In every walk with Nature one receives far more than he seeks. –John Muir

Zion National Park was the capstone park in our adventure out west. We chose where we’d stay based on proximity. It was the only park we visited twice. It was also the first hike in the mountains we’d take our kids on.

It didn’t let us down.

Canyon Overlook Trail
The drive up was almost as much fun for the kids as the hike itself. Zion is on a shuttle system, which means no cars on Zion Canyon Scenic Drive past the Pa’ Rus Trailhead.

To get up to Canyon Overlook, we took the Zion – Mt. Carmel Highway. The kids loved the switchbacks hundreds of feet above the canyon floor with no guardrails and seeing falcons catching thermals below our car. On the way up, we noticed arches cut into the cliff face that looked like the end of roads to nowhere, which we discovered were actually meant as “windows” inside the mile-long, one-way tunnel that cuts through the mountain.

Here’s where we got lost – the trailhead for Canyon Overlook is on the left as soon as you exit the tunnel. With all the cars lined up, we missed it and drove all the way to the exit of the park. But along the way we saw a mountain goat and lots of incredible formations. Up in the high country, it’s as if liquid rock flowed around the landscape and then froze in time. Sometimes, the best thing you can do when you’re in beautiful country like this is to get lost.

At the trailhead, all were eager to break in hiking shoes and water bottles. The kids, as usual, were on the hunt for a perfect place to stop for snacks. We found one shortly after we started. A rock overhang shades a large area to the right of the trail, and we grabbed a few bites to eat. The kids loved climbing on a natural shelf under the overhang, and they probably would have been content to stay.

Instead, we soldiered past some great views overlooking Pine Creek. About halfway up the trail, there’s another natural overhang with moss growing under it that’s a nice shade spot. Just before this is a narrow bridge going over a sizable drop. If you don’t like heights or have kids that have a hard time being careful, you might want to skip this trail. There are railings anywhere there’s an edge, but little kids could probably slip and scoot right underneath the rail.

The view at the end of the trail is absolutely worth the effort. The viewpoint looks out over East Temple and Bridge Mountain, and is one of the easier places in the park to see the canyon from a completely different perspective.

Emerald Pools
After our short warm up hike, we grabbed the shuttle bus from the Visitor Center (don’t even think about trying to find parking during late morning or early afternoon) and took a ride through the canyon, all the way out to the Temple of Sinawava. The narrow windows on the busses make it tough to see the towering cliffs properly, but step outside and it’s breathtaking in any direction.

To hike Emerald Pools, get off at Zion Lodge and head across the street. The trail up is fairly easy with some gentle up and downs. There were lots of lizards, beetles, and even a toad along the path that our kids had a blast trying to spot.

This was also where we noticed, for the first of many times, how many foreigners and different languages we heard while out and about in the parks. At one point, Sandi commented, “Europeans smell nice,” which I heard as “Your penis smells nice,” and I just about stepped off the trail laughing. The kids thought it was hilarious too, and I’m sure everyone around us thought we were nuts.

Lower Emerald Pool wasn’t that impressive in July when we were there, but during the spring months when the water is up and the waterfall tumbling over the cliffs overhead, you might feel differently. We hiked just past Lower Emerald Pool and then turned around since our 5-year old had reached her maximum hiking distance with the two trails we tackled.

While I was out jackassing around the country, I took a selfie with my Go Pro Hero 2 every few hours, or whenever I saw something awesome. Which was a lot.

I visited Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Washington, Oregon, California, and everything in between.

“Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Acadia National Park is filled with loads of snackable trails. It’s a day hiker’s paradise. No matter what you like, this park’s got it: mountain peaks, the ocean, woodland, freshwater springs, beaches, the list goes on forever. Maine was also the last “corner” state I needed to knock out on my quest to visit all 50 states, and it did not disappoint.

I got to Acadia too late to snag any of the coveted campground spots at Blackwoods or Seawall, so it shaped up to be a cheap motel kind of night for me. After I’d squared away a place to sleep, I made the most of my remaining hours of daylight.

Ocean Path
Starting with a quick stop at Sand Beach and Great Head, I made my way along the Ocean Path – a dazzling walkway along the Atlantic Ocean. The salty waves crash against rugged cliffs as you pass Old Soaker, Thunder Hole, and reach the Gorham Mountain Trailhead.

Thunder Hole is a must-stop, especially if you have kids. This rock formation causes a natural chamber that, when the tides are right, creates a loud whump you can feel in your chest from the parking lot. There’s debate about the best time to go, but try for an hour or two before high tide.

Bee Hive, Gorham Mountain, and the Bowl
The trail to Gorham Mountain climbs up Cadillac Cliffs at a reasonable rate – you’re only ascending 500 or so feet. I took the lower path, and had some fun scrambling over boulders, rocks, and passing underneath mossy overhangs.

