Andy | Wayfarer Wanderings

When my wife told me she had to make a last minute work trip that’d last two weeks, I was, naturally, sad. Half a month is a long time apart, but as the old adage goes, distance makes the heart grow fonder. At the same time, I’d been looking for an excuse to pack up the van and put down some miles. 

As luck would have it, Bozeman, Montana, was calling. 

A longtime friend is a top notch fly fishing guide with an equally capable drift boat and within hours of my wife’s news, a long awaited float trip down the Yellowstone River was being pieced together. Joined by my furry co-pilots, we waited anxiously to set out on this adventure in the comfort of our 159” RAM ProMaster conversion, aka Walt.  

I’ll be honest: I don’t know why long solo drives excite me. It’s the kind of thing my dad would geek out about weeks before we drove across the midwest in search of a remote cabin or… circus museum. We always traveled by car and as a kid, it was my least favorite thing. Alas, something was at work deep in my adolescent mind and here I am, itching for any chance to enjoy carefree time on the open road.

Maybe it’s the sense of adventure, long white lines heading to parts unknown. Maybe it’s the solace, the space to shed all the things wrapped up in daily life. These seemingly uneventful windows of time bring immense energy and excitement. Houses, buildings, dirt roads, corner cafes, street signs… each an outlet for a mind bound up with curiosity. 

The route was a no-brainer: I-25 north through Denver and Fort Collins with a stop at Buc-ees for chili lime peanuts and praline pecans, then on through Cheyenne, the furthest north I’ve driven since moving to Colorado 13 years prior.

After that, a pitstop in Casper, Wyoming, at the infamous Lou Taubert Ranch Outfitters and a long jaunt through the rolling hills of northern Wyoming.

We stretched our legs and got some zzz’s at Connor Battlefield State Historic Site in Ranchester, Wyoming, followed by a banger breakfast with beautiful views. Then a few more hours on I-80 for the eye-opening descent into the heart of the Bridger, Gallatin, Madison, and Absaroka Mountain Ranges. 

Not thirty minutes after landing in Bozeman I was scouring the van, my cozy home away from home, and stuffing every critical piece of clothing and gear into dry bags for the boat. In this moment I appreciate the vehicle that’s just carried us safely and comfortably across 800 miles of unknown terrain into this quaint city. 

The day was warm with no doubt that the night would be cold, evidenced by swift wind, snow-capped peaks, and my expert guide’s pointed questions (“you brought a winter coat and hat, right…”). Thanks to support from his spouse, we spared the dogs of the chilly tent-bound night and were back on the road, fueling up the truck and our stomachs in Emigrant, MT (Follow Yer’ Nose BBQ for the win). 

At the boat ramp daylight quickly faded, the night’s adventure began setting in.

For those unfamiliar, the Yellowstone River flows north out of Yellowstone National Park into an area most commonly known as Paradise Valley. John Mayer named an album after it. Dotted with wood-clad ranchettes and high grasses, the mountains rise abruptly on the east and west as far as the eye can see. The absence of cell phone service is a constant reminder that this remote wilderness belongs to just that: the wild. With it comes both the need for precaution and the appreciation of its beauty. 

Not long after hitting the water, we ported the boat on a publicly accessible island in the river, cautious of going farther in the darkening sky. As temps dropped, we built up a fire pit, pitched tents, and drifted into the peaceful night, immersed in mountain glow. Nearby Emigrant Peak, lit up in shades of sunset pink just an hour ago, conveyed its majesty in the moonlight. 

Surrounded by this beautiful landscape, I’d be lying if I said that the thought of a Grizzly Bear trouncing through camp never crossed my mind…. The knowledge of my warm, inviting van parked just hours away was always there, poking my brain at the slightest offbeat sound. We thanked our respective creators for a bear-free excursion the next morning.

The following day brought fishing from both the shore and boat, each with its own unique challenges and the latter, increased chances of a catch. And catch we did! The serenity that comes from miles on the water is surely hard to beat, and the views are something from a dream. 

We took out the boat near Pine Creek and ventured back to check on the dog pack and the human savior that volunteered to manage them. With clothes dry, tails wagged, and the memory bank full, I moved my gear back into the van and hit the reverse route to Colorful Colorado for the work week ahead. 

Adventure comes in many forms and the camper van is an open door to them all. Across two more days of driving, I found myself appreciating ours even more. From mid-day naps to nighttime meals, the van is truly a ‘home on the go.’ It’s protection from the elements paired with ultimate convenience, holding back no opportunity to which you see yourself destined. 

When adventure calls, there’s little to do but load up and chase your passions. 

After all, isn’t that what life’s all about?