From Desert to Ocean – The Final Stretch of our Quest

Trans America Trail : Days 22 – 28

Day 22 – Battling the Utah Desert (174 miles)

We intentionally got a late start out of Moab around 10 a.m. after hot showers and cold coffee. Heading west again toward the Oregon Coast, we first had to battle the Utah desert — which proved far more challenging than I anticipated.

The TAT has a way of turning what looks like a straightforward route into something that borders on madness. You glance at a map and see a clean east–west highway, but the trail crosses it repeatedly, looping north and south for triple the distance. That was the story of today. What could’ve been a relaxing 50 miles turned into 174 miles of breathtaking beauty — and a few glimpses into hell.

The day started well: smooth, fast dirt roads and big skies. Then my speedometer cable broke. Fortunately, my GPS could still tell me my speed, and a bit of zip tie and Gorilla Tape engineering kept things in place.

That was the last bit of luck we’d see for a while. The trail shifted from smooth and fast to deep, soft sand — the kind that swallows tires whole. I went down hard, and Greg soon followed. The patches were tough to spot until it was too late. After a few more spills, I realized sand was my kryptonite.

By the time we finally hit pavement again, I’d never been so happy to see asphalt in my life. Unfortunately, I’d also started feeling sharp pain on my right side — likely cracked ribs from my last fall. Having broken ribs before, I knew there wasn’t much to be done but ride carefully and avoid falling again.

We found San Rafael Bridge Campground right on the trail. No amenities beyond some shade, but incredible views. We were short on water but thankful to be done for the day.

Day 23 – Highway Detours and Idaho Bound (314 miles)

I woke before sunrise, having skipped setting up my tent and slept right on the picnic table under the stars — one of the best decisions of the trip. Packing up was a breeze, and we hit the road early.

Despite the rib pain, riding was fun again. We were back in the mountains (a welcome surprise) and out of the nightmare sand.

We stopped in Ephraim for lunch and made a spontaneous decision that would change the course of our trip: instead of following the TAT west through Utah, we’d head north toward Provo, cut through Salt Lake City, and try to reach the Idaho border before nightfall. The reasons were simple:

We could save two full days.
We already knew what we’d be missing from previous research and were okay with it.

Although we regretted skipping the Bonneville Salt Flats, Plan B felt right.

The KLR650 isn’t exactly built for highway speeds, and Utah’s 75 mph limits made that painfully clear. We cruised around 65, balancing comfort and safety, and questioned our decision for much of the 90-mile interstate stretch. But eventually, we were back on dirt and crossed into Idaho by early evening.

We camped at Curlew Campground on the edge of Stone Reservoir — another long, exhausting day in the books.

Day 24 – Pacific Spur and Craters of the Moon (163 miles )

We slept great, with temps hovering in the 60s. Today we deviated from the route again — this time for mountains and cooler weather instead of pavement.

Sam’s outbound route stays in southern Idaho farm country, heading west before turning north to Boise. If you’re continuing all the way to the Pacific, you’d eventually leave Boise and pick up the Pacific Ocean Spur, which runs west into Oregon and down to the coast. The original Trans America Trail, however, loops back east from Boise into the Idaho mountains and the Sawtooth National Forest before continuing all the way across South Dakota, Minnesota, and finally ending at the Wisconsin border. We were obviously headed to the Pacific Coast, but we wanted the mountains, so we turned north out of camp and joined the west-to-east section of the TAT, riding it in reverse toward Boise.

First, we stopped in American Falls for breakfast — a massive burrito that hit the spot — and topped off our tanks before setting out.

The morning took us through farmland before leading into the Craters of the Moon National Monument and Preserve — which sounded fascinating but turned out to be a miserable slog. Imagine a barren volcanic wasteland: jagged black lava rock under an unforgiving sky, almost no vegetation, and an overwhelming sense of emptiness. It was easily the most miserable three hours of the trip that didn’t involve crashing.

The brutal terrain took its toll — Greg’s (Claire’s) left footpeg bolt wallowed out from the constant pounding, forcing him to ride seated until we could repair it. We limped into Arco, where we tried a parking lot fix with JB Weld. It didn’t hold. Thankfully, a local bike shop dropped everything to help us re-tap the threads and get back on the road.