Past Gorham Mountain lies the Bowl, a quiet mountain lake. There were quite a few fish swimming in the shallows, but I was too eager to see them – when I leaned out to get a better look my sunglasses fell in! Luckily I was able to snag them and head for the Bee Hive.

Acadia National Park is known for its iron rung trails, some much more precarious than others. Where the trail gets too steep, or even vertical, you need to use iron bars drilled into the rock. The Bee Hive is a good intro. After the summit, the descent on the other side hangs you out over drops of a hundred or so feet. In reality, if you actually fell, you wouldn’t go that far, but when you’re hanging off a rock it sure doesn’t feel like it. I passed a couple with a dog, so it’s obviously doable.

I wrapped up my night on Cadillac Mountain, watching the sunset over Somes Sound and the Maine wilderness. If you plan on going, plan to deal with crowds, there were hundreds of people up there all with the same idea as I did.

On the plus side, you might overhear a dad joke. I heard one man tell his son, “Look! You can see the Maine-land from here.” He got a high five.

I hopped in my car, found my motel past Bar Harbor, and planned out my next day, where I intended to knock out some serious mileage.

Jordan Pond and South Bubble
I started the morning at Jordan Pond, a large lake nestled between Cadillac and Seargent Mountain. I parked at Jordan Pond House and trekked along the east edge of the lake. This portion of the hike would have been much more enjoyable, but it’s flat, easy nature meant tons of kids. Their wails and parents’ yells carried across the water easily, making it anything but tranquil.

At the north end, the trail heads up to South Bubble, a massive boulder sitting on a cliff’s edge. It looks like a small shove might send it into the abyss.

Seargent Mountain
Descending South Bubble back to Jordan Pond, I skipped over to the west side and grabbed the trail heading to the summit of Seargent Mountain. Along the way, fairly early, you come to an imposing arched bridge with a waterfall running underneath. It’s a great juxtaposition of historical architecture and nature. Past that, the trail steepens, with a couple challenging sections and slippery rock slopes.

Then the trail opens onto summit’s approach, with hardy plants growing among the hiker’s cairns mark the path. Four trails converge on the summit of Seargent Mountain, where you can see Somes Sound, Frenchman Bay, Cadillac Mountain, and the rest of the Acadias spread out around you.

From here, many people probably head back via the trail to Penobscot, but I had more summits to hit!

Gilmore Peak, Bald Mountain, Parkman Mountain
I descended the south path and turned west toward Maple Spring and was on my way to Gilmore Mountain. Most of these trails are under the cover of the forest, and there’s lots of steep up and down as you get to the top of each of these three peaks. The view of Somes Sound was fantastic from all of them. If you’re looking for something shorter, all are probably better suited to day hikes from Highway 198.

But coming from the Seargent side as I did, I got to do them all twice! There’s no real loop back, so I hiked to Bald Peak, turned around, and retraced my steps.

Seargent Pond and Penobscot Mountain
Once I returned to Seargent, I turned down the southern path towards Penobscot. Along the way I passed Seargent Pond, another tranquil mountain lake. (You see one, you see them all, right?) I love coming across these lakes in the wilderness – they’re mostly untouched by man, never by motorized boats, and are their own little self contained ecosystems.

The summit of Penobscot offers a lot of the same views that Seargent does, but has a much better look at Jordan Pond as it stretches out below you.

Jordan Pond House
I finished my hike at Jordan Pond House, where there’s a restaurant, gift shop, horseback riding, and tons of crowds. I wanted to grab a cup of tea, sit on the lawn and take in the surroundings. Unfortunately, it felt more like an overcrowded restaurant on Saturday night, and the host told me that if I wasn’t ordering food, I couldn’t get a table.

So instead, I made my way back to Bar Harbor, relaxed after a grueling, but satisfying day of hiking with a great meal and said goodbye to the Acadias.

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. –Edward Abbey

I didn’t enjoy the Adirondak Mountains, but I definitely want to visit again.

Why? The rain, the cold, the clouds, and my new hammock put a damper on what I’m sure is a gorgeous setting.

Roaring Brook Falls
I arrived at Roaring Brook Falls campsite late in the evening after a long drive from Toronto. I actually loved this place quite a bit. It’s a short, quarter- to half-mile walk through the woods ending at the base of a 150-foot waterfall. First timers, the map is a little misleading – you have to cross the rushing creek and duck through a narrow path before the undergrowth gives way to a shadowed campground.

The creek encircles the whole camp after tumbling down the falls. The sound of rushing water provided a relaxing background soundtrack while I threw up my new hammock tent, and chatted with a family from Montreal about their vacation and the coming rain. I hoped they’d stick around even if the weather turned south – I don’t like sleeping alone in the wilderness if I can help it.

