BAD OMENS NUMB FEET

San Diego, CA

32.7157° N, 117.1611° W

17 February, 2025

I’m writing this first passage nearly three months after this road trip began. 

On past trips, I made a habit of journaling daily—not just to capture memories, but to build a list of recommendations I can pass to the next traveler. Writing with others in mind has always felt more purposeful than just writing for myself.

I set out with the same intention this time. I planned to write each day. A few weeks in, I stopped. Now, flying back to San Diego for two weeks to decompress after nearly three months on the road, I finally have space to reflect—and it’s becoming clearer why that routine didn’t stick.

This trip, by design, was longer, tougher, and more internal than any I had done in the past. Traveling solo meant spending most of my energy just keeping things moving: logistics, repairs, weather, self-care. Contrary to popular belief, there wasn’t often a lot of time to sit and reflect, let alone write something thoughtful for others to read. Only now, with some distance, have I begun to process it all.

Heading back to San Diego makes me think about how it all started—how quickly calm planning turned into a scramble. After the holidays, it was nonstop: dialing in the rig, buying gear (both essential and not), and trying to line everything up to call this trip a success. That meant dropping more money than I ever intended. It was a long list ranging from cold-weather gear to camera equipment to a list of last-minute fixes to the Land Cruiser.

I had circled February 1st as my departure date. That probably would’ve happened if I was a seasoned mechanic. And while my confidence had grown—after tearing into engines, replacing the power steering pump, upgrading suspension, and repacking bearings—I still felt relatively new to it.

So when a local shop botched a last-minute fix and pushed my departure back a couple weeks, it was a reminder that I needed to know this rig inside and out. Hence, my 1997 LX450 repair manuals were some of the first things I packed.

That delay was just one of several signs this trip was going to test me. Simultaneously to problem solving my car issues, a poorly timed MRSA-like infection flared up days before I left—spread up my leg and left one foot partially numb. Adding in an unresolved idle issue, I started to wonder if this was all a dumb idea. But I’d been planning on this trip for too long. I wasn’t going to let some (admittedly clear) warning signs talk me out of it. 

My mom, in particular, had a hard time supporting the trip. I was heading into the Arctic solo, in the tail end of winter. After years of watching people she loved deploy with the military, she was finally getting used to having us home and safe. But I’m not someone who knows how to live a life that doesn’t stir up a little worry from time to time. And for me, that’s usually a sign I’m doing something worthwhile.

So on a random Thursday in February, with things far from perfectly dialed and plenty of unanswered questions– I set out for Prudhoe Bay.