Traveling has taught me that planning is both a blessing and a trap. Without a plan, I scramble last-minute for accommodations, which have ended in disappointment. With too much planning, I find myself stuck—committed to stops that maybe didn’t need to happen at all. It’s a delicate balance I still haven’t mastered.

I checked out of my Airbnb in Vancouver, WA and crossed the bridge back toward Portland. I wanted to stop in the Pearl District and find a dog-friendly spot for brunch. A few years ago, I’d been to this amazing farm-to-table restaurant with outdoor seating and incredible food, and I thought maybe I’d stumble upon it again. If not, I had a backup in Slabtown that I’d bookmarked.

As I left the waterfront hotel along the Columbia River, I realized I had been on the road for almost three weeks. Today, I checked into an affordable Airbnb inland, where I plan to stay for the next three nights. Max will get a little rest from the constant motion, and I’ll have time to catch up on my writing. Slowing down, I finally have space to reflect.

I decided the best way to survive my stay was by not being in the hotel as much as possible. In the morning, I did a little stock trading, then started getting ready to head out when I heard a knock on my door. Two men stood there saying they needed to clean the A/C. I remembered seeing a note taped to my door when I checked in last night, but I thought it was for next week.

I woke up early to check UPS tracking for my Costco order, and sure enough—it was scheduled to arrive today. At 9:30 a.m., I called Costco to ask how long it usually takes from delivery to processing. The woman told me UPS comes around 10:30, so to check back then.

I was so happy to leave the Motel-6-esque hotel in Astoria. It drizzled that morning, and Ashley was once again covered in water spots. Today, my destination was Seaside, Oregon, a few towns south of Astoria. But first, I had a few stops planned along the way.

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.

It was sad to check out of my hotel in Cedar Hills. I had grown so comfortable there that, honestly, I could have stayed permanently. But I had accomplished what I needed—rest, recharging, and enough time for all my Amazon deliveries to arrive. Now it was time to move again.

I woke up excited this morning, curious to see how much of yesterday’s storm had washed the dirt off Ashley. The rain had done a decent job, but I still wanted to give her a little extra attention. While Rusti was still sleeping, I decided to film a demo of the cleaner I had brought along for the trip—Giotechniq’s Bug Remover that I picked up before leaving home. It worked beautifully, rinsing away the last of the stubborn bugs clinging to Ashley’s hood and windshield. There’s something oddly satisfying about caring for a car that feels like a companion on the road.

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.