Bobbie Surber

My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part III

By Bobbie Surber

My solo motorcycle journey of joy from Sedona, Arizona, to Canada continues. This is an epic journey and it holds a special place in my heart. I can revisit fleeting moments of pure joy, rekindle the emotions, and extract lessons learned along the way. As a woman riding solo, I am part of a remarkable and tight-knit sisterhood that inspires me, challenges me, and provides me with extraordinary kinship. With their spirit in mind, I’m excited to dive into the next chapter of my unforgettable summer ride.

In Part I, I embarked on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately named Tippi, leaving Sedona behind. Our journey took us through landscapes of the Colorado River, Lees Ferry, Marble Canyon, Jacobs Lake, North Grand Canyon National Park, and Zion National Park. It was a breathtaking start to an indelible adventure.

Part II chronicled our exploration of Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, and Great Basin as well as Highway 50 (the Loneliest Highway in America) and our arrival in Lake Tahoe. Each destination brought its own magic and challenges, enriching the tapestry of this incredible journey. Leaving Lake Tahoe after a full week of exploration was bittersweet. I savored every moment but the open road called, promising new horizons and cherished old favorites. This part of my journey led me to Roseville, California, where I had to part ways with Tippi temporarily for a well-deserved tune-up and a new chain. Joining forces with a fellow rider and friend Mike (whose BMW was waiting for a harness from Germany), we hatched a plan over drinks and a shared meal. Our first destination: Majestic Yosemite National Park.

We took a brief detour to pick up another adventurous soul, Dan, who would follow us as we made our way to a campsite outside the park. While the campsite may not have been the most scenic, the camaraderie more than compensated for it. We enjoyed a hearty campfire dinner, and Dan and Mike one-upped each other with travel tales of daring escapades. It was a night filled with laughter.

The following morning marked our entry into Yosemite National Park. For me, it held a special significance. It was here that I had embarked on my solo hike along the John Muir Trail, starting from this very valley floor. The memories flooded back, stirring emotions and a sense of longing that I can’t put into words.

We secured a campsite within the park and spent two days immersing ourselves in Yosemite. We hiked amidst the awe-inspiring vistas, capturing the record-breaking snow melt that transformed the waterfalls into powerful cascades painted by breathtaking sunsets. As if retracing my steps, I followed a small section of the John Muir Trail, a nostalgic journey that filled me with joy. Those two magical days, spent with my riding buddies, nourished my soul and dispelled the occasional loneliness that accompanies solo motorcycle adventures. The camaraderie and shared experiences reminded me of the beauty of both solitary and shared journeys.

With a fond farewell to our friend Dan, we resumed our journey, eager to immerse ourselves in the natural wonders of Kings Canyon and Sequoia National Parks. Nestled within the Sierra Nevada, this region is a testament to Mother Nature’s diversity—flaunting thickly forested mountains in the north and the awe-inspiring austerity of the south, adorned with numerous 12-thousand-plus-foot granite passes. Each pass unveiled mesmerizing views of ancient tarns and the vast valley floor, a breathtaking vista to behold.

Walking among the giant Sequoias shrouded in mist left an indelible mark on our souls. It was a humbling and awe-inspiring, a stark reminder of the profound importance of our National Parks. They are not merely places of natural beauty; they are sacred sanctuaries that merit steadfast dedication and protection.

Leaving the majestic Sierras behind, we set our course for Roseville, where I was joyfully reunited with my beloved Tippi. After proper cleaning and the installation of a new chain, I mounted Tippi and instantly felt the familiar embrace of returning home as we navigated through the city. Our next destination was my ninth National Park on this epic journey: Lassen Volcanic National Park, a place I had never explored before. It’s the photo you see at the top of this blog.

Battling the sweltering heat, I was eager to escape the valley floor and ascend once more into the cool embrace of the mountains. Not even the looming threat of rain could diminish my excitement. Mike, still patiently traveling by car and awaiting his parts from Germany, made the most of vehicle camping. We embarked on an exploration of this new park, from leisurely walks around the serene lakes to gazing upon the painted desert from the viewpoint of an 800-foot-high cinder mountain. Two days sped by, leaving us reluctantly parting ways as we set our course for Bigfoot Country!

After a long day’s ride, we arrived in Redding, California, and were greeted by the majestic sight of Shasta Lake, with Mount Shasta occasionally revealing her beauty through the clouds. Continuing our journey, we soon reached our night’s destination, Willow Creek. This quaint town is adorned with numerous signs and wood carvings of Bigfoot, famously known for a rare sighting of the mythical creature. Adding to the allure, Highway 299 proved to be an underrated gem, offering exhilarating stretches of mountains and tight, winding roads, although the return of record-breaking temperatures reminded us of the heat.

Despite a warm night of camping, the anticipation of exploration tugged at our hearts, leading us to visit our friend Greg in McKinleyville, California. Leaving the majestic mountains behind for the refreshing embrace of the Pacific Ocean, I was up early and invigorated, eager to hit the beach!

Our long-awaited visit to the Lost Coast was the next thrilling chapter in our journey. Traveling through the towering giants of the redwoods and then navigating the winding, narrow roads flanked by quaint ranches and farms we finally arrived at our destination. Securing one of the thirteen coveted camp spots nestled against the picturesque sand dunes felt like a small victory. The beach, with its wild and rugged beauty, was a sight to behold. Our joy was multiplied when we invited an adventure rider from Croatia who had no place to camp to join us. We met two hikers planning to embark on the famous Lost Coast Trail the following day. With our newfound temporary traveling family, we combined our meager food supplies, beer, and the last of my Irish whiskey to set the mood for another unforgettable night of sharing grand tales beneath the starlit sky.

The following morning, we returned to visit Greg and his girlfriend K, soaking in his warm hospitality and exploring a delightful local wine-tasting room. The lazy Sunday was bathed in the glow of friendship as I leisurely embraced the day. That evening, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Mike for the last time. Our 4.5 years of shared adventures had gifted us with countless stories and unforgettable moments. With a heavy heart I knew I would miss our adventures together. The next morning found me back on Tippi’s saddle; after a fond goodbye to a casual friend who I knew would become a lifelong friend, I pulled out of Greg’s driveway and embarked on the northern coast journey along the famous Hwy 101.

I knew the days ahead would be filled with breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean as I ventured into Oregon easing the bittersweetness of a wounded heart, but also an opportunity for reflection, healing, and embracing the boundless possibilities that lie ahead. I was on my bike heading wherever my heart desired and I planned on embracing each moment of my onward solo journey north.

Solo traveling is where my heart finds its purest joy, and venturing forth with my steadfast companion Tippi elevates this experience to unparalleled heights. While the presence of a cherished companion adds a unique dimension to our journey, the profound beauty of solo exploration lies in its ability to unveil the depths of our own capabilities. It’s about embracing the allure of the unknown and relishing the boundless possibilities of tomorrow.

As I eagerly dive into the upcoming chapters of my journey in Part IV, I promise to infuse these tales with the rich tapestry of emotions that solo travel and the open road have given me. I’ll unveil more stories of Oregon and Washington, and who knows, I might even tantalize your sense of adventure with a glimpse of enchanting Canada. The adventure continues, the road beckons, and the world awaits with open arms, ready to share its secrets and wonders with a wandering soul.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

Welcome back to the next chapter of my solo motorcycle journey from my hometown of Sedona, Arizona, to the captivating landscapes of Canada. In Part One, I shared the exhilarating start of my adventure, from Sedona to the awe-inspiring beauty of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing Zion National Park. Now, as I continue northward on my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi, join me in experiencing the next leg of this epic ride.

