It was in July of 2020 that Joseph and I decided we wanted to visit all 50 states. That is why, three years later, I woke up in a tent in the mountains of West Virginia to cross state number eighteen off our list.
Our campsite had was located on a small farm. On my way to the restroom to get ready, I was greeted by a black and white cat and three bleating goats who wanted all the head scratches I was willing to offer. After getting ready and cleaning up our campsite, Joseph and I drove through a misty morning in the green mountains to Cass Scenic Railroad State Park.
I had booked us one of the longest train rides offered, which would take us to the summit of Bald Knob, the tallest mountain in Pocahontas County. We arrived early at the park, so we spent the next hour exploring the shops and snacking on homemade peanut butter and chocolate fudge. When the time for our trip finally arrived, we boarded the Shay locomotive, one of the original trains used for logging all the way back to 1901.
Trudging up the mountain to Bald Knob
I was filled with a childish glee when the trains whistle rang through the air and we began the slow chug up the mountain. Black smoke billowed into the sky above us as we sat on the wooden benches and watched the trees pass by the open air car.
I do not know why I was under the impression the train ride would be three hours, filled with gorgeous panoramic views the entire way. Mostly, it was trees, and what should have been a short afternoon became nearly five hours of sitting on uncomfortable benches as the train trudged up and down the mountain. We were rewarded at the top with a beautiful view of the Appalachian Mountains, but as we slowly made our way back down the mountain, I was beginning to think it would have been faster just to hike our way up instead.
It was supposed to be a relaxed day, but by the end of the train ride, our legs were aching from sitting all day, and neither of us were much enthused by the idea of going to our campsite. We were tired from a week of traveling and exhausted from a day that had been much less exciting than we had anticipated. With very limited wifi, we discovered we were not all that far away from where we had planned to go the following day. Ready for a little taste of adventure, we decided to move that hike to this evening and then drive home a day early, where we could enjoy the final day of our vacation in the comfort of our own house.
The final stop of our trip was Blackwater Falls State Park. As soon as we arrived, we were greeted by a black bear running across the road in front of us, and we took that as a good omen we had made the right decision.
We hurried down the slippery wooden stairs to the overlook of the falls — a gorgeous view of the amber colored water that spilled over the black rocks and pummeled into the river below. We stood in the cool spray of the water and breathed a sigh of contentment. It was a beautiful view, one I was glad we had not bypassed in our frustration with the day and sudden eagerness to return home.
We hiked a little farther to see the Balanced Rock, which was a large slate of stone balanced precariously upon a tower of boulders. Wet with sweat from the muggy, West Virginia air, we returned to our car just as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and began the drive home.
As we drove the six hours home beneath the starry night sky, I gazed out my window in awe of red, blue and gold fireworks bursting overhead. We were just a few days away from Independence Day, and it seemed the nearby towns in West Virginia had decided this was the night to celebrate. I was reminded vividly of our trip to Colorado, when we had made the decision to spend a few days extra in the state to see the 4th of July fireworks in Salida. Sitting beneath that mountain on the hood of Joseph’s car, sipping wine as we watched the cyclists cruise down the mountain and fireworks burst overhead, is one of my most treasured memories. It was the beginning of a new season in our lives, and of so many adventures ahead.
I would not normally be one to so amicably agree to return home early from a trip, much less be the one to suggest it. Normally, I want to soak up as much of our travels as possible. But in the last year, I have begun living my life differently. Instead of waiting for our adventures, I have created ones in my everyday life. I have pursued the career of my dreams, and in my free time, I do the things I enjoy. I have focused my attention on being present and noticing the little joys life brings, instead of going through the motions. I have spent more time on self-care, so I do not feel as though I am sleeping through my days because of exhaustion and burnout. In the last year, I have, for the first time in my life, dedicated myself to creating a life I love. And that is a life I do not mind returning home early for, as long as my travel buddy is by my side.
