For the past week, I have been traveling through some of the most beautiful spots on earth, but something just didn’t feel right. And it wasn’t until today that I realized that it is because I am feeling trapped, by so many wildly different things. The feeling started in Moab, arguably THE mecca for mountain biking. I knew peripherally that Moab had something to do with outdoor enthusiasts, but it wasn’t until I got there that I realized that bikers, cyclists, ATVers, off-roaders and more, from every corner of the earth, flock to this piece of red sand to enjoy the thousands of miles and acres of off-road action. But my brand new mountain bike stayed in the back of the van—with Willy. There is no place to leave a dog while you get lost for hours; motels don’t allow them unattended in the room and it was just too hot to leave him in the van. So, I resigned myself to driving around The Arches, jumping in and out at each stop to grab a look, but eventually my guilt about hauling Willy to places where they don’t allow dogs always wins out and we hightailed it to some BLM land for a long hike.

We then took a three-day detour to Salt Lake City to see some old friends at an event. Since I had had a couple of much-improved Motel 6 experiences, I booked us into one for two nights. About five minutes after checking in, there were police out in the parking lot, couples yelling at each other, small children running around with no shirts on, all of which forced Willy and I to hide inside unless we absolutely had to go out.

From Salt Lake, we made for a campground in the middle of Utah at Yuba Lake. It was a gorgeous spot and we immediately unpacked and headed to the water for a sunset walk—and it was lovely until we ran into a small rattlesnake, which left all of us severely rattled. The next morning, we went back out before the reptiles had time to warm up and watched the sunrise over the mountains—a stunning site, quickly forgotten as we came across a lone pelican out on a sandbar in the middle of the lake. One of us was terribly lost. Our strange animal encounters didn’t stop there. When we left the campground, a free-range cow (when they say free-range in the West, they are not kidding) raced us down the road for a good quarter mile. Graceful creatures they are not.

The next two days were spent winding through Capitol Reef National Park and Glen Canyon and the scenery was incredible, but each night we were pounded with thunder storms, forcing us into the cramped van, unable to enjoy hot meals, nighttime campfires and s’mores. It’s hard to describe the discomfort of suiting up in this small space, just to trudge over to the bathrooms or walk Willy at night. I have a few bruises from slamming the doors into my legs.

Despite a rainbow that greeted us as we departed today, I still felt restless and the scenery added to it rather than cure it. I felt the red canyon walls and wide mesas acutely—trapped by the former and without bearing in the latter. I longed for the comfort of my house, in the woods, on a small dirt road. Some place I can hole up in comfortably, or leave the dogs behind and go for a ride, and I am pretty familiar with all of the strange creatures and reptiles in my area. I believe that this feeling of entrapment is just a result of too much exhausting travel inside the van this past week dodging heat and storms (and bad hotels!). Not to mention, I’ve been on the road almost 70 days now. Thankfully, each evening, I still marvel at what I have just passed through as I plan the next day’s travel, and I have a feeling that this journey will only grow in significance when it’s over. Perhaps it doesn’t all make sense now, but I believe that each of these sights, encounters and experiences will find its place in my future. At the very least, I’ll have some pretty credible bragging rights.