As I left the captivating beauty of Zion National Park behind, I couldn’t help but marvel at the magic of solo travel. The open road stretched out before me, promising new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in ways that only solo exploration allows. My heart swelled with anticipation as I headed north into Utah, a state known for its stunning natural landscapes.

A Return to Bryce Canyon

My next destination was my beloved Bryce Canyon National Park. The ride to Bryce Canyon was a scenic marvel in itself. Utah’s highway 89 to Route 12 made its way through crimson canyons, past towering rock formations, and into high-altitude forests. Every twist and turn of the road revealed a new panorama of breathtaking beauty.

Arriving at Bryce Canyon, I was greeted by a surreal landscape of hoodoos—towering, otherworldly rock spires that seemed to defy gravity. I hiked once again the trails that wound through the park, taking in the views from vantage points like Sunrise Point and Inspiration Point. Wall Street trail was closed for repairs, but trusty old favorites satisfied my need for a day of hiking. My camp spot at Sunset Campground gave me the chance at an early morning sunrise the next morning. A predawn wakeup found me walking to the rims edge to watch the sun slowly rise below the horizon, the hoodoos took on a fiery glow, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced across the amphitheater-like terrain. Bryce Canyon’s mystical allure left an indelible mark on my soul, reminding me why I embarked on this journey in the first place. After a second night at Bryce, I was ready to tackle another epic day of riding Route 12 through Escalante to the sweetest underrated Capital Reef National Park.

Exploring Route 12 and Capitol Reef

Continuing my adventure, the following morning, I eagerly resumed my route on Highway 12, heading towards my favorite section of the road, high above the captivating Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This expansive and remote region boasts rugged canyons, vibrant cliffs, and extraordinary geological formations. The landscape, with its impossible rock formations, treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Tiger 900 was as happy as I was as I relaxed into the ride and allowed her to remind me again what her three cylinders can do. Both of us were in sync as we leaned into curve after curve as we blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made short order through the endless twisties of this section of Route 12. However, I was unexpectedly greeted by an old-school cattle round-up, complete with cowgirls and boys herding a large herd down Highway 12! After a brief turnaround, I found solace in my favorite restaurant, the Burr Trail Grill. Their farm-fresh ingredients delighted my taste buds, whether it was their fresh arugula salad topped with local goat cheese or their beastly-sized burgers that proved a challenge to conquer.

Resuming my journey on Highway 12, I found myself in an unexpected predicament. The cattle herd’s progress was slow, and I crawled along, clutching endlessly as I felt my left hand about to begin a serious complaint! Amidst the frustration, two memorable moments emerged. Firstly, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Secondly, after navigating my way to the front of the line, I convinced the lead cowboy to move the herd slightly to the right, allowing me to pass. Maneuvering my bike through the cows became a comical adventure, with prayers that the sound of my motor wouldn’t startle them. Experiencing this traditional cattle drive in 2023 felt like a slice of Americana and added yet another reason to love Utah.

Leaving the cattle behind, I ascended Boulder Mountain, where endless views revealed the backside of Capitol Reef on the right and scenic meadows with clusters of aspen, fir, and spruce trees on the left. Surprisingly, the mountain still boasted more snow than expected for June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous campgrounds and dispersed campsites available. I’ve personally spent nights here, savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor. Soon enough I was descending Boulder Mountain and into the small town of Torrey, UT, and just a short few miles away from Capitol Reef National Park for two more nights of camping. A quick setup of my camp, and I was off to town for a much-needed shower and a cold beer! Later that day, a lovely couple I met in Zion joined me at my campsite and I was treated to a homecooked Korean chicken dinner, which was a far cry from the instant ramen I was planning for dinner. A lovely couple who reminded me that the gift of travel is the unexpected friends we make along the way.

The next morning found me out on the trail a hump up to the top of the mesa for a panoramic view of the park. The air was crisp with hints of the heat to follow. The trail descends into a slot canyon then an arroyo wash to the other side of the park and beyond. Reluctantly heading back, I got on Tippi and explored the nearby petroglyphs. All in all, my short stay was a rewarding two nights and now headed to the not-so-famous outside of crazy riders who seek out remote roads Highway 50, billed as the loneliest highway in America!

Highway 50: The Loneliest Highway with a Detour to Great Basin National Park

I made a short order of breaking camp, and in no time Tippi and I were on highway 24 with the goal of making it to my 5th National Park, Great Basin. Following Route 24 goes through a rural farming section of the state with many small Mormon communities and opportunity for a breaks, food, and gas. I was eager to blow through this well-familiar route to get to Highway 50 and cut my teeth on a section of road I had been warned NOT to ride.

As I picked up Highway 50 off Interstate 15, I soon hit the famous first road sign and stopped to document my ride on her with a pic. With once again threatening storms, I glanced at the mountain ahead and thought how bad could it be? It was bad, I was wrong once again guessing the threat of a storm. A short very wet ride later, I left behind Highway 50 for a few days to visit the park. As a first timer to Great Basin NP, I was truly blown away! You enter the tiny town of Baker on the desert floor then 20 minutes later you are in the mountains with thick forest and views overlooking the high desert plains that seem to go on forever. Not to be missed is a guided tour of Lehman Caves. Truly the highlight of my stay. I selected one of the higher small campgrounds and was rewarded with a huge site surrounded by trees and brush with the river roaring behind me.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to Baker, I rejoined Highway 50, heading towards my next destination, South Lake Tahoe. Contrary to the dire warnings of scarce gas stations, I discovered that this notion was unfounded. Approximately 70 miles down the road, I arrived at Ely, another small mining town with plenty of services. After a quick refuel, I resumed my journey, realizing that the otherwise flat stretches of road were intermittently punctuated by mountain passes exceeding 7000 feet in elevation. These segments offered breathtaking vistas and enough twists and turns to satisfy both Tippi and me.

My first mountain pass, before descending into Ely, Nevada, presented an exhilarating ordeal with rain, lightning, and a brief ten-minute ride through hail. Eighty miles further, I found myself in the town of Eureka, where the threatening skies curtailed my exploration time. Nevertheless, I managed to visit a few must-see attractions, including the Opera House, built in 1879, the still-functional Courthouse of the same vintage, and a brief excursion to the town’s cemetery, where a variety of burial sites represented different social organizations, religious groups, and ethnicities. This walk-through history provided a fascinating glimpse into the town’s past.

Continuing on Highway 50, with the ominous skies in my rearview mirrors, I was reminded of the urgency to press on towards my next stop—Austin, Nevada. This old mining camp retains its rustic charm and has evolved into a haven for camping, hiking, and mountain biking, thanks to its proximity to the towering Toiyabe Mountains. During a pit stop, I encountered a large group of riders following the Pony Express Trail, who praised my adventure, while I vowed to return in the near future to explore that historic route.