Joseph and I sitting on his car waiting for fireworks on Independence Day in Salida, CO (2020)
It’s strange to think that, three years ago, in Colorado, we were living through a global pandemic. I had lost my business. Joseph and I had just gotten engaged, and we were ready to embark on wherever that adventure would take us. Little did we know, we would be getting married within a year. That we would restart the business together, and build a team of incredible people I enjoy working with every day. That we would already have crossed eighteen states off our list, with the plan to be halfway done with our goal of visiting all fifty by the end of this year.
We did not know what the future would bring. In July of 2020, we were simply content to be sitting side by side on Joseph’s car, watching the fireworks and knowing, whatever came next, we would be doing it together.
I smiled to myself and reached for Joseph’s hand beside mine as I watched the fireworks burst overhead. Despite three years filled with adventures, not much has changed at all, and I could not be more grateful.
The one thing I told myself not to forget for our hike in Red River Gorge was bug spray. After reading the reviews online, in which everyone mentioned the malicious nature of the bugs on the trail, I knew it would be a miserable hike without it. In the morning, I filled our waters, packed myself an extra snack, and even remembered to charge my Garmin watch so I could put my phone away and only need to quickly glance at my wrist to check the time. But I forgot the bug spray.
We were only a short distance into the trail when I realized my critical error. Joseph offered for us to turn back, but we were already running a little behind schedule, and I thought, how bad could it really be?
Bad. Incredibly uncomfortable. Every step involved swatting another bug away while I felt another bite me somewhere else. We were only a mile in, and I already wanted to be finished with the hike.
Thankfully, the bugs drifted away a little as the trees became thicker. We were greeted by new creatures instead — a long, black snake; a cute turtle that remained paralyzed with fear on the trail until we were out of sight; and little snails curled up in their shells. It was not until we were quite a few miles into the hike that we reached our first overlook at one of the arches.
Me looking out at the view of Courthouse Rock from an arch at Red River Gorge
The arches were amazing. The rock formations had naturally created archways on the edges of cliffs that overlooked the valley below. We sat in the shade of the rock balanced above our heads and gazed out at the lush green valley. It would have been a gorgeous view, had we not been dripping with sweat from the muggy air and being attacked by bugs now that we were out of the trees once again.
We continued our hike, which took us all the way back down into and across the valley to climb up Courthouse Rock, another large rock formation that rose overtop the trees like a gigantic monolith. From our vantage point, we could see the arches we had hiked to before. When we finally arrived back at our car, our clothes were soaked and skin was wet with sweat. I was beginning to wonder why I had ever decided it would be a good idea to visit Kentucky in June.
Showers, unfortunately, were a luxury we could not yet have, but coffee was thankfully within the realm of possibilities. We stopped for drinks and lunch and then began the long drive back into West Virginia to go to New River Gorge.
We crossed over the bridge that overlooked the peaceful river below. This was one part of the trip I had been nervously awaiting since planning. Within the hour, we would be strapped into harnesses and walking the catwalk beneath the bridge we were currently driving across.
We had arrived earlier than expected, so we walked around the gift shop and read about the history of the park while we waited for our tour. New River is one of the earliest rivers in North America. It was named a National River in 1978, and designated as a National Park and Preserve in 2021. It is wild to me to think that even after Joseph and I began our journey of crossing off all fifty states, new National Parks have been added to the list to visit.
When the time for our tour arrived, we joined the small crowd of people to learn how to strap on our harnesses and listen to the required safety rules and regulations. Then, we piled into a bus and enjoyed a quick, minute-long ride back to the gift shop we had come from to walk to the bridge.
Gazing out at the gorge and the white water rushing below, I felt my stomach sink. Heights are not normally a fear of mine, as long as my feet feel stable on solid ground. However, as soon as I feel my feet cannot safely carry me, I can send myself into a panic as I think through all of the worst scenarios. In this moment, I had an image of me crawling my way across the catwalk, and I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
Our group followed a dirt path down to the start of the bridge. Above us, the metal rattled and shook beneath the weight of the trucks and cars zooming across. The bridge sat 876 feet above the water. Before us, a half-mile long stretch of metal — the catwalk — loomed between metal beams that held the bridge in place.
Joseph went first, and I followed close behind. At my first step on the metal, everything inside of me seemed to go quiet. The tight unease in my stomach loosened. I felt light and inexplicably safe. Standing so high, at a place not many people go, to appreciate a view so many drive past without even noticing, it felt I had been awarded an amazing gift.