Unfortunately, my first night in the Hennessey Expedition Hammock didn’t go that well. I’ve got a friend who swears by them, but I’d forgotten the downside –how there’s no ground to keep you warm. It wasn’t freezing, but it got down to 40 degrees at night and I definitely felt the cold seeping in, even though I was in a sleeping bag rated down to 32 degrees and I had all my layers on. I couldn’t get comfortable, and probably got under four hours of sleep.

Giant Mountain
Even so, I wasn’t feeling the lack of sleep the next day, because I was going to be hiking up a mountain! Like a kid heading off to his first day of school, I was pumped up to tackle Giant Mountain, a great warm-up before trying Mt. Marcy the next day.

Every website listed Giant Mountain as an “easy” hike. Three miles and a couple K in elevation change sounded doable. I even walked the 1.5 miles from Roaring Brook to the trailhead at Chapel Pond along the road.

Easy. What a bunch of crap.

Imagine climbing steep, uneven, rock stairs for three miles straight. Then pour water over most of them. That’s the hike up Giant Mountain. I’m not usually a complainer, but this “easy, family hike” was anything but. The only real flat portion of this trail is under a mile in when you reach the Giant Washbowl.

Giant Washbowl is a solitary pond tucked just on the other side of the first ridge you climb. The water reminded me of something out of a horror flick or a fantasy novel –inky black and bone-white trees line the edges. The trail crosses the pond on driftwood beams that creak and groan underfoot. Truly a surreal place to be.

Luckily, I met fellow hikers to commiserate with on the way up. Honestly, that’s one of my favorite parts of hiking – the “trail friends.” You’re alone enough in the wilderness. When you’ve been walking with nothing but the wind in the trees and rustling animals, you can’t help but say hello to another human being.

There’s a functional benefit to trail friends: safety in numbers, sharing water and food, coaching up to the summit. But we also help each other validate why we’re crazy enough to strap forty pounds to our back and walk up a mountain for no real purpose other than to say we did it. We find people just like ourselves out on the trail, something we can’t do in the hustle and bustle of the city.

Even with the challenge, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly nature can call out to something inside you. Usually it’s some folly: a mountain lake nestled among the cliffs, or a small rippling meadow hemmed on all sides by trees. It’s those moments that I live for out on the trail. Giant Mountain has several of those on route to the summit. When you emerge from the trees, you are treated to some wonderful views of the surrounding mountains and a crisp breeze.

A small piece of advice – take the detour around Giant’s Nubble, which is about 2 miles into the trail. You’re climbing enough, no need to go back up and come back down needlessly to save what’s only a hundred or so feet in actual distance.

I’ve yet to reach a mountain summit that wasn’t satisfying, but I almost gave up on Giant Mountain. Not from exertion, but because I was worried about making it back down in time. The hike was taking much longer than I thought it would.

Still, I made it, and the view was gorgeous. The summit looks out over a massive “scoop” out of the landscape. It’s 1-2 thousand feet down to the forest and the “arms” of Giant Mountain reach out in a gentle semicircle that frames up the view. Amazing.

People might call me crazy, but going down on a hike is worse than going up. Especially on this trail, since it’s so rocky, uneven, and treacherous. At one point, the path seemed to vanish over a cliff face. The rangers had spray painted an arrow to direct you towards the left side of this cliff face, where the slope was actually traversable if you got down and scooted down the trail.

I thought I’d sleep great that night, but the chill and downpours kept me awake for another sub-4 hour night.

Lake Placid
The rain the family from Montreal warned me about had come. There was no wind, no thunder and lightning, but there was rain. More than 24 hours of it, with only a couple hours of letup. It started late at night and continued until I left the next morning. I had rain gear, but the idea of hiking 15 miles in a downpour did not sound appealing, especially given how badly Giant Mountain kicked my out-of-shape behind the day before. So I scrapped Mt. Marcy and decided to visit Lake Placid instead.

Leaving the campsite was a little scary – the water had swollen the creek to a small rushing river. Not quite as bad as McCandless experienced in Into the Wild, but there was nowhere traversable, even after walking the whole river bank. At this campsite, you’re essentially landlocked – the mountain backs up against the bend in the river, so there’s really no way out other than to cross it.

I had to pick the least of all evils and just jump with fifty pounds of gear on my back and know that I was going to land in calf-deep water.

Lake Placid was the site of multiple Olympic Games, and a lot of the infrastructure is still there. I gave myself a tour of the ski jumps, the torch, medal stand, and some of the training facilities. Luckily, the rain let up for a couple hours, allowing me to get out of my car and get a closer look at things.

To get to the ski jumps, all posted signs tell you to use the lifts to get to the top, but things were closed when I arrived on a Sunday. Rules. pshaw! I drove up to John Brown Farm and discovered a back entrance to the jumps!