Reluctantly bidding farewell to this enchanting mountain town, I embarked on another 112-mile stretch to Fallon, Nevada. This promised a well-deserved lunch break and refueling opportunity before the final leg of my journey to Lake Tahoe. As hunger pangs intensified, I hurriedly pulled into the first gas station I encountered. Curiously, the ground appeared slanted, making it impossible to safely park my bike with its kickstand without an extreme lean. Oddly, as my kickstand tends to be a bit high, I often worry about Tippi toppling over. Trying another station, I realized that my kickstand was not misaligned but broken—a sudden and unfortunate realization. With every ounce of strength, I fought to prevent Tippi’s full weight from pinning me between the gas pump curb and the engine crash bar. As I cried out for help, a kind soul named Caleb rushed to my aid, assisting me in righting Tippi. Examining the kickstand, I conceded that my lunch break was a lost cause. I refueled while seated on my bike and came to terms with the fact that I would have to ride the rest of the way without lunch and with a dangling kickstand, just inches off the ground.

Continuing Towards Lake Tahoe

Arriving in Lake Tahoe was like reaching an oasis after a day filled with challenges and stunning scenery. The sight of the crystal-clear waters surrounded by towering pine trees was simply breathtaking. I met up with Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider, as we eagerly exchanged stories of our respective journeys over drinks and pizza. Mike is a seasoned rider with an incredible collection of travel stories and insights, and this blog, which is a treasure trove of motorcycle adventures.

We decided to make the most of our time in Lake Tahoe by exploring the area together and spending time with our dear friend Yvette who had left Sedona for the mountains and lakes surrounding Tahoe. Two up on Tippi, our first stop was a visit to Emerald Bay State Park, a gem nestled on the lake’s southwest shore. A short hike up a roadside trail took us to a stunning vista overlooking Emerald Bay below. The clear blue waters and Fannette Island in the middle of the bay made for a postcard-perfect scene. At sunset we were even rewarded with a surprise pop up of a brown bear who a few feet away provided us with a pose straight up worthy of National Geographic!

Lake Tahoe, with its stunning shoreline, pristine waters, and surrounding mountains, offers many outdoor activities. We decided to spend the next afternoon cruising around the lake, taking in the panoramic views and stopping at scenic overlooks. Riding around Lake Tahoe was a highlight of my journey, and I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Conclusions

As I reflect on the second part of my solo motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada, I’m filled with deep gratitude for the experiences and sights that have unfolded before me. From the awe-inspiring beauty of Bryce Canyon to the challenging twisties of Route 12, from the serene landscapes of Great Basin, this adventure has been a testament to the power of the open road and the indomitable spirit of solo travel.

Every mile has been a lesson in self-discovery, a reminder of the world’s beauty, and a celebration of the freedom that comes with embracing the unknown. The road has been my companion, and the landscapes have been my muse. And as I continue to ride north into Canada, I know the journey is far from over. There are more roads to explore, adventures to embrace, and stories to tell.

Stay tuned for the next chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road beckons, and I’m eager to see where it will lead me on this journey of a lifetime.

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My Solo Motorcycle Journey from Sedona to Canada: Part I

By Bobbie Surber

As a passionate female solo rider, I often find myself facing a barrage of incredulous looks and questions from both strangers and friends. They ask the usual list of queries: “Is it safe?” “Where will you stay?” “What if your bike drops?” It’s become almost customary to respond by sharing my blog or articles that capture the essence of the joy I find in solo travel, whether by foot or by bike. This brings me to my latest and most epic solo adventure – a motorcycle journey from my home in the enchanting town of Sedona, Arizona, all the way up to the stunning landscapes of Canada. Covering over 6,700 miles of magical terrain, this journey was a test of my spirit and a celebration of my love for long distance motorcycle travel.

It all began last fall when the idea of a ride to Canada took hold of me. I knew that this was the journey I was meant to embark upon. I was determined to take my time, to savor the journey, and to visit as many National Parks as possible along the way. My plan was simple yet liberating: I would make up my route no more than a week in advance, pack light, and camp as much as possible off my trusty motorcycle, a three-cylinder Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, lovingly named Tippi.

On the crisp morning of June 2nd, with the sun just beginning to warm the high desert of Sedona, I geared up for my adventure little did I know then that I would be gone for 11 plus weeks. The air carried an unusual coolness, a welcome departure from the scorching desert temperatures. My first stop was an obligatory one – Flagstaff, Arizona, just a short 30-mile ride from Sedona. The journey up Oak Creek Canyon was a visual feast, with Red Rock views and sinuous twists and turns that are a motorcyclist’s dream. I found myself at a Starbucks in Flagstaff, sipping on a well-deserved Americano, wondering what the day had in store for me as I charted my course towards North Grand Canyon National Park.

Leaving the comfort of Flagstaff behind, I embarked on Highway 89-A, leaving the tall pines of the city in my rearview mirror. The road led me to Lees Ferry, a spot where I could steal a quick moment with the majestic Colorado River. Riding through this part of Arizona on 89A felt like transitioning to another world. The landscape shifted from rugged mountains to a breathtaking desert expanse. Sandy plains, cacti, and the awe-inspiring sight of the Colorado River slicing through towering cliffs and canyons greeted me. Every time I ride through this area, I feel like I’m letting go of the worries of the world and immersing myself in the raw beauty of nature.

Arriving at Lee’s Ferry, I gazed in wonder at the grandeur of the Colorado River. Red Rock bluffs reached skyward, casting their reflections onto the water’s surface. A few photos captured the essence of the moment, and then I was back on the road, with Tippi carrying me across the vastness of the desert landscape with mountains looming in the distance with turbulent looking skies, laden with the threat of rain seemingly daring me to press onward.

Press on I did, and by the time I arrived at Jacob Lake, I was soaked to the bone. The reward, though, was immediate and satisfying. The general store at Jacob Lake had the antidote to my damp spirits – a hot cup of coffee and the most heavenly homemade cookies I’ve ever tasted in Arizona. While I warmed up and indulged my taste buds, I chatted with fellow riders who regaled me with tales of epic early June snowstorms they’d encountered that day while riding back from the Grand Canyon. It’s moments like these, swapping stories with fellow riders, that make a solo journey so enriching.

A swift pit stop at Jacob Lake was followed by the task of setting up my tent, which proved to be a bit of a challenge in the rain. But that’s the essence of adventure riding, isn’t it? You adapt, you overcome, and you keep moving forward. With my campsite established, I wasted no time and headed to North Grand Canyon. Fortunately, I was spared the snow, but a wicked hailstorm tested my resolve as I carefully made my way further up the rim.

By the time I reached the park, the weather gods seemed to have taken pity on me. Dry weather prevailed, and I was treated to the most dramatic skies one could hope for when visiting the North Grand Canyon. As I stood there, gazing out into the vast expanse of this natural wonder, I couldn’t help but feel humbled by the forces of nature and the grandeur of the world we live in. It was a moment of pure serenity amidst the chaos of my journey.

The following morning, I bid farewell to North Grand Canyon, heading down into Kanab for a quick gas and coffee break before completing the remainder of my ride on Highway 89A, with Zion National Park as my next destination. With two days and one night to immerse myself in the beauty of Zion, I was eager to experience the park in all its glory.

Entering Zion National Park on a motorcycle is a unique adventure. The winding roads and the freedom to embrace the open road add an extra layer of exhilaration to the journey. Plus, if you time it right, like I did, arriving early can help you avoid the epic traffic jams that can plague this popular destination.

Setting up camp as quickly as possible, I wasted no time in hopping onto a shuttle ride to the park’s lodge. From there, I embarked on a day of hiking, exploring several of Zion’s shorter trails. I couldn’t resist attempting to secure a permit for Angel’s Landing, a trail known for its breathtaking, albeit nerve-wracking, vistas. Alas, the permit eluded me, but that didn’t dampen my spirits. Zion offered me an array of other trails and sights to explore, and I reveled in every step I took.

