I’m heading to Astoria, Oregon today, but before I forget—I realized I never mentioned the scariest bridge crossing of my life yesterday. The Astoria-Megler Bridge. When I first crossed it from Oregon into Washington, I must have blocked it out from fear and a bit of PTSD. And now, here I was, about to face it again—this time hopefully conquering the fear.

I woke up on Rusti’s couch this morning to a quiet house— Rusti was up early and headed out to walk Piper. I didn’t want to inconvenience her, so the first thing I did was look for a hotel for my next destination. But before leaving, I wanted to thank her properly, so I had wanted to treat her out to lunch.

Leaving Redding this morning, Ashley and I headed north with Max curled up in the back. The drive carried us past Mt. Shasta, its snow-capped peak towering against the sky. I couldn’t resist pulling over for a photo with Max—the mountain rising behind him, his ears alert as if he knew this was a moment worth remembering.

This morning, Max and I left Paso Robles at 8:30, feeling rested and ready for another day on the road. I had a plan—stick to a more direct route—but against my better judgment, I let curiosity win and took Highway 101. It added more time than I expected, and what I thought would be a manageable drive stretched into a nine-hour marathon.

Today marked the beginning of something I’ve been dreaming about for a while: hitting the road and seeing where it leads me. Packing up the car felt both thrilling and strange—like closing one chapter and opening another. Max watched me with his usual anxious eyes, unsure of what all the commotion meant. Truth be told, I was just as unsure as he was.