The view was stunning. The blue water rushed below us and wound away in the distance through rolling hills and mountains covered with thick green trees. The evening summer sun bathed the valley in golden light. The catwalk left just enough room for our feet — at any moment, we could step our boots sideways and feel the drop in our stomachs as they hung over the edge. Anytime a smidge of fear drifted in, however, it was quickly abated by our tour guide, who kept us in stitches as we walked with stories from his many years living in West Virginia. Overall, it was one of the most beautiful views I have seen, on one of the easiest hikes I have ever done. It is well worth the experience for anyone at any age.
We finished sooner than I had hoped. Despite my unease about this part of the trip, I had wished it would not end. We drove into the nearby town to eat a quick dinner at Wood Iron Eatery, a small cafe with delicious, grilled sandwiches. Feeling satisfied, we drove into the setting sun for another night of camping.
We visited two gorges on day seven of our trip, and they were both incredibly different experiences. As I fell asleep, I found myself thinking back to our sweaty morning hike, which I had thought I would love and instead I could not wait to end, and then to our walk across the catwalk, which I had dreaded but then wished could go on forever. Both brought different levels of discomfort, but I realized I never really knew what an experience would bring, whether it frightened me or not, until I tried it for myself. You cannot know what life has to offer until you are willing to step outside of your comfort zone and truly experience it.
Sometimes, discomfort really is just uncomfortable. And sometimes, discomfort can be truly breathtaking.
I fumbled for my phone as the sound of my alarm ricocheted off the walls of our bedroom. My fingers pressed down on the volume button on the side, quickly snoozing it. I ran my hand over my face with a groan and looked up at our ceiling, savoring the last few seconds of comfort before I dragged myself out of bed. Excitement bubbled in my stomach like champagne. After months of planning and waiting, the day had finally arrived.
When I asked Joseph what he wanted for his birthday in early April, he had responded that he did not want anything. After a few times of receiving this answer, to which I frustratedly finally replied that if he continued to say that, “nothing” was exactly what he was going to get, I suggested we cross off a couple more states on our journey to visit all fifty. We always gift each other experiential birthday gifts, and a road trip sounded like the perfect way to celebrate his birthday and get away from our busy lives for a few days.
For this year’s trip, we decided to visit West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana and Kentucky. I must admit, when I began planning, I was nervous I would not be able to find much to do. It was easy to think of attractions and magnificent places to visit in California, Utah, Maine, and Montana – these states and many others are known for their fantastic national parks, good food, and fun things to do. But I could not think of much I knew about these states that bordered on the northeastern, midwestern and southern sections of the United States. Even after running across the country and visiting a few of them, all I really remembered was a lot of corn. But, visiting all fifty states means giving the same amount of planning, research and time to each one, and in order for us to cross off a state, we have a list of what we have to do.
For a state to be crossed off our list, we must hike in a national or state park, eat or drink something local, walk a main street, and do a tourist attraction. Only then can we say we have officially visited the state and collect our Been There series mug from Starbucks. After much research, I was surprised to find a plethora of fun things to do, and I planned a road trip that hopefully would not run us too ragged as we drove from one place to the next.
The car was already packed, so Joseph, Appa and I piled in and began the drive. Appa, being only seven months old, was not quite ready for the adventure, so we dropped him off to be cared for by our friend, Amanda. He would be picked up the following day by my dad to spend the rest of the week at our home. Since I now work mostly from home, it was odd and difficult to say goodbye to my puppy. He and I spend the majority of our days together – he follows me around the house as I do laundry, sleeps on my feet as I work, and goes on walks with me around our neighborhood and small town. But knowing he was going to be well cared for gave me the solace I needed to give him a pet and kiss goodbye before we began our drive to Harpers Ferry.
Despite being only two hours away from Harpers Ferry, I cannot remember ever visiting before. The small town was nestled between tall, forested mountains and the blue water of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers. The street was lined with colonial style buildings that had been turned into shops and wound up a steep hill. Joseph and I parked and began our hike over a truss railroad bridge that is part of the Appalachian Trail. As we walked, we took notice to the many combination locks attached to the side of the bridge, which we learned later are love locks.