Zion’s rugged beauty is a testament to the power of nature’s sculpting hand. Towering sandstone cliffs, cascading waterfalls, and the vibrant colors of the Virgin River create a landscape that feels otherworldly. With my camera in hand, I captured every nuance of this remarkable place. Hiking a portion of the Narrows, with water rushing around me, was a highlight I’ll carry with me forever. Zion National Park, with its mesmerizing mix of desert and oasis, and once again confirming why I love this park so much.

As I lay in my tent that night, listening to the sounds of the wilderness around me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the incredible journey I’d embarked upon. From the stunning landscapes of my hometown of Sedona to the awe-inspiring grandeur of the Grand Canyon and the mesmerizing beauty of Zion, my solo motorcycle ride to Canada had already been a whirlwind of experiences. And this was just the beginning.

My journey would continue northward, taking me through more National Parks, enchanting towns, and breathtaking vistas, mountains, desolate beaches, and new friends I’d yet to meet. Each twist and turn of the road held the promise of new adventures and the opportunity to connect with the world in a way that only solo travel can offer. The open road called me, and I was more than ready to answer its invitation.

In the world of solo travel, there’s a unique freedom and self-discovery. It is a chance to test your limits, embrace the unknown, and find solace in the beauty of the world. My motorcycle journey from Sedona to Canada was not just a ride; it was a pilgrimage of the soul, an exploration of the heart, and a celebration of the indomitable spirit of the open road. As I drifted into sleep under the starry Utah sky, I couldn’t wait to see where the road would lead me next on this remarkable adventure.

My fellow adventurers, I invite you to stay tuned for the next captivating chapter of this solo ride from Sedona to Canada. The open road stretches before us, brimming with the promise of extraordinary experiences and inspiring tales yet to be written. With each twist of the throttle I embrace the unknown, and I can’t wait to share the unfolding journey of a lifetime with you.

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The Wayback Machine: A Walk Across Spain (Part 1)

By Bobbie Surber

The Camino de Santiago, also known as the Way of St. James, is a network of pilgrimage routes that lead to the shrine of the apostle Saint James the Great in the cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, Spain. The Camino has been a popular destination for Christian pilgrims for more than a thousand years, and it is now visited by people of all faiths and backgrounds from around the world.

There are several routes of the Camino de Santiago, including the Camino Frances (French Way), which is the most popular, and the Camino Portugués (Portuguese Way), which starts in Lisbon or begins in Porto for a two-week shorter Camino. The Camino de Santiago is a long-distance walk or hike that typically takes 30-40 days to complete, depending on the route and the pace of the individual pilgrim.

Along the way, pilgrims stay in Albergues (pilgrim hostels) or other types of accommodation and follow the yellow arrows and shells which mark the way. The Camino de Santiago offers a unique opportunity to experience the beauty of the Spanish landscape and culture and to challenge oneself physically and spiritually.

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I walked seven different Camino Routes with my first Camino in 2012 and the last in September 2021. My last walk found me starting in Pamplona, Spain, a vibrant city never lacking a reason for a fiesta, a city known worldwide for the Running of the Bulls every July. I ended my journey in Leon, Spain. With my added side trips, I walked over 300 miles, experiencing high desert plateaus, the Rioja wine region, the blissful Logrono’s tapas, the magnificent Burgos Cathedral, the Meseta’s emptiness, and the joy of Leon.

I was on a multi-month motorcycle/camping trip through Arizona, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana. When riding, there are times when every part of your brain is laser-focused on the road ahead of you and who might try to run you over from the back or side, but every now and then, the ride is so peaceful that you have time to turn a portion of your brain to the gift of “I wonder.” This led me to reminisce over my six prior walks along different Camino routes in Spain, Portugal, and France. Once released, an avalanche of memories and images flowed to the point that I knew I would be booking my flight to Europe as soon as I stopped my ride for the day.

A quick Google Flights search gave me what I needed, and I soon had a ticket. This was another solo walk, my favorite way for most hikes. My arrival in Pamplona was early enough that I decided to start my Camino right from the Pamplona Airport, bypassing one of my favorite cities in Spain.

The morning had the hope of the fall weather yet to come as I headed slowly up the first of several foothills with the goal of a 10-mile walk for my first day. The gravel crunched satisfactorily underfoot as I quickly adjusted my backstraps to climb up to an iconic ridge that all pilgrims look forward to, the Alto del Perdón, a mountain pass in the province of Navarra in northern Spain, about 12 miles outside of Pamplona. I had returned to the Camino Frances trail after nine-year of absence, taking in beautiful views of the surrounding landscape and a chance to rest and recharge. The mountain pass is named after a sculpture of the Virgin Mary and the phrases “Señora del Camino” (Lady of the Way) and “Perdón” (Forgiveness), which are inscribed on the base of the sculpture. The windswept ridge and the massive wind turbines in the background contrast the sculptures that represent a pilgrimage from the Middle Ages. I took my first full breath after 18 hours of travel and an excellent 8-mile walk to this point. I thought about my intentions for this walk, what I hoped to gain and whom I would miss in the coming weeks of a long walk across most of Spain.

Reluctantly leaving the ridge late afternoon, I knew it would be challenging to reach my Albergue for the night. The steep loose gravel trail reminds me that my knees are not what they used to be, and motorcycle riding for the prior months did little to prepare me for the rigors of this walk. Soon the village of Uterga appeared with another climb up to her main street. My arrival timed perfectly to watch the evening stroll of the locals begin, kids running in the square, little old ladies with perfectly quaffed hair and well-put-together outfits ambling in deep conversations. Adults were sitting in outdoor cafes having a drink, visiting each other, and enjoying the last dregs of daylight. I wanted to plop my disheveled self within their mist and order my first long-awaited glass of Vino Tinto, but I pulled myself together and made the last of my walk to my Albergue in short order.

This first night’s stay found me in a dorm room in a private Albergue with its small restaurant and bar. After showing my pilgrims pass (issued to show you are walking the Camino) and paying 12 Euros for my place in the dorm room, I quickly dumped my backpack on my bed, looked in the mirror, confirmed I looked like a wreck, dashed for the bar, and ordered my first of many good Rioja wines. Settling in, I met my first group of fellow pilgrims. A portly German fellow in his mid-fifties that I would painfully learn would serenade us throughout the night with his epic snoring. Also, a group of Italian bicycle riders. They were loud, and all were talking at once with what would become the usual question: Why is an American woman walking the Camino alone? Well, that’s a question for another day! I order my second glass of wine and move into the restaurant for the start of the evening’s Pilgrim meal, an inexpensive three-course meal with portions that could feed a small family, and your choice of bottled water or a bottle of wine, Good God, man, why would you order the water? I certainly did not.

I had equal feelings of contentment and joy seeping in as German, Italian, and Spanish conversations swirled around me—fellow pilgrims sharing their day’s success and physical hardships. Many of the pilgrims had started 60 miles back on the French side of the Pyrenees, had survived the celebrations of Pamplona, and were still in high spirits so early in their walk. I listened to their stories and their countless toasts made in several languages. I left the room while the wave of conversation and laughter reminded me of how lucky I was to be on this walk for a 7th time. This surely was the beginning of an epic adventure and the hope of what Spain had in store for me.

