Starting Slow and Learning Fast in the EarthRoamer

Fort Rock, Oregon

Before heading out for our first full-time EarthRoamer journey, we did a four-day shakeout trip in Hood River. We didn’t leave that trip thinking we were experts—but we did feel more prepared. And we were. When we officially hit the road this week, we started with a solid foundation. But also, with so much still to learn.

The biggest ongoing lesson continues to be that everything takes longer than we expect. Everything. Driving. Packing up camp. Getting up and ready for the day. Everything just takes more time. Our trip kicked off true to form—leaving about three hours later than we’d planned. (In our defense, our fast food stop took 30 minutes at the drive-thru.) That delay meant we missed our first planned stop at Fort Rock—it was closed by the time we arrived—and we had to drive into camp in the dark. In the moment these things feel a little stressful—our plan slightly derailed, a late, sleepy evening, but in hindsight, I also know we’re potentially doing this EarthRoaming life for years—we’ll have another time at Fort Rock. We’ll come back and spend more time at camp. 

Marster Spring Camp and Chewaucan River Loop MTB

Lake Abert Wildlife Area, Oregon

Leaving the comfort of home also made us realize just how much we don’t know. It’s the little things. Take Lake Abert, for example. We pulled over to admire it—only to realize we had to Google the pronunciation. (It’s “Ay-Bert,” by the way—not “Albert.” We almost drove to the wrong lake.)

After a grocery stop in Susanville, we learned that the campsite we’d planned to head to was… on fire. This is why things take longer: everything is dynamic. We pivoted and ended up at a new spot—tucked in a quiet little nook overlooking Honey Lake at sunset. Even though I don’t know what our original campsite was supposed to be like, I think the one we ended up at was even better. 

One of my favorite moments of the whole trip happened here: Nia saw her first giant pinecone. If you know Nia, you know her love of shredding pinecones. And these were the size of her head. As soon as Jacob pulled one out of a bush, she locked eyes on it like it was Christmas morning. She got right to work. Even when the rest of us retreated inside due to mosquitos, Nia stayed outside by the door, surrounded by her scavenged pinecone stash, tail still wagging.

Following the 395 south from Oregon into California

Unfortunately, the bugs didn’t go away the next morning—they just changed form. The mosquitos turned into these weird little fly-like things that didn’t bite… they just popped. Somehow they made their way through our window screens, and before we noticed, there must have been a hundred inside. They made this subtle crackling sound as they buzzed around. Thankfully, they were easy to get out—they clustered near the windows they came in through, and once we opened them, they all flew out. Just a bizarre little moment we’d never encountered before.

Camp above Honey Lake, California

That day also came with a tough lesson—one we really should’ve known better. As we cruised down the highway, we doubled back to Lake Washoe when we saw wild horses in the water and cars parked right at the edge. It was too beautiful to pass up. Nia immediately ran in and took a few gulps of lake water. We didn’t think much of it until Jacob’s dad texted us a warning: possible algae bloom. Yes, we should have absolutely looked up the water quality before letting her in. Yes, we were too used to the fresh mountain streams back home. Yes, we knew better. We just forgot. We called an emergency 24-hour vet and got clear instructions: rinse her off, get her to drink clean water, and watch for vomiting or confusion. If anything felt off, bring her in. She ended up totally fine—a huge relief—but it was another reminder that this is all new to us. And, in case you’re wondering if we’ve learned our lesson, we’ve proceeded to look up every body of water since then to make sure we’re all okay to take a wade. 

Following the 395 south from California into Nevada

Monitor Pass, California

Markleeville, California

Leavitt Falls, California

Porter had his own scare the day before. He was leaning on the car door when I opened it, and he tumbled right out. Full-on somersault down a little hill. He’s okay, but it reminded us—we’re all still figuring out how to live in this space together. 

But it wasn’t all hard lessons. We saw so much beauty. The 395 blew us away. My favorite stretch was Monitor Pass and Markleeville—jaw-dropping views through a quiet pocket of the Eastern Sierras. Just stunning.

We showered less. We saw more. We learned fast. We laughed a lot. Watch the first part of our road trip here!