Buck and I made our way north, passing wide open ranch lands and fleeting townships that littered the backroad highways of western Texas. We passed an incomprehensible number of pick-up trucks (and by that I mean they passed us). They zoomed past; new trucks with engines that let out a primal roar full of horsepower and authority. Meanwhile Bucket’s engine made the van equivalent of congested nasal breathing as we waddled upwards through the Lone Star State. 

Deep, down in southwest Texas lies an area of land full of challenges; almost from the moment I entered its borders I was tested; emotionally, physically and mentally. This place, which appears to be just a small blip on maps of Texas, feels incredibly vast and intimidating when one is there. A swathe of desert plains surround mountains in the same vain as Saturn is encompassed by its rings. A land of extremes in both temperature and climate, Thermometers can easily read over 100 degrees as early as spring. It’s a dry heat, not an ounce of moisture in the air while the sun relentlessly leers down at you. The entire park is contained within the Chihuahuan Desert, the largest desert in North America. The Chihuahuan truly feels boundless. That is, until the southern most mountain range in the contiguous U.S. leaps out of the horizon, the Chisos mountains. This land, that borders two countries and lies at a crossroads of mountains and desert, was a place that would test me. A land that would leave me in awe of its beauty and respectful (and paranoid) of its dangers. This land was Big Bend National Park, a place that would serve as a sort of turning point on my journey. A prologue to what the rest of my journey would become as I moved on, between two oceans, across states and ever changing landscapes. As I made my way through these chapters in the great expedition we like to call life. 

The same full moon that blossomed over Black Mesa in Oklahoma continued to shine down on Bucket and I while we made our way west, crossing the border and diving into New Mexico. 

A mentally taxing four hour drive took me through uninhabited deserts where one or two small towns stood out like islands amidst the sea. Hours into the drive my patience began reaching critically low levels.

Mississippi had rattled me a bit with its shady parking lots and challenges to my long held hiking-convictions. I was not exactly broken up about getting the heck out of there. Coincidentally, I had recently learned of the adage “Thank God for Mississippi,” which alludes to when people rank the states. Apparently, the phrase is uttered by low ranking states who might be lower…but “Thank God for Mississippi”. There’s even a wikipedia page for it, which is where I learned the word “adage” in the first place; check it out. 

I hoped you enjoyed that little tangent because there’s about 12 more waiting for you in this post. 

Florida’s Britton Hill sits at a dizzying 345 feet above sea level, towering over the flat swathes of land that make up the entirety of the Sunshine state. This peak (I’m using that term very loosely) is the lowest high point in the U.S. While Britton Hill is taller than both the Statue of Liberty and Big Ben, I’m here to confirm that it sure as heck doesn’t look or feel like it. 

I had risen with the sun that morning. 

The sky was pink and orange as Bucket and I set off into the Alabama hills (If you’re just joining us Bucket is my GMC Campervan). After clambering over a series of roads that rose and fell like waves in the sea, we cruised into the Lake Cheaha area of Cheaha State Park. The colors in the sky had given way to golden rays lofted down by the sun as it climbed over the surrounding mountains. My breakfast that day consisted of a banana, a Clif bar and a bug that flew into my mouth as I walked towards the trail. Ahead of me were 7.5 miles and the highest point in Alabama. I had no idea I would end up hiking quite a bit more than that. 

What they don’t tell you about blogs is that they don’t write themselves, apparently. I’ve been on the road about a month now and this is the first time I’m attempting to string some sentences together to tell you some stories.