all of us who love you.
We will carry you with us as we journey south, seeing beautiful things, renewing the love Janice and I share, and creating space from the heaviness of this moment in history.
We love you and Nathan dearly, and we will hold you both in our hearts as we travel toward new horizons.
Much love,
Kasey"
After getting back to sleep, I woke again at 6:30 a.m. Janice had already been up for some time, working on comments for the BLM’s revised Resource Management Plan. I am continually inspired by her dedication and her willingness to stand up for the land through her work with Umpqua Watersheds.
I spent the morning finishing preparations for the trip—vacuuming the motorhome, washing the floors, and packing the final items. It has long been my goal to be fully ready and on the road by 9:00 a.m. We haven’t quite achieved that yet, but we’ve learned not to stress about it. We move when we’re ready.
By 11:30, we were set to move the motorhome down to the county road so we could load the e-bikes. Our driveway is steep, and the rig is long—backing out without dragging. it just isn’t an option. I drove the motorhome down while Janice followed in the Escape with the bike rack.
After getting everything secured, we returned briefly to the house, loaded the bikes, and officially began our journey.
We made quick stops at Costco for gas and U-Haul for propane, and by 12:30 p.m., we were heading south on I-5 toward our first destination: the Tehama District Fairgrounds in Red Bluff, California, where we would meet our friends Steve and Pattie for dinner.
The drive, about 280 miles over five and a half hours—was mostly uneventful. One highlight: we were delighted to find that we could still clearly pick up KQUA 90.5 well past Canyonville.
Janice read the news aloud, and we listened to music along the way.
There was, however, one unforgettable moment. About an hour north of Redding, just past Mount Shasta, I noticed someone running across the highway. As we approached, we realized he was completely naked—except for a pair of sandals. He paused briefly at the median, waiting for a break in traffic, his bare backside greeting us as we passed at 65 miles per hour.I gave a quick honk. We’ll never know why the naked man crossed the road… but it certainly added a bit of unexpected color to the journey.
We arrived in Red Bluff and had a wonderful dinner at Carlito’s with Steve and Pattie. It was so good to reconnect—there’s something about being on the road that opens space for deeper conversation.
After dinner, we made our way to the fairgrounds, set up camp, and settled in for the night. It was quiet and peaceful, and I slept well… until 12:30 a.m. And so, now, at nearly 3:00 a.m., after writing this, taking Tad for a walk, and finally feeling the itchiness subside, I’ll return to bed, ready to dream about the adventure ahead.