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Highway 50: The Loneliest Road in America

By Bobbie Surber

Embarking on a motorcycle trip from Arizona to British Columbia I set two goals for myself: to visit as many national parks as possible and to explore remote and intriguing roads. During my pursuit of the latter that I stumbled upon Highway 50, also known as the “Loneliest Road in America.” It offered the bonus of passing through the Great Basin National Park.

Like any good planner, I turned to social media for advice on surviving this desolate route (add in a touch of sarcasm). The responses I received were mostly negative, with warnings about the challenges of riding alone, extreme heat, lack of gas stations, and overall boredom. However, a few seasoned riders who were familiar with the road reassured me that not only would I survive, but I would also have the opportunity to earn a certificate attesting to my survival. With this mixed bag of feedback, I embarked on my journey, eager to uncover the truth about the Loneliest Road.

Highway 50, stretching from West Sacramento, California, to Ocean City, Maryland, is a scenic route that earned its moniker from a 1986 Life magazine article that described it as desolate and isolated. The section of Highway 50 referred to as the Loneliest Road is in Nevada. This road winds through vast stretches of remote desert landscapes, featuring rugged mountains and expansive plains that contribute to its reputation.

Traveling along the Loneliest Road offers a unique experience, characterized by long stretches between services. It is essential for travelers to come well-prepared, as gas stations, restaurants, and accommodations are few. Adequate fuel, extra food and water supplies, and an acute awareness of weather conditions, particularly during extreme heat or summer and winter storms, are crucial.

Despite its reputation for solitude, the Loneliest Road in America showcases stunning natural beauty, allowing travelers to immerse themselves in the vastness of the American West. Along the route, one can encounter remarkable attractions such as the Great Basin National Park, Lehman Caves, and several ghost towns. These highlights offer a glimpse into the unique charm and allure of this road less traveled.

Let’s dive into my own epic experience along this renowned route.

My journey began when I left my home in Sedona, AZ, riding my trusty Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro, affectionately nicknamed “Tippi,” as she likes to take what I call unscheduled naps tipping over often at inconvenient locations. Loaded with gear for a summer of adventure, I set off on a bright June Sunday morning, spending five days exploring North Grand Canyon, Zion, Bryce Canyon, and the captivating Highway 12, before spending two nights in Capitol Reef.

Leaving Capitol Reef, I eagerly anticipated joining the long-awaited Highway 50, where it intersected Interstate 15 in Utah. Initially, the road meandered through open plains with scattered ranches along the way, offering nothing too remarkable. However, about an hour later, the ride became more intriguing as the winds picked up. As I glanced ahead, an ominous sky threatened an impending storm. Riding past sand and salt fields, I witnessed a bewildering phenomenon—the salt in the fields seemed to defy the wind, rising straight up in vertical columns rather than blowing or swirling. Bracing myself against the wind’s force, I pulled over to capture this puzzling sight but struggled to capture it adequately, settling for a short video clip as proof of my encounter.

Continuing across more plains, I found myself nearing the turnoff to Baker and the Great Basin National Park, my intended destination for two nights of camping and sightseeing. As I gazed at the mountain, I found an angry and ominous sky with snow-covered peaks that seemed to dare me to face the challenges of reaching its 7700-foot elevation to my destination at Upper Lehman Campground. Rain and lightning accompanied me as I rode into the tiny town of Baker, where I hastily stopped at the Visitor Center to check the weather report and determine how cold it would get during the night. Assured of temperatures above freezing, I pressed onward, rewarded with an epic campsite at Great Basin. Nestled alongside the rushing Lehman River, my campsite offered complete privacy, and I reveled in the wonders of the park over the next two rain-filled days and nights. The Lehman Cave tour was an unforgettable highlight not to be missed. As an avid hiker I loved that I was able to experience an epic 7-mile round trip hike along the mountain following ever upwards along the Lehman River complete with snow covered meadows and towering views of the mountain summit.

During my stay in Baker, Nevada, I discovered two places that I highly recommend. The first is the 489 Grill and Whispering Elms Motel and RV Park, which boasts a bar, RV and tent camping facilities, firewood, and the best burger I have ever tasted. Trust me when I say this is a significant claim, as I am a true burger aficionado. The food is not the only remarkable aspect; the owner and staff are incredibly hospitable, making your visit all the more enjoyable. The second recommendation is the Bristlecone General Store, a quaint establishment offering unique local gifts, an unexpectedly diverse selection of food options given its small size, and a coffee bar serving locally roasted beans by a blind roaster with an extraordinary sense of smell, resulting in a delightful brew devoid of the bitterness found in commercial beans. Among the store’s charms, one staff member named Rachel stood out for her warmth, hospitality, and willingness to share insights about Baker and local hidden gems. I was informed that Sandra’s Food Truck serves excellent and affordable Mexican cuisine—an experience I now eagerly anticipate for my future visits.

Continuing on Highway 50, with the ominous skies in my rearview mirrors, I was reminded of the urgency to press on towards my next stop—Austin, NV. This old mining camp retains its rustic charm and has evolved into a haven for camping, hiking, and mountain biking, thanks to its proximity to the towering Toiyabe Mountains. During a pit stop, I encountered a large group of riders following the Pony Express Trail, who praised my adventure, while I vowed to return in the near future to explore that historic route.

Determined to soldier on, I pushed forward to Carson City, Nevada, before ascending the switchbacks and descending towards Lake Tahoe. The ride and the stunning view of the lake were awe-inspiring. I completed the remaining portion of my day’s journey with ease, covering over 400 miles. A warm hotel bed awaited me after seven nights of camping, and I eagerly anticipated reuniting with my boyfriend, Mike Huber, a fellow adventure rider who also happens to be a badass. I recommend checking out his posts on ExhaustNotes for a combination of insightful rides and outrageous travel stories.

In conclusion, my time on the Loneliest Road in America was an unforgettable experience. Despite the dire warnings I received, I found this historic stretch of highway to be well worth the ride. Contrary to popular belief, there are plenty of services available along the route, and the road itself is intermittently adorned with scenic mountain passes. The friendly locals and the sense of freedom that permeates this lightly traveled road are rare treasures that I seldom encounter. If you’re seeking a unique journey through the American West, I wholeheartedly recommend venturing onto the Loneliest Road in America.

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My Favorite Ride in the USA: Utah’s Highway 12

By Bobby Surber

Highway 12, also known as Utah State Route 12, is an awe-inspiring scenic byway in southern Utah that holds the prestigious title of being an “All-American Road.” Stretching approximately 124 miles, this route captivates travelers with its breathtaking landscapes and unforgettable views.

Starting near Panguitch, my journey along Highway 12 began with mounting excitement as the first red arches came into view. I took a short detour off of Route 12 to immerse myself in the famous hoodoos and trails of Bryce Canyon National Park. Lucky enough to secure a campsite at Sunset Campground, I made quick work of setting up my camp and heading out for a long afternoon hike. The next morning I witnessed a magnificent sunrise casting a warm glow over the canyon, illuminating the striking hoodoos and crimson rocks, a memory I won’t forget! A one-night stay in Bryce leaves one unsatisfied and longing for more time to explore her magnificent trails.

Continuing my adventure the following morning, I eagerly resumed my route on Highway 12, heading towards my favorite section of the road, high above the captivating Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. This expansive and remote region boasts rugged canyons, vibrant cliffs, and extraordinary geological formations. The landscape and its impossible rock formations treated me to endless twisties, creating a sense of otherworldliness. My Triumph Tiger 900 GT Pro was as happy as I was as I relaxed into the ride and allowed her to remind me again what her three cylinders can do. Both of us were in sync as we leaned into curve after curve and blasted down to the bottom of the canyon.

