Across America: A Trans America Trail Adventure Recap

From the Appalachians to the Pacific, a journey measured not just in miles but in moments.

Setting the Stage: Why Ride the Trans America Trail

Every great adventure starts with a question — and mine was simple: What would it feel like to cross an entire continent on a motorcycle primarily off-road?

The Trans America Trail (TAT) had always called to me. Not just for the miles or the bragging rights, but for the chance to disconnect from the familiar and rediscover what adventure truly means. The draw was equal parts curiosity, challenge, and the freedom that comes from choosing dirt over pavement.

In my first post, Why Ride the TAT?, I laid out the reasons:

Ultimate Adventure & Challenge – push yourself beyond comfort and expectations
Bonding & Camaraderie – shared experiences create lasting connections
Stunning & Diverse Scenery – from mountains to deserts, every mile amazes
Self‑Discovery & Transformation – learn about yourself on and off the bike
The Freedom of Choosing the Road Less Travelled – escape the ordinary and explore

That mindset became the foundation for everything that followed.

The Early Days: Finding Rhythm

The first stretch of the trail was all about adjustment — to the terrain, the pace, and the mindset required for long-distance adventure.

In The Time of Our Lives, I wrote about those early miles, when excitement outweighed fatigue and every curve felt new. The days were long, but the energy was endless. We learned quickly that the trail doesn’t care how prepared you are — it simply asks that you adapt.

From loose gravel to surprise rain, the TAT began to shape us. We fell into a rhythm: ride, refuel, rest, repeat. Somewhere along the way, that rhythm became meditation.

Halfway There: The Trail Becomes Real

By the time we hit the halfway mark (Halfway There), the trip shifted from novelty to lifestyle.

We’d settled into the grind — early starts, endless horizons, mechanical checks, and shared stories at dusk. The trail started teaching its lessons in quiet ways: patience, humility, and appreciation for simplicity.

Halfway across the country, we realized that adventure isn’t always cinematic. Sometimes it’s about perseverance, laughter in the face of setbacks, and the slow burn of accomplishment.

The High Country: Colorado to Utah

Days 17–21 brought us deep into the heart of the TAT’s most spectacular and challenging terrain — the Rockies and the desert beyond.

In The Hardest Miles Are the Most Beautiful, I described climbing Colorado’s high passes, where thin air and loose rock tested both machine and rider. The mountains were unforgiving, but every summit came with a reward — views that made every drop of sweat worth it.

Then came the transition into Utah’s desert. Vast, open, and humbling, the White Rim Road became a personal highlight — an otherworldly stretch of red rock and silence. The hardest miles were, without question, the most beautiful.

The Final Stretch: Coast to Coast

In the closing chapter — Coast to Coast Adventure: Final Stretch — the Pacific finally came into view.

By then, the ride had transformed from challenge to reflection. The miles behind us told a story of grit, growth, and gratitude. Finishing the TAT wasn’t about reaching the ocean; it was about realizing how far we’d come — in mindset as much as in mileage.

We rolled to the coast tired, dusty, and smiling. The finish line was real, but the journey would never truly be over.

Meet Larry and Claire

Every great adventure has its characters — and for us, two of the biggest personalities didn’t walk on two legs; they rolled on two wheels.

Our motorcycles weren’t just machines. They were our companions, our mules, and sometimes our therapists. Every bump, scrape, and sunrise was shared with them. Somewhere along the way, they stopped being “the bikes” and started being Larry and Claire.

Larry

My KLR 650 earned his name from my grandpa, Larry — a man who embodied simplicity, dependability, and quiet strength. Like him, my bike isn’t flashy or overcomplicated. It’s the kind of machine that just works.

Larry the bike is simple yet capable, frugal yet reliable. He may not be the fastest, but he’ll never let you down — even when he takes a beating or hits the ground now and then. He just shakes it off, fires back up, and keeps rolling. There’s something comforting about that kind of resilience. It’s the same quality that made my grandpa the steady center of our family: unshakable, practical, and always there when you need him.