According to Only in Your State, love locks are “padlocks clipped to a fence or beam as a memorial to a loved one.” The idea is to attach the lock and then throw away the key, thus locking your love in place forever. Unfortunately, the National Park Service does prove the impermanence of these locks semi-regularly, when they take them down due to concern for the bridge’s structural integrity and the risk of it being weighed down by thousands of these little locks.
Due to the recent rain, the steep trek up the Maryland Heights via Harpers Ferry trail was slippery and even more difficult. The thick clay clung to our boots and made it difficult to grip the earth. For the first mile, we were able to maintain conversation and our jovial attitudes. But shortly after, I began seriously questioning my physical abilities as my calves burned hot and lungs gasped for air. One thousand feet later, we finally reached the top and stopped for a moment to catch our breath. Then we scrambled down the slick rocks to a breathtaking overlook of the valley below.
The shops, cars and bridge looked like a model town set up. Any moment, I imagined a fake train to run a track around the buildings. In the distance, mountains rolled over the landscape. Despite the sweat still pouring down my face, I couldn’t help but smile at the picturesque view.
The view of Harpers Ferry from the Maryland Heights via Harpers Ferry Trail
We slipped and slid back down the mountain. Our stomachs were grumbling from the morning’s exertion, and we were eager to sit down, preferably somewhere with air conditioning, to enjoy lunch.
We chose to eat at the Coach House Grill n’ Bar, a pub style restaurant that serves craft cocktails, sandwiches, salads, and a tasty variety of appetizers. The atmosphere was a little surprising. There were the things I expected – a rustic-style bar, paintings of soldiers and horses (this was Harpers Ferry, after all, a National Historic Park made famous from the Civil War), and televisions tuned to a sports channel. And then, there were colorful paintings of African elephants walking through a barren landscape. Despite this apparent incongruence in theme, I was delighted by the elephant paintings, as they are my favorite animal, and decided to sit somewhere where I had one in full view.
Our waitress was a sweet woman with a relaxed southern drawl and a cast brace on one ankle. She served us our drinks and recommended the homemade hummus, which was sprinkled with paprika and drizzled with olive oil and was served with pita so fresh and hot we could barely stand to hold it in our fingers. For lunch, I ordered a Greek salad with spicy pepperoncini peppers, creamy feta cheese and hot shrimp. Joseph ordered the classic cheeseburger, which was served with a delectable roasted garlic infused aioli, coleslaw, and potato wedges so good I could not stop eating them off his plate.
After our stomachs were full, our eyelids began to droop. We were in desperate need of a caffeine boost. As we walked down the street, we were drawn into a basement-level candy shop called True Treats Historic Candy. Here, we were lead through the decades as we walked through the store. Each section was dedicated to a different century or so, and on display were authentic candies from that time period, some still packaged the same way they were then. True Treats Historic Candy is the only evidence-based historic candy shop in the United States.
Joseph and I each chose a candy – for him, root beer barrels from the 1900s, and for me, Gibralters lemon candy from the 1800s, the first candy sold commercially in the country. The packaging read, “Not less than 1/2 ounce, still manufactured in the original way by Ye Olde Pepper Companie Ltd. Salem, Massachusetts.” The front of the package bore the quote “It gazes upon Chocolate and Sherbet, and says, ‘Before you were, I was; after you are not, I shall be,” by Eleanoro Putnam, and on the back, it included a paragraph about the history of the candy. It began with the Spencer family, who lost all of their possessions when they came to Massachusetts from England. The members of the town offered to help them, and when they found out Mrs. Spencer was a candy maker, they donated a barrel of sugar, which helped the family start the Salem Gibralters candy business. Gibralters became famous, not only in Salem but in the surrouding towns as well.
We decided to save our candy for that evening as a special treat. We headed next to The Coffee Mill, a crowded little shop that served coffees and ice cream. Still feeling a little warm, I ordered an iced latte, but Joseph, ever the purist, ordered a steaming hot americano.