For those with extra time, I highly recommend exploring nearby slot canyons such as Peek-a-Boo and Spooky Gulch, which offer outstanding hiking experiences.

Don’t miss the enchanting Calf Creek Falls nestled at the bottom of a lush canyon. A short hike leads to a captivating waterfall. While leaving Calf Creek be sure to watch for a dirt road on the left with a sign for coffee. Take that turn and savor a cup of Joe with a view that will leave you speechless.

As I reluctantly approached the tiny town of Boulder, Utah, I realized I had made remarkable progress through the twisties. I was unexpectedly greeted by an old-school cattle round-up, complete with cowgirls and boys herding a large herd down Highway 12! After a brief turnaround, I found solace in my favorite restaurant, the Burr Trail Grill. Their farm-fresh ingredients delighted my taste buds, whether it was their fresh arugula salad topped with local goat cheese or their beastly-sized burgers that proved a challenge to conquer.

Resuming my journey on Highway 12, I found myself in an unexpected predicament. The cattle herd’s progress was slow and I crawled along clutching endlessly as I felt my left hand about to begin a serious complaint! Amidst the frustration, two memorable moments emerged. First, a passerby exclaimed, “Dude, you have the sweetest bike and setup!” We shared a laugh as he realized I was indeed “dudeless.” Second, after navigating my way to the front of the line, I convinced the lead cowboy to move the herd slightly to the right, allowing me to pass. Maneuvering my bike through the cows became a comical adventure, with prayers that the sound of my motor wouldn’t startle them. Experiencing this traditional cattle drive in 2023 felt like a slice of Americana and added yet another reason to love Utah.

Leaving the cattle behind I ascended Boulder Mountain, where endless views revealed the back of Capitol Reef on the right and scenic meadows with clusters of aspen, fir, and spruce trees on the left. Surprisingly, the mountain still boasted more snow than I expected in June. Camping, fishing, and wildlife viewing opportunities abound in this mountainous region, with numerous sites available. I’ve spent nights here savoring the breathtaking vista overlooking Capitol Reef and the sprawling valley floor.

As I arrived in Torrey, Utah, the end of Highway 12, I couldn’t help but lament the route’s brevity. With just 125 miles of captivating beauty, I yearned to turn around and experience it all over again. However, the call of the canyon beckoned me for a rewarding hike, followed by a well-deserved whisky to bring an end to a truly perfect ride.

Highway 12, Utah—truly a magical journey that captures the heart and leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

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Three Favorite Sedona Hikes

By Bobbie Surber

Arizona’s Sedona area offers fantastic hiking. This blog describes three of my favorites.

Bear Mountain Trail

Bear Mountain provides fantastic red rock views. The start of the trail is at about 4600 feet in elevation from the parking lot. At the final summit, the elevation reaches 6150 feet. At the summit of Bear Mountain, you can see the San Francisco Peaks in Flagstaff, views of Bell Rock in the Village of Oak Creek, Verde Valley, peaks of Sycamore Canyon, and all West Sedona.

A warm spring day found me on the Bear Mountain Trail with a new friend I met during a Sedona Meet Up Hiking event. Linda is from New Jersey and is an avid outdoorswoman, hiker, and yoga devotee. I enjoyed Linda’s company as we marveled at the views and shared about our lives, family, and career paths.

I was happy that the Bear Mountain Trail DID NOT kick me in the behind. A challenging hike with an 1800 ft gain over the course of 3 levels of summits. This is a designated wilderness area, so there aren’t any trail markers once you enter the designated area. Watch for trail markings carefully and pay attention, as you will encounter several false summits before reaching the peak. Views along the way revealed stunning red rock slot canyons and an area resembling a mini Grand Canyon. This is a steep trail with some rock scrambling. Please pay attention to the trail, as it is easy to get off track. 2 liters of water is the minimum recommended for this strenuous hike, more on a hot day. A hat and walking poles are also very helpful.

This hike is advanced and difficult. You should be prepared with proper footwear, water, food, and layers of clothes.

Sugarloaf to Lizard Head to Chuck Wagon to Brins Mesa, returning via Jordan Trail

Sunday morning started with a chill in the air and an overcast sky. I postponed getting out of bed and decided on another cup of coffee; my favorite, extra dark roast made strong enough to curl your hair worked its magic as I continued to procrastinate a few moments longer with a leisurely read of the Sunday paper. My hiking shoes waited anxiously beside my bed for the impending long hike. Not sure if it was the regret of a wasted Sunday or the sudden clearing of the clouds, whatever it was, I surrendered, dumped the remainder of my brew, got the hiking shoes on, and headed out the front door.

My goal was to try out Day 1 of a planned 3-day hike in Sedona and the Village of Oak Creek. I headed to the Sugarloaf Trailhead catching the Andante trail over to Chimney Rock Saddle to connect to the Lizard Head trail. This is where I was momentarily lost. OK, not momentarily lost… but I could not locate the %&# trail for about an hour! Man, talk about the embarrassment of getting lost in my backyard!

After bushwhacking and following a new chain-link fence, I found Lizard Head and started the ascent. Within a half hour, I was high up on the side of the mountain, and sure, I was too high for this trail. Thank goodness for cell phones and a call to my friend Doug, the master of all things related to Sedona trails, who knew exactly where I was and assured me I only needed to butt-scoot down the rocks about 100 ft and begin my descent to the bottom of the trail. He was dead on!

Besides my inability to navigate easy-to-locate trails in my backyard, I did not care for this section due to road noise off Dry Creek Rd. This, however, was short-lived as Lizard Head connected to Chuck Wagon trailhead with a lovely new picnic area, maps, and toilets. A fast rest and lunch, and I was back on the Chuck Wagon trail heading to the Brins Mesa trail. Chuck Wagon trail meanders through open vistas and dry gullies with views over Boynton and Secret Canyon. A wonderfully easy trail with outstanding red rock views. By 3 pm, I was at the trailhead of Brins Mesa with the much-needed forest to cool me off. Brins Mesa is always my favorite. Not sure why; perhaps it is the rebirth after the fire of 2006 or the feeling of others that have walked this Mesa for hundreds of years. Whatever the reason, I had a surge of endorphins firing off in my brain, and I was in complete bliss despite a longer-than-expected day of hiking and a start of a dreaded blister on my little toe.

After an enjoyable day of hiking, one might think that nothing could top it. However, heading to the Oak Creek Brewery from the Jordan trailhead for a delicious hotdog and refreshing beer further elevated my experience in Red Rock Country. Spending a Sunday in this manner gives a new meaning to Sunday Funday!

This 12-mile hike is moderate difficulty. Bring plenty of water.

West Fork Trail in Oak Creek Canyon

The West Fork Trail is a moderate hiking trail known for its picturesque views of the red rock canyons and the crystal-clear waters of Oak Creek. The out-and-back trail follows the creek for about 6.4 miles and takes around 2 to 4 hours to complete. It is suitable for hikers of all levels, including families with children. Hikers should wear appropriate gear and bring plenty of water and snacks. You will make numerous water crossings and find that water shoes make the trail more manageable; check the weather forecast for storms and potential flooding.

My morning could not have been more perfect. Hot coffee served bedside, the sun shining brightly, two soft-boiled eggs just the way I like them, and an 8 am date with Elaine to hike the Oak Creek Canyon.

West Fork leaves, and the West Fork trailhead.

