Two Months Living in a Car: The Beauty and Losses of Our Western America Road Trip

There’s a difference between a holiday and real travel. There’s a difference between a two-week trip and moving into a car for three months across Western America. We felt it every single day — searching for a place to sleep, somewhere to cook, or a spot to wash up. With that came tears of frustration, bad moods, and the occasional urge to abandon the car at a scrapyard and catch the first flight home from the nearest airport.

It’s been exactly two months since we set off camping in Hawaii. After that, we drove 3,000 km from the Canadian city of Calgary to Alaska, and two weeks later made the same long journey back to Canada, before heading into the States. The whole time we’ve been sleeping in our car, where we turned the boot into a bed. In total, we’ve clocked up around 16,000 km so far.

>>> Part 1 – We built a bed in the car and headed to Alaska

>>> Part 2 – Heatwaves, white nights, and guns everywhere. Welcome to Alaska

>>> Part 3 – Why you need to visit Alaska at least once in your lifetime

The only thing we looked forward to was going to sleep

The drive back from Alaska was just as endless as the way there. Although the weather was brilliant this time around, the mountains and forests only managed to break the monotony for the first few hundred kilometres. We’d wake up in the morning and the only thing we looked forward to was bedtime and another chapter of Harry Potter on audiobook.

A reward after the long drive, or a punishment?

After three days, we reached our second-to-last stop in Canada: Panorama Ridge near Whistler in British Columbia. We sneaked an overnight stay right in the trailhead car park and set off early the next morning with our backpacks stuffed full. We were facing 30 km and 1,800 metres of elevation gain. The first nine kilometres and 900 metres of climbing took us to the lakeside camp, where we only had to drop our packs, pitch the tent, and then push on to Panorama Ridge. We were already dying on the way up to camp and had demolished 3 out of 10 biscuits we’d brought along (as Lukáš would carefully note).

We simply weren’t built for this. Even though we’d been hiking every other day, those heavy backpacks crushed our hiking egos at an alarming rate. When we finally stumbled into camp, we couldn’t fathom going any further. We barely managed to set up the tent before passing out. After an hour of recovering from the initial exhaustion, we grabbed a snack and carried on.

Our opinion of our fitness dropped with every step

The climb was relentless again, but soon the gradient eased off, the views turned into something straight out of a Swiss postcard, and we started telling ourselves the worst was surely behind us. We strolled happily along a flat stretch, gazing at snow-capped peaks, small glacial lakes, and wildflowers framing it all beautifully. But we were fooling ourselves. The last two kilometres delivered a brutal ascent through steep snow. It didn’t exactly cheer us up to see people sliding back down on their backsides.

Next time, we’re taking a helicopter

We made it. Lukáš started feeling dizzy from exhaustion, so we didn’t linger long. On the way back, we accidentally veered off the trail and got lost. Luky could barely walk at that point. So I practically wrestled his backpack off him and barked, “Let’s go.” Eight hours of suffering came to an end, and we crawled into our sleeping bags unable to eat a thing, falling into a long, deep sleep. The next morning, all that awaited was a short and painful descent to the car park.

“You want to do WHAT for a month in the USA? Climb mountains?”

After a two-day recovery break with our wonderful friends in Vancouver, we headed for Washington State. For a moment, we thought we might have to turn around, scrap the entire plan, and go explore eastern Canada instead. We were held up at the border and grilled for an hour.

“You’re telling me you’re going to camp and hike in the USA for a whole month?” The third officer stared at us in disbelief, running through the exact same questions as the two before him.

We already saw ourselves being sent back to Canada

In the end, just like his predecessor, he went to search our car — and found two avocados.

“And what’s this? You didn’t declare these.” We’d genuinely forgotten about the avocados. Luckily, he believed it was an honest mistake; otherwise, we’d have been looking at a $300 fine. Even worse, they couldn’t find our car keys. And nobody could figure out which officer had searched our car first. After an agonising hour, we were finally waved through. It was clear we wouldn’t be getting anything else done that day.

The most expensive hike of our lives cost us $240

The mountains in Washington are completely different from those in Canada or Alaska. Rockier, lighter in colour, cleaner, less menacing — and the further south you go, the rounder they seem, with forests that aren’t quite as dense. We found a trail near the town of Everett that, according to our app, was supposed to be the most beautiful in the area. Mt. Pilchuck Trail is a short, three-hour walk to a lookout tower at the summit. Even children can manage it. For us, it was a piece of cake — but also the most expensive trail of our lives.

Chiquita needed two brand-new tyres

The only way to the trailhead car park is a rough dirt road full of rocks and potholes the size of craters. And on the way back down, we got a flat. Our dreams of a shower and the drive to Seattle evaporated. Instead, we spent the night — filthy — outside a repair shop we’d barely managed to limp to.

We thought of everything except the most basic thing

You might expect us to have been in tears, but we actually found it hilarious. So did everyone we told in the States. “You didn’t get a flat in 12,000 km across the Yukon and Alaska, and then you get one HERE in Washington?” As funny and ironic as everyone found it, we thought it was equally amusing that we’d prepared for every possible car disaster on the road, yet a simple puncture never crossed our minds.

Volcanoes in Washington are still active — and they occasionally explode

In 1980, Mt. St. Helens blew its top — quite literally. We decided that even in the insane 30°C heat, we’d tackle Harry’s Ridge, a trail that skirts around the volcano. It was a completely different experience from hiking in the mountains — and nothing like walking in the crater in Hawaii either. We trudged through a parched, barren landscape dotted with strange, resilient wildflowers until we reached a stunning viewpoint overlooking Mt. St. Helens, Spirit Lake, and the snow-covered peak of Mt. Adams.