We had promised ourselves we would get some ice cream after lunch, but our stomachs were still a little uncomfortably full as we made our way back up the street. It was when we decided to skip dessert and head to our next destination that disaster struck.
I heard Joseph’s yell from behind me, and turned, stunned. He was currently crouching down toward the ground, precariously balancing his camera in one hand as he set his coffee down on the brick sidewalk.
“What is it?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“My coffee,” he managed. “It’s burning.” My eyes widened and I quickly rushed forward to grab the cup from him. Joseph sucked in air through his clenched teeth as he shook out his reddened hand.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Let’s run it under cold water,” I said. Now carrying both of our coffees, I rushed with him to the station beside the town railroad. When Joseph emerged from the bathroom, his hand was still bright red and it seemed he could not clench his fingers.
“Do we need to go to the emergency room?” I asked.
“No,” Joseph said with a scoff. “I’ll be fine.” We headed to the car, when I suggested we put his hand on some ice. As he sat in the car, I headed to a nearby pizza restaurant with a plastic bag, which I asked if they could fill with ice.
“Oh, that feels much better,” Joseph said when I handed it to him.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” I suggested.
“I can drive,” he said indignantly, but after my insistence, he relented, and I had the rare opportunity on our trips to sit in the driver’s seat.
We chatted as we drove, Joseph’s hand still clenched around the ice. Our next stop was Berkeley Hot Springs, where I had scheduled us a couples massage at the main bathhouse. By the time we arrived, Joseph’s hand was still warm but thankfully feeling much better. The town was currently in the middle of their Pride in the Park event, with live music and local vendors. We walked as we listened, waiting for our appointment time.
I have received massages before, but never have I had such a luxurious experience. We were lead first to a locker room, where we were told to place our clothes in a provided locker and change into a thick and comfy, white bathrobe and padded sandals. We were then taken to our own private bathing room, with a Roman-style bath filled with water piped in from the local hot springs. The woman who had taken us there encouraged us to soak in the water at least above our shoulders to gain the full effects. Already hot from the day, Joseph and I gulped down multiple cups of the provided, tepid drinking water while we floated around. Despite feeling a little overheated, I felt my muscles and mind relax. I ran my fingers through my hair and over my skin, now soft and smooth from the minerals in the water.
Our guide knocked on our door, and once we emerged from the room, we were lead to a curtained area with two massage tables across from one another. We slid under the thin, white sheets and then were treated to hour-long massages to work out the remaining knots and tenderness in our bodies. By the end, I felt like I was floating on air.
Now fully relaxed and pampered, we were ready to drive to our final destination of the evening – Cuyahoga Valley, which was four hours away. Because we wanted to arrive as soon as possible, we made ourselves sandwiches and then began the drive. Despite the length of the drive, which put us a full eight hours away from home within a day, and the hike, massage, and hand-burning incident, we were in high spirits the whole way there. It felt good to be on the road again, like a breath of fresh air after days spent cooped up inside.
It was after dark by the time we arrived at our campsite, a Christmas tree farm with spots left clear near the baby trees for tents. We set up our site as quickly as we could, and then sat across from each other to unwrap our candies and enjoy.
Inside the paper package, I found a parchment wrapped white, diamond-shaped candy that barely fit inside my palm. I could not recall ever eating a piece of candy so large. After a moment’s hesitation, I bit off one end and crunched it between my teeth. A sweet and gentle lemon flavor caressed my tongue. I closed my eyes with a smile. For the next bite, I let the candy melt on my tongue, and I was reminded of the buttermint candies I loved so much as a child.
We had been away from home for less than twenty hours, and already I felt the difference that made me fall in love with traveling years ago. The sweet excitement on my tongue, the awe and wonder from experiencing each new place, and the feeling of familiarity as I discover that it is not so different from the life I already knew. The wonderful thing about traveling is experiencing new things, visiting new places, and talking to new people, and realizing these things are not that different from what you know, that people are people everywhere you go, no matter where they come from, what they believe or how they were raised. And for me, everywhere I go, I am grateful to be going there with the love of my life and my home, no matter where we may be.