By the time we reached Mackay Reservoir and set up camp at Joe T. Fallini Recreation Site, we’d only covered about 150 miles — but it felt like twice that.

Day 25 – Sun Valley and the Sawtooth Mountains (258 miles)

We woke to a brisk 48°F morning — no problem when you’ve been sleeping on picnic tables for a week.

Within minutes, we were back on dirt, climbing quickly toward Trail Creek Summit before descending into Ketchum, Idaho, part of the famous Sun Valley area. It’s a striking blend of rustic mountain charm and upscale luxury — art galleries, boutique shops, and high-end lodges nestled among rugged peaks. We stopped at a Starbucks built inside an old bank, complete with a vault-turned-meeting room. Cool spot, but we stood out like two scruffy bikers in a country club.

From there, we climbed deep into the Sawtooth National Forest — some of the most stunning scenery of the entire trip. The trails wound through rugged passes, alpine valleys, and along the Boise River, eventually turning into Arrowrock Reservoir as we descended into Boise.

After an hour of frustrating city traffic, we grabbed gas, Jack in the Box, and headed north to Montour Wildlife Management Campground. For $3 a night, we got running water, toilets, and a great place to crash.

Day 26 – Entering Oregon (294 miles)

We planned to finish the trail in three days — meaning the final stretch would be long and demanding.

An hour of backroads brought us to the Oregon border — our final state. It felt surreal knowing the journey was nearing its end.

After a huge breakfast, we gassed up and pushed into what would be the longest wilderness stretch of the TAT: over 200 miles without food, fuel, or cell service. Luckily, the KLR’s big tank had us covered.

Oregon surprised me. Instead of the lush, rainy forests I’d imagined, we found dry plains, irrigated farmland, and high-desert pine forests. It was rugged, remote, and absolutely beautiful.

We pressed later than planned and reached Deep Creek Recreation Site along the North Fork Crooked River around 7 p.m. Only one other camper was there — he even shared some firewood. We had a warm beer, a warmer fire, and turned in early for another long push tomorrow.

Day 27 – McMuffins and Oregon Beauty (318 miles)

We woke up early to a biting chill — probably in the low 40s. Larry and Claire sputtered to life as we layered our puffy jackets under our riding gear to cut the cold. Today was a big one. We wanted to make it to Port Orford early the next day, which meant knocking out a long 300-plus-mile ride. Our bodies were sore, but our spirits were high — the Pacific was finally within reach.

The morning light was soft, and the ride through Oregon’s high desert was stunning. I remember thinking, if all riding was like this, I could go for 12 hours straight. That feeling usually lasts a few hours before reality (and hunger) sets in. Sure enough, by midmorning, our stomachs took over the decision-making.

For whatever reason, McDonald’s breakfast had become a ritual on this trip — not because we’re fans, but because there’s something oddly comforting about it when you’re days deep into the wilderness. It’s hot, it’s fast, and it just it feels like civilization for a brief moment before heading back into the dirt.

We were racing the clock to reach the McDonald’s in Prineville before they stopped serving breakfast. I don’t think either of us wanted to admit how much it mattered, but it did. We rolled into town with just minutes to spare, dusty and half-frozen, and walked in like we were conquering heroes. That first bite of Egg McMuffin was pure bliss — it hit differently after thousands of miles on the trail.

Bellies full and spirits lifted, we pushed on. A wildfire near Bend forced us onto asphalt for about an hour — not ideal, but a necessary detour for safety. Once clear, we were back on the trail carving through valleys and open range.

At one point, we hit a long stretch of sand that gave me flashbacks to Utah. My ribs were still tender, and every wobble made my heart race. But we took it slow, and both bikes stayed upright — no small victory.

As the day wore on, the terrain began to change. The high desert gave way to what I had always imagined Oregon to be — dense forests, winding rivers, and lush green valleys. We spent hours riding through BLM land without seeing another soul. It was peaceful, remote, and exactly how we wanted to spend our last full day on the trail.

We finally pulled into Canyonville around sunset, exhausted but determined to celebrate. We grabbed a couple of cold beers to toast our final night on the TAT, but our plans hit a snag when the campground we’d picked was full. The disappointment was real — 300 miles in the saddle will drain your patience fast.