Go past Ski Jump Lane, and pull into the first parking area on your left, before you get to the actual farm. There’s a trail that heads off to the left – follow it and it will circle up to the maintenance parking lot by the jumps. From there, you can walk right in and explore the grounds. If you want to go up to the top of the jumps, you won’t be able to, the only place to buy those tickets is down at the bottom.

After seeing the ski jumps and the medal stands, I headed down to find the Olympic Torch. As a track athlete in High School, I always loved watching the Olympics and seeing all the sports that only get airtime every four years. I had high hopes, but it’s a little underwhelming – the torch sits among a track, softball field, and other high-school sized sports fields. Several pickup trucks were parked next to the symbol of the pinnacle of human achievement tucked behind where 6-year-olds play soccer like some dusty bowling trophy, and it all felt very anti-climactic.

So I left the Adirondaks quite a bit disappointed, but wanting to come back and give them another chance.

When I threw the first leg of our family vacation into Google Maps, I sort of wanted to claw my own eyes out.

24 hours? With our kids?!

I love ’em. But they are active, talkative, and capable of driving normal people insane even outside a confined space. How were we going to make it and still love each other on the other side?

No surprise, the idea of spending days in the car with young kids is worse than actually doing it. Considering how much physical activity, vocalizing, and goofing off is part of their DNA, both of them were saints. Most of the issues we did have in the car were on my wife and I. We were too tired, too cranky, or too done to have the patience.

We Planned for the Unplanned
Turns out, the secret to a being a successful parent is to run from one cluster to another with a big grin on your face.

Things are going to go wrong. And it’s O.K. Someone will need to go to the bathroom every ten minutes and Subway sandwiches are going to get spilled all over the car. I mean, I killed two dogs with our car and sent it to the mechanic for five days, and we still managed to have a great time, for god’s sake.

Our best days were the days we were able to remind ourselves that things will never go to plan, so we should stop expecting them to. And then reminding ourselves again when the train got off the tracks.

We didn’t book any hotels, so we didn’t feel like we had to rush or drive a certain distance every day. We just went. When we were ready to stop, we stopped. We taught the kids how to pee on the side of the road when the closest gas station was fifty miles away in the Moab Desert. We were mostly O.K. with things not going O.K., and honestly, that was the best thing we could have done.

Break it Up
There was no way we were driving from Des Plaines, Illinois, to Pine Valley, Utah, in one shot. That would have been a recipe for disaster. Our kids love to run around, and being cooped up in a car for that long wouldn’t have been fun.

So we allowed three days to get out to Utah, and two days to get back from Colorado. Our longest day was twelve hours, and most of the other “driving” days were under ten. It kept the trip manageable and let us see some pretty cool stuff along the way, because we weren’t worried about how much mileage we needed to knock out.

Our very first driving day we stopped at the City Museum in St. Louis, Missouri. Anyone, anywhere, with kids needs to visit. Adults need to visit. It’s not really a museum at all – it’s a giant, eclectic playground. Bob Cassily and a bunch of local artists have been building this place organically for decades from salvaged and recovered materials. They turned an old shoe factory into something Willy Wonka couldn’t dream up. You could get absolutely lost for hours in this place, and it was a perfect way to kick off the trip. We drove nine hours the first day, but with a four-hour stop here in the middle, it felt like nothing.

What to Do
Proper expectations and breaks are all well and good – but we were still in the car for hours. That time has to get filled with something. I’ll never judge anyone for giving their kids and iPad or movies – being in a car that long is about survival.

But we found a nice balance between quiet things, loud things, things with screens, and things that don’t need batteries.

The first thing we did was incentivize “good” behavior. So, basically, not acting like a caged monkey on meth. Our kids are on a point behavior system normally. (Do something good? Get a point. Do something bad? Lose a point.) So we carried that over into the car. For every hour they did something quiet (no screens), they earned a point. It was our job to make sure they had access to quiet things. They brought library books. We read Charlotte’s Web out loud to them. They both brought those big school curriculum workbooks. And, of course, the scenery outside was worth staring at.

Our kids love to talk and sing, so we made sure we were prepared with games. Mad Libs, I Spy, and all sorts of variances on word association are all big hits. We’d make song requests, and they’d take turns singing that song, or tackle the Minecraft cover. We watched Ice Age: Dawn of the Dinosaurs fairly early in the trip, and they had a blast reciting their favorite lines over and over. And then over and over again.

With all that stuff to do, screens became a reward, or a release valve when Sandi and I just needed some peace and quiet. When the iPads came out, it was usually for an hour or two, and they typically came out once a day. Sometimes they played longer because we were at our wits end. Sometimes, they barely played at all. Like I said, being in a car that long is about surviving. You do whatever works, period.