What I did not expect was to hit the famed West Fork Trail at the perfect date and time to see our Arizona fall leaves at the most glorious time of year. The morning light was enchanting as it filtered into the canyon, backlighting the trees and setting the red rock cliffs glowing with burnt orange with soft buttery yellows and rust red. Childhood joy resurfaced as we worked our way back and forth across Oak Creek; with each turn along the trail, nature revealed yet another excellent view of the Canyon.

It is difficult to describe this trail’s beauty in the fall. The experience goes beyond language; one must turn inward and fully immerse themselves in the earth’s magic beneath their feet. The power of the running creek and the ever-changing red rocks add to the enchantment of the surroundings, creating a truly indescribable experience. The company was as wonderful as the views along this hike. It was so nice to have some Elaine time and, for a moment, remember what it is like to be removed far from our hectic busy lives and reacquaint with an old friend in an enchanted setting such as this.

Be prepared to face water crossings.

Sedona and the surrounding areas have an abundance of hiking opportunities. Thirty-seven years of living in this Red Rock paradise, and I still have hikes on my list yet to be explored. If you are planning a trip to Sedona, consider using All-Trails and stopping by the Forest Service office for up-to-date restrictions and trail conditions. If hiking is what gets your mojo on, then Sedona will not disappoint!

A Walk Along The Famous Dingle Way: Part II

By Bobbie Surber

The Dingle Way is a 112-mile-long walking trail that circles the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry, Ireland. The trail takes walkers through diverse landscapes, including rugged coastlines, sandy beaches, rolling hills, and picturesque villages. Along the way, walkers can enjoy stunning views of the Atlantic Ocean and ancient archaeological sites and historic landmarks, such as the Gallarus Oratory, a well-preserved early Christian church dating back to the 7th or 8th century. I previously wrote about the first part of this trip; you can read that blog here. This blog completes the trip.

Day 3: Inch Strand to Dingle

After a filling Irish breakfast at Inch Strand, I embarked on my journey, following trails and secondary roads that provided stunning bay views. As I turned inland towards Annascaul, I continued along more secondary roads that eventually led me to a rocky beach and castle. The scenery along the way was breathtaking, and I frequently stopped to soak in the beauty of my surroundings. Leaving the beach behind, it was just a few miles to Lispole before arriving at the day’s final destination in the town of Dingle. As I approached the village, I was struck by how small and easy it was to navigate on foot. Music could be heard at every turn, and the town was bustling with activity. The shops were fantastic; it was a great place to restock and prepare for the remainder of the trail.

One of the highlights of my stay in Dingle was visiting Dick Mack’s Pub. As a whiskey lover, I was thrilled to discover that the pub was known for its extensive Irish whiskey collection. The bartenders were incredibly knowledgeable and passionate about the spirits, and I spent a delightful evening sampling various types of whiskey and learning about their unique flavors, meeting locals, and developing the start of some new friendships.

For those interested in live music, Dingle is a great destination. Just pop your head into any pub, and you’ll likely find Ireland’s version of Nashville, with hundreds of talented musicians on every corner. One of my favorite spots was the Courthouse Pub, a tiny establishment with an impossibly low ceiling, friendly staff, and some of the best music in Dingle.

Day 4: Dingle to Dunquin

This was the hardest day of the trail so far, with a 14-mile trek that started by departing Dingle and heading to Ventry. The first four miles were relatively easy, except that the surface was entirely hard, making it quite taxing. In Ventry, I found a small post office with a combination grocery store, and I took a nice break to restock and meet some very kind local ladies hosting a fundraiser for hospice care. The locals had baked their best desserts for the event and invited me to join in, and I couldn’t resist the temptation of the delicious treats.

As soon as I left Ventry, I was treated to a beautiful long beach walk to the other side of the bay. Schoolchildren were busy cleaning the beach, and locals walked along the shore, enjoying some sunshine. Next up was a bit of road walking along Sledge Drive, with dramatic sea views before turning to Mount Eagle. The climb was tough, taking several hours through sheep pastures and offering dramatic sea views.

The trail was wet, uneven, and a real thigh workout, but the day was as lovely and magical as possible. It’s hard to describe the uniqueness of walking through a new land – the way the vista unfolds before you, the smell of the earth, the local bakery, the scent of livestock, and the chance to witness the locals going about their daily lives. You experience a level of intimacy that cannot be duplicated by any other mode of transportation other than your own two feet.

Besides the breathtaking views and walking along ancient stone walls, I saw many Beehive ruins and ancient dwellings from the 9th century. About when I thought I couldn’t go uphill anymore, the trail took a steep decline down to the road and the start of the entry to Dunquin. I stopped for coffee and continued another two miles on the hard road to the Youth Hostel and the exceptionally kind host who took great care of her guests. Another great day!

Day 5, 6, and 7: Dunquin to Ballydavid and Kilcummin

The following day, my friend Patrick generously offered to drive me back to the trailhead for my hike over the pass of Mt. Brandon. Despite the less-than-ideal weather conditions and concerns from locals about my solo hike, I assured them that I would turn back if the fog worsened. Nonetheless, as I gazed upon the climb ahead of me, I couldn’t help but feel a moment of nervousness.

The hike to the top of Mt. Brandon was a challenging 3.5-mile ascent, with no switchbacks and only soggy, boggy, and uneven terrain underfoot. The descent was equally difficult, with even less stable footing. It wasn’t until I reached the 6-mile mark that I could finally walk on a dirt, mud-filled road and breathe a sigh of relief.

This day was significant to me, as I had set out to summit Mt. Brandon in honor of my nephew. Despite the thick fog that prevented me from reaching the peak, I made it to the saddle, with the peak looming above me. Looking back at the mountain while standing on that muddy road, I witnessed a moment of awe-inspiring magic. The fog slowly crept down the mountain, lifting to the heavens and spreading its fingers across the valley floor. It felt like a blessing, a gift I didn’t deserve but received nonetheless.

At that moment, I realized that reaching the peak wasn’t as important as the day of remembrance I had dedicated to my nephew. I knew Brandon would have been proud, and I felt grateful for the time I had shared with him. I had promised to honor his love for the outdoors, his welcoming spirit toward everyone he met, and his devotion to his family. The day had been physically and emotionally draining, but it was a perfect day I will never forget. To my dear Brandon, the boy who will forever live in my heart, I raise a glass and say, Sláinte.

Entering the town of Brandon, I stumbled into a bar and enjoyed a delicious meal of homemade soup and bread with a pint of Guinness and a shot of Green Spot to revive and celebrate my hard passage. The café was warm and welcoming, and the owners were friendly and eager to chat about the beauty and challenges of the trail.

Following a satisfying lunch, I continued my journey, passing through more rolling hills, herds of sheep, and farmland until I reached the charming village of Kilcummin. As I approached, I was treated again to awe-inspiring views of the Dingle Peninsula and the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Fortunately, I found the perfect B&B, a lovely farmhouse in the countryside’s heart. The hosts were warm and welcoming, and I enjoyed a peaceful and restful night’s sleep after a long day of hiking.

Day 8: Kilcummin to Tralee

The week had passed quickly, and I was both sad and excited to confront my final day on the Dingle Way. The day brought plenty of sunshine and was a relatively easy one, with just over 8 miles of walking to the town of Tralee. The trail took us through more picturesque countryside, with fields of sheep and cows grazing lazily in the sunshine.

