10/16/2026
Final section My Journey Across the West (roughly 600 miles) 11 days Livingston Mt. - Anacortes Wa.
Continuation Kyle and RaeAnn epic ride across America.
The morning sun cleared the horizon. The vast Montana sky was a deep blue as I started riding west out of Livingston. I was officially on the Great American Rail-Trail, chasing the setting sun across the country.
The first part was classic American West. The route guided me onto unpaved gravel roads right through massive, working cattle ranches. Hundreds of cattle grazed against a backdrop of jagged peaks, and everything felt peaceful. Eventually, that peace gave way to asphalt frontage roads running right next to the buzzing interstate. It was loud and mechanical, a huge contrast to the sweeping mountains right beside me.
Then, I hit Nine Mile Road.
According to my navigation, it was supposed to be a straightforward 12-mile cut-through. But the dirt quickly turned into chunky rock and pitched sharply upward. As the miles ticked past, my odometer hit 29 miles, and the reality hit me: I was completely lost in a remote pocket of the wilderness with absolutely No Service. The famous Big Sky felt impossibly massive and beautiful, but at that moment, it was also incredibly lonely.
Refusing to panic, I pushed my bike up a brutal hill to the top of the tree line. The grueling climb paid off. Up high, away from the shadow of the peaks, my T-Mobile satellite connection blinked to life. I managed to get a text off to RaeAnn and map out a way down. Of the four roads branching across the ridge, with help from the satellites I picked the right one and coasted down the rough mountain trail that was more suitable for a full suspension mountain bike. When I finally reached the valley, RaeAnn was waiting by our motorhome. As I approached I heard her say: your a sight for sore eyes. The day's tension finally evaporated!
Reaching this valley carried an extra weight for us, because this trip marked the exact two-year anniversary of when RaeAnn and I first set out to cross America. Two years ago, we stood at Mile Zero in Washington, D.C., staring down the very beginning of the Great American Rail-Trail.
This adventure wasn't just about the miles on the bike, though. It was a massive crash course in learning the ropes of the RV lifestyle. From figuring out hookups to navigating tight turns, we learned it all together on the road. We even gave our new home-on-wheels a name: Morrus. Having RaeAnn by my side, piloting Morrus from the Atlantic to the Pacific, made the entire experience unforgettable. We have truly enjoyed every single moment of this trip together.
But chasing a dream like this meant putting the rest of our lives completely on hold. Back home, we left behind three bike shops, our three children, and ten beautiful grandchildren. Out here in the quiet spaces of the country, the distance hits you. We missed the chaos of the shops, the family Sunday dinners, and watching the grandkids grow. There were plenty of quiet evenings in the RV where a deep wave of homesickness would settle in, making us realize just how much we sacrificed to make this happen.
It took me a couple more days of pedaling under that massive sky to finally clear the rugged expanse of Montana. But once I crossed the state line, the entire rhythm of the journey changed as I rolled into Idaho. I traded the stressful, unmarked gravel mazes for the beautifully paved Trail of the Coeur d’Alenes. Navigation became effortless. The smooth asphalt ribbon wound seamlessly through stunning lakeside vistas and deep pine forests, carrying me comfortably all the way to Plummer.
Reaching the Washington border, the official rail-trail ahead looked like a rough, sketchy gravel track. Remembering Montana, we decided to rewrite the route. We pivoted, heading north to Colville, Washington, so I could head west on the spectacular scenic byway across the mountain passes.
The grueling climbs up Washington's massive passes required every bit of grit I had, but the payoff was great. Cresting the summits, I tucked low over my handlebars and let gravity take over. The descents were legendary—miles of winding, sweeping asphalt where I carved through mountain air, the wind roaring past as the jagged peaks blurred into a rush of green and gray.
After days of riding over the roof of the state, I finally reached the Pacific coast, officially wrapping up this epic journey in Anacortes, Washington.
The town was absolutely amazing. Nestled beautifully on Fidalgo Island, Anacortes welcomed us with a vibrant, historic downtown, salty sea breezes, and stunning views of the San Juan Islands. Rolling to a stop alongside RaeAnn and Morrus, the sense of achievement was overwhelming.
Standing on the coast, looking out over the water, it finally hit me: my bucket list is officially complete. This was a dream I first wanted to chase when I graduated high school, then again at 40, and once more at 50. Life always seemed to get in the way, but now, at 63 years old, I’ve finally done it. Looking back at the miles behind us, I am feeling profoundly accomplished. The timeline didn't matter; what mattered was that we never let the dream go—and now, it's finally time to head home to the family.
