The Best Way to Travel Across America? I Did It Alone, State by State
It wasn’t a grand plan.
Just a quiet decision after leaving a job that didn’t quite feel right.
I had time, finally. The kind of time that stretches out long enough to drive across a continent, to pause in silence between national parks, to watch the light change from one state to another.
So I did something for myself:
I mapped out a solo road trip around the U.S.
🛣️ A Route of My Own
I started in Portland, Oregon, heading south toward Crater Lake National Park, and from there into California — chasing coastline, old towns, and deserts. I hiked through Yosemite, stood under the massive rocks in Pinnacles, and made quiet morning coffee stops in San Francisco.
Then I turned east.
🏜 The Mighty Five & Beyond
Utah opened up like a page I’d never read before. I saw the five national parks in just over a week — Zion, Bryce, Capitol Reef, Arches, and Canyonlands. Each one a completely different language in stone and sky.
From there, I entered Colorado, spending two days in Mesa Verde and Great Sand Dunes. The air was thinner, the roads quieter. I didn’t rush.
I kept a loose schedule. I stayed where I felt good.
🏞 Through the Blue Ridge
By the time I reached the east coast, I had driven through New Mexico, Texas, Tennessee, and into the Blue Ridge Mountains. The Shenandoah Valley in Virginia was a place I hadn’t expected to love — but it stayed with me.
I followed the ridgeline. No music, just the hum of tires and breath.
🏙 Cities & Curiosities
I made stops in New York, Boston, and Washington D.C., not for sightseeing, but for walking — slowly, aimlessly, letting the crowds rush by.
Along the way, I stopped at some of the schools I’d only ever read about: Princeton, Yale, MIT, Harvard. Not because I needed to, but because I could.
Then I turned back toward the West.
I passed Niagara Falls, spent two quiet days in Chicago, then moved through Indiana, Iowa, Nebraska, and Idaho until I found myself back in the Pacific Northwest.
🎒 What I Carried the Whole Way
Through all of it — parks, motels, rainstorms, and red dirt roads — I carried one backpack.
It wasn’t fancy, but it mattered.
My best waterproof backpack for travel kept my journal dry during a sudden hailstorm in Bryce, held my shoes and layers through desert-to-mountain shifts, and fit snugly beside my seat on every Greyhound detour I didn’t plan for.
When you travel solo, what you carry becomes part of your rhythm.
Mine stayed light, stayed dry, and never once gave me a reason to think about it — which is maybe the highest compliment for any piece of gear.
✨ What I Learned
America is too big for one trip. But it's also surprisingly gentle when you let it be.
You don’t have to see everything. Just follow a line that feels true — through sandstone, highway diners, and small conversations with strangers you’ll never meet again.
I didn’t go looking for a reset. But I found one anyway.
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