Claire

Greg’s KLR got her name in a way that perfectly captures his humor and the easygoing tone of our trip. We were talking about what to call the bikes when he said, “Well, mine’s a KLR, so… Claire.” It took me a bit to put it all together that he literally was saying KLR would sound like Claire if pronounced. And with that laugh it was final.

Together, Larry and Claire became part of the team. We talked to them, argued with them, and celebrated their small victories when they powered through tough terrain.

By the time we reached the Pacific, they weren’t just machines that carried us — they were part of the story. Two stubborn, loyal, slightly beat-up symbols of what it takes to go the distance.

Lessons from the Trail

Preparation gets you started. Adaptability gets you through.
The hard days matter most. They reveal what you’re capable of.
Adventure is a mindset. The trail is just the teacher.
Solitude brings clarity. Out there, the noise falls away and life simplifies.

Looking Back

When I look back on the Trans America Trail, it’s hard to put into words what it really meant. On paper, it’s a line across a map — a collection of GPS tracks, mountain passes, and fuel stops. But in reality, it’s something far deeper. It’s a journey that changes how you see challenge, time, and even yourself.

The TAT taught me that adventure doesn’t begin with confidence — it begins with curiosity. You start not because you’re certain you can finish, but because a part of you needs to find out. The miles don’t just take you west; they strip away what’s unnecessary until only the essentials remain: the hum of the engine, the next horizon, and the rhythm of your own breath.

There were days I felt unstoppable — flying across wide-open plains with the world stretched endlessly ahead. And there were days when everything went sideways: mechanical issues, exhaustion, unpredictable weather, and sand that challenged our sanity. Those moments tested every ounce of patience and resolve I had. But here’s the truth: those were the days that made the trip real. They were the moments that turned a ride into an adventure, and an adventure into a story worth telling.

The beauty of the TAT isn’t just in the landscapes — though they’re unforgettable. It’s in what happens between them: small-town diners where strangers become friends, gas-station conversations about where you’ve come from and where you’re headed, quiet nights where you realize how rare true silence really is.

I learned that solitude isn’t the same as loneliness. Out there, away from constant connection, I found a different kind of peace — one built on presence, patience, and gratitude. I stopped checking the clock. I started noticing the way light shifted across a canyon wall, how the air smelled after rain, how a shared laugh at camp could erase an entire day’s worth of frustration.

And when I finally reached the coast, standing there with the Pacific stretching endlessly west, it wasn’t triumph I felt — it was perspective. The trail didn’t hand me answers. It gave me clarity. It reminded me that life’s best moments aren’t always comfortable or predictable — they’re the ones that ask you to keep going when it would be easier to quit.

If you’re thinking about riding the Trans America Trail, don’t wait for the perfect time or perfect setup. You’ll never feel completely ready, and that’s okay. The magic lies in the unknown. Prepare the best you can, trust yourself, and go. You’ll make mistakes, you’ll face setbacks, and you’ll have moments where you wonder what on earth you were thinking. But somewhere between the dust and the sunsets, the breakdowns and the breakthroughs, you’ll find something that sticks with you long after the ride is over — a quiet confidence that changes how you face everything else in life.

In the end, that’s what the TAT gave me. Not just adventure, but perspective. Not just miles, but meaning. And if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s this: the road doesn’t give you what you want — it gives you what you need.

I want to give a huge thanks to Greg for being the ultimate adventure partner on this journey. From the early mornings to the long, dusty miles, his humor, resilience, and unwavering support made every challenge not just manageable, but memorable. Sharing the Trans America Trail with you — through every high pass, desert stretch, and campsite laugh — made this experience truly unforgettable. I couldn’t have asked for a better teammate or friend on this epic ride.

Read the full series:
Why Ride the TAT?
The Time of Our Lives
Halfway There
TAT Days 17–21
Coast to Coast Adventure: Final Stretch