Where Wild ends, wildfire begins

Greg and Vicki welcomed us warmly at the border between Washington and Oregon, even though we’d only given them six hours’ notice. We always look back fondly on their hospitality and the stunning landscape around Bridge of the Gods. If you’ve seen the film Wild, this is where Cheryl Strayed’s three-month journey comes to an end. The very next day, smoke from forest fires engulfed the entire area and buried every view.

We discovered hidden gems only the locals know

So they sent us to the local waterfall at False Creek Falls instead. We felt like we’d stepped into Avatar. It was a brilliant suggestion — the smoke hadn’t reached here yet, and the cool spray from the falls was a godsend in the heat.

We were running from the smoke. But it was rolling in from every direction. We never actually saw flames, but in the town where we stopped for the night, the sky glowed an infernal red.

Misery Ridge Trail was shrouded in a smoky haze, as were the Painted Hills. But what made it even worse were the soaring temperatures. We’d expected the 30s to catch up with us further south, yet here the thermometer was already reading 40°C. Given our simple car-living setup and our “go wherever we fancy” planning style, we found the nearest swimming pool and headed straight for it. The only other people splashing around were children. And us.

We saw a lot — that much we can’t deny

Crater Lake was supposed to be our next stop, but we didn’t stick around long because the whole thing was blanketed in smoke. Within ten seconds of stepping out of the car, we reeked like smoked kippers. So, in an effort to outrun the wildfires, we made a beeline for the Pacific coast and into California.

California is freezing!

But then the cold hit. You don’t expect chilly weather in California, even if you’ve experienced it there before — you just don’t expect 17°C. “I should have known that being north of San Francisco meant it’d be cooler,” I muttered.

We spent two days driving along the coast, with one stop at Redwood National Park and another at Glass Beach — a place where nature has transformed rubbish into a glittering field of sea glass, gradually being picked apart by tourists who’ve discovered it. We were supposed to push on to San Francisco that day, but we just couldn’t be bothered. For the first time, we treated ourselves to a hotel with a hot tub and a pool, and postponed San Francisco by a day.

Tourists battling for a slice of Instagram fame

Enough has probably been written about the beauty of San Francisco. Spots that used to be easy to reach are now crammed with honking cars and frustrated tourists fighting for the best photo spot. Luckily, we discovered Baker Beach, which offers a view of the Golden Gate Bridge with only a handful of visitors and a few nudists sunbathing on the sand or leaning against the rocks. They didn’t seem the least bit bothered by the families with children around them. We briefly wondered what they were on, but eventually let the thought drift away and settled ourselves on the Californian cliffs.

I remember how easy it used to be to get onto Alcatraz. We’d buy tickets on the same day and hop on the boat. Those days are long gone. Now you need to book at least three weeks in advance. But since we never knew where we’d be the next day, anything that required careful planning and competing with other visitors simply wasn’t for us. If it were about scrambling up some hill or mountain, that’d be more our thing. After a stroll along the waterfront, we’d had enough of tourists stuffing doughnuts into their faces (in desperation, we did the same), so we jumped in the car and drove several hours east.

Hawaii between California and Nevada — that’s Lake Tahoe

Turquoise water warm enough to swim in, little boats, sandy beaches. Lake Tahoe turned out to be paradise on the border between California and Nevada, and we really didn’t want to leave. Sometimes we think we should have stayed. But after a gorgeous day of sunbathing, by sunset we were already lying in our car an hour and a half further south, at Mono Lake.

Why mosquitoes terrify us

There’s no point trying to scare us with bears. But mosquitoes? Now that’s a story. Our first hike in Yosemite, the 20 Lakes Basin Loop Trail, was a swarming mosquito hellscape. They were actively trying to devour us. Within an hour, every exposed body part was so bitten that our skin looked like the surface of the Moon. Not even the strongest mosquito repellent from Alaska worked, so we gave up and ran for it. This would have been torture, not fun.

We continued deeper into Yosemite. It was only two in the afternoon, so we decided to tackle Cathedral Lakes — a hike to the iconic peak that Mac OS X users will recognise from their desktop wallpaper. As evening approached, the question of where to bathe arose. The only option was a disgustingly cold lake on the road out of the park — we had no choice, since sleeping in your car inside Yosemite isn’t allowed. We survived the dip, that was the main thing, and spent the night in our car down a dark side street in the first little town outside the park.

Disneyland in the middle of a national park

If you’ve ever felt like banging your head against the steering wheel in London traffic, then I wouldn’t wish a visit to Yosemite Valley on you. The most popular part of this national park is more like a theme park or Disneyland. Thousands of cars honking over one another and people queuing to photograph everything they’ve seen on their friends’ social media. Sometimes you get the feeling they’re doing it out of obligation, because when you look at their faces, most of them look rather angry.

We hiked the most popular trail to Vernal Falls, overtaking at least a hundred people on the steep path up. The overtaking was like playing a racing video game — dodging oncoming traffic at ever-increasing speeds and racking up points. Thankfully, the closer we got to the top, the more we left the long line of people below us, with the weakest dropping off. From Vernal Falls, we continued to Nevada Falls, where 99% of tourists never make it.

And is it worth it? Seeing Vernal Falls and Nevada Falls is like stepping into a magical valley — as long as you don’t look left, right, or behind you, and a crowd of tour groups doesn’t plant themselves in front of you. Yosemite is absolutely worth visiting, but it’s not a place I’d want to spend extended time, unlike the Canadian Rockies, for example. And yet, when I first came here nine years ago, it wasn’t like this. The statistics back up my memory: between 2013 and 2016 alone, visitor numbers jumped from 3.8 million to 5.2 million. But don’t worry — resourceful people always find a quiet spot to enjoy the natural wonder, at least for a moment of peace.