Passing through the village of Castlemaine, which is famous for its links to the legendary outlaw, Daniel O’Connell. O’Connell was a lawyer and politician who fought for Catholic emancipation in Ireland in the 19th century, and he was a hero to many Irish people. Castlemaine is also home to a small museum dedicated to the area’s history.

Approaching Tralee, you could see the town’s famous landmark, the Rose of Tralee statue, dedicated to the same name’s song. The statue depicts a young woman holding a rose, and it is a popular spot for tourists to take photos. What a wonderful end to the Dingle Way trail with an afternoon exploring Tralee by spending time exploring the town’s shops, restaurants, and museums. Tralee is a bustling town with a rich history and worth much time exploring.

Conclusion

The Dingle Way is a truly magical experience, offering breathtaking views, fascinating history, and the chance to connect profoundly with the natural world. From the windswept beaches of Inch Strand to the rolling hills of Kilcummin, the pure joy to be found in the town of Dingle, the trail takes you on a journey through some of Ireland’s most stunning landscapes.

Along the way, I met countless friendly locals who took me instantly in as one of their own with legendary hospitality that is well deserved and a balm to the heart of an American. Take your time to enjoy delicious food and drink. Lean into the culture and history of the Dingle Peninsula. The trail is sometimes challenging, but the rewards and friendships made along the way are more than worth it.

I can’t wait to go back and do it all over again!

Part 1 of the Dingle Way, Ireland – Tralee to Camp

By Bobbie Surber

The Dingle Way trail in Ireland was an epic adventure that left me feeling invigorated and alive. As a lover of hiking and long-distance walking, I knew that Ireland would offer the perfect landscape to immerse myself in nature and challenge my physical limits. I was torn between the Ring of Kerry and the Dingle Way, but after much research and the advice of a dear friend, I chose the latter for its remoteness and stunning vistas.

The Dingle Way is a long-distance walking trail that spans approximately 115 miles across the southwestern region of Ireland. The trail begins and ends in the charming town of Tralee, passing through the picturesque town of Dingle and the stunning Dingle Peninsula. The views along the way are nothing short of breathtaking, with panoramic views of the Atlantic Ocean, the Blasket Islands, and the Macgillycuddy’s Reeks mountain range.

After a long train ride from Dublin, I arrived in Tralee, a charming town in County Kerry. The town is known for its friendly locals, rich history, and stunning natural beauty. It serves as the county seat of Kerry and is the starting point for both the Dingle Way and Kerry Camino trails. After checking into my room for the night, I took advantage and visited the famous Roses of Tralee, the nearby Tralee Bay, and the breathtaking views of the Atlantic Ocean, rugged cliffs, and rolling hills. My day ended with a hearty bowl of vegetable soup and my newfound love of Red Breast single pot Irish Whisky. Aided by a wee drop of Red Breast, I returned to my lodging and fell into a dreamless sleep.

I woke early the next morning in time to see the light break through a brooding overcast sky. As I sat enjoying the conversation of my host, Veronica, I could not help but linger over my stellar Irish breakfast and excellent strong coffee. Reluctantly I said my farewells and set out for the official first day of my journey. I felt a wave of nostalgia for my past adventures and growing excitement for this one. The weather was typically Irish, with epic wind and rain pounding the trail, but I relished the challenge and pushed myself to keep going. The dark sky contrasted sharply with the emerald foothills, and the wind dared me to remain upright with the weight of my backpack. But I felt alive with the excitement of the adventure.

As the day wore on, I stumbled upon a cozy sliver of a pub in the village of Camp. The bartender’s great-grandfather built the pub, adding a touch of history to my visit. Stepping inside, I was immediately enveloped in warmth and hospitality. The locals were friendly and welcoming, and the music and laughter echoed off the walls. It was the perfect place to recover from a long day on the trail.

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Sipping on a pint of Guinness and chatting with the locals, I felt a deep contentment and gratitude. Despite the day’s challenges, I had made it to this cozy pub, surrounded by new friends and Ireland’s rich history. Moments like these made me fall in love with travel and the thrill of adventure.

After a quick stop at the B&B, I couldn’t resist the allure of the Railroad Pub. Sunday nights were special, with locals gathering to play their instruments and sing. As I walked in, I felt like I had stumbled onto the set of a small Irish independent film. The pub was alive with energy, music, and laughter spilling out onto the street.

The characters inside embodied everything I had imagined about rural Ireland – warm, friendly, and full of life. They welcomed me with open arms, inviting me to join the festivities. I grabbed a pint of ale and found a spot at the bar, taking in the sounds and smells around me.

As the night wore on, the music grew louder and the dancing more exuberant. I couldn’t resist the urge to join in, stumbling onto the dance floor with newfound confidence. The locals cheered me on, and soon I was lost in the moment of joy.

Despite being busy behind the bar, Mike, the owner, took the time to chat with us and ensure we were taken care of. His kindness and generosity added to the magic of the night, making it one I’ll never forget. As I stumbled back to the B&B, my heart full of the music and memories of the night, I knew this trip would be one for the books. The traditional music and singing had truly been the highlight of my journey so far, and I couldn’t wait to see what adventures awaited me on the rest of the Dingle Way/Kerry Camino. With cozy pubs, delicious food, and breathtaking views, I knew this adventure would be epic!

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Dublin: A Lively Pub and Friendly Locals

By Bobbie Surber

I set off for Ireland with a one-night stay in Dublin as a stopover before traveling via train to walk the Dingle Way, a long-distance walking trail that circles the Dingle Peninsula in County Kerry. It is a 179 km (111 mi) trail that takes about 8 to 10 days to complete, and it is considered one of the most scenic walking routes in Ireland. I will write more about this epic trail in my next post.

After a long flight from the USA, I arrived at Dublin Airport and took a bus to the city center. A half-hour later, I arrived at Temple Bar neighborhood with a blustery short 10-minute walk to my Hostel. I planned to check in and get a recommendation from the staff on their favorite local pub to enjoy a good dinner and a pint of beer before turning in early for a much-needed sleep and an early morning train to start my long-distance walk.

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Well, that was the plan I had scripted for myself, but Dublin had other plans in store for me.

Walking into a local pub packed to the roof with Friday night revelers, I barely had enough room to squeeze inside the entrance door. The pub was so full that it seemed impossible to get to the bar, let alone a table for my dinner or to order my wee pint of beer! I was turning around and determined to leave when a friendly Irishman quickly put me at ease with his warm welcome and offered me a pint of Guinness. Despite the crowded bar, he skillfully navigated through the throngs of people to a table where a group of Germans welcomed us to join them. Over the course of the night, we enjoyed several pints (okay many pints) and shots of Green Spot Irish whiskey while the lively music had the entire bar singing and dancing. I even danced with my Irishman and a sweet-hearted German with a great sense of humor. At around 2 am, we stumbled out of the pub and continued the revelry at a local place where you got it; more pints and shots were served.

I never actually made it to bed that night; my head was pounding, and my vision was blurry when I returned to the hostel just in time to witness the sunrise and the city come back to life. With barely enough time to collect my backpack, I set out for the next leg of my adventures in Ireland. Despite the hangover and lack of sleep, I called an Uber lift to take me to the train station, and during the ride, the driver asked me about my sightseeing experiences the previous day. When I revealed that I had only visited one small pub, he laughed and declared me a true Irishwoman at heart. Regrettably, I never had dinner that night, but the memories of the vibrant pub and the friendly locals I encountered will remain with me forever.

Sláinte!

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