We debated calling it a night and finding a hotel, but stubborn pride won out. We’d made it this far without skipping a single night of camping, and we weren’t about to break that streak now. We pushed another 45 miles north in the dark to a city campground in Wolf Creek. By the time we arrived, it was pitch black, and we barely had the energy to set up camp. Dinner was an energy bar and a lukewarm beer — the least glamorous feast of the trip — but somehow it still felt perfect.

Day 28 – Coast to Coast (139 miles)

The final day.

Today was the day. I hardly slept — a mix of excitement, pride, and sadness kept my mind racing all night. I couldn’t believe it was almost over. We’d been chasing this dream for years, and now, within just a few hours, the Trans America Trail would come to an end.

Packing up camp was unusually quiet. Both Greg and I seemed to be lost in our own thoughts. The morning air was cool, and as the sun rose over the Oregon hills, I felt that familiar blend of anticipation and nostalgia — knowing this was the last time we’d break down camp, load the bikes, and set off down a dirt trail toward the unknown.

The day began with winding asphalt that carried us over mild passes and through lush green gorges. We had about 135 miles to go, and for the first 50, the pavement twisted and turned beautifully before we hit dirt again. The final 80 miles were everything they should have been — rolling climbs and descents, switchbacks, water crossings, and stretches of perfect forest two-track. Nothing overly technical, just pure, flowing adventure — a fitting ending.

At one point, a huge washout forced us to dismount and push the bikes through, but we didn’t mind. It was almost symbolic — one last little challenge before the finish line. By noon, the elevation on my GPS started dropping fast: 3,000 feet… 2,000… 1,000. We were following the Elk River now, which I knew emptied directly into the Pacific near Port Orford.

My heart was pounding, not from effort, but from emotion. Each mile brought us closer to the end. Then came those telltale signs of civilization — cars on the road, families fishing along the banks, the subtle feeling that the world was slowly reappearing around us.

And then… there it was. The GPS read five miles to Port Orford.

If you’ve ever watched videos of TAT riders finishing, you already know the scene that plays out. You come down that final stretch of dirt and pop out onto the famous Highway 101, turning left toward town. The road runs south through a quiet, coastal village where you still can’t quite see the ocean — it teases you, just out of view. The 101 curves east at the far end of town, but then you make that right turn onto Jackson Street, followed by an immediate left on 5th.

And that’s when it happens.

The world opens up before you — a rugged, windswept coastline under a soft, overcast sky. The reddish-brown cliffs in the foreground glow faintly against the calm blue-gray ocean. Gentle waves roll in rhythmic arcs across a quiet sandy beach, curving around the shore in perfect symmetry. A striking rock formation rises from the water, framed by forested hills and a scattering of cozy seaside homes. It’s tranquil, wild, and timeless — exactly how it looks in every TAT video you’ve ever seen, but infinitely more powerful when it’s your front tire that finally touches the Pacific.

We had done it. Coast to coast — North Carolina to Oregon.

I felt my throat tighten a bit as we descended the steep, rocky path down to the beach. We dipped Larry and Claire’s tires into the Pacific Ocean and just stood there in silence, letting it sink in. No words were needed. We’d ridden thousands of miles through everything the country could throw at us — rain, sand, snow, and heat — and somehow, we’d made it.

After a few quiet minutes, we cracked open the two beers we’d saved for this moment, sat in the sand, and looked out over the ocean. It felt surreal. Eventually, it was time to leave — though I think both of us would’ve stayed there all day if we could.

Of course, I couldn’t escape without one final laugh at my own expense. Remember when I said sand was my kryptonite? Yeah, that beach was no different. Getting those loaded bikes back off the sand was a full-on workout. We ended up pushing them together, laughing and struggling our way back to firm ground before climbing up to the restaurant above the beach.

We capped off the day — and the entire journey — with fish and chips overlooking the Pacific. It was easily the best fried fish of my life. That night, I splurged on a hotel room. After weeks of dirt, sweat, and cold mornings, we finally got a hot shower and a soft bed.

We had earned both.

One More to Come

While this marks the end of our coast-to-coast ride, it’s not quite the end of the story. I plan to write one final post to recap the entire journey — the highs, the lows, and everything we learned along the way.

There’s still plenty left to share: lessons from the trail, reflections from the road, and a few stories that didn’t make it into the daily logs. And of course, I definitely won’t forget to tell you how Larry and Claire got their names.

Stay tuned — one last ride report to go.