March’s Experience: A Memoir
Checking the Sets at Old Man’s, Near San Clemente, CA Photo by Wendy Stieg
Scroll down to see the January and February Experiences!
“We don’t remember days; we remember moments.” – Cesare Pavese
Bob Weir passed away recently. Many of us are not just mourning his loss; we are mourning the loss of a band that created such dynamic music. Creativity like that may never be seen again. That said, Bob Weir was a major influence on American rock and roll, blues, bluegrass, jam bands, and live music in general. Jerry Garcia holds that title as well. With Bobby’s passing, only two members, Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart, remain.
We are also mourning the loss of our band. Our music. We know that the music never stops, but it has been a great loss.
Steeped in nostalgia, I woke up this morning remembering two road trips Paul and I took to San Diego. Together with our three dogs in Paul’s Toyota Tundra, we crossed the western United States in a very Grateful Dead sort of journey. This memoir gathers the moments that stayed with me from those trips.
There is a definite flavor to road trips involving music. You know you are going to have an experience steeped in love, pure joy, and a spirit of real freedom. The first trip happened in July of 2018, and I am deeply grateful we took it. We returned in September of 2019 for some surf time.
This story is also part of a larger thread unfolding this month. The inspiration behind our next European journey began in March’s Muse, where the first spark of the idea appeared. It continued in March’s Blueprint, where that inspiration begins to take shape and move toward a real plan.
The Heat
The first trip brings back many memories, and not necessarily in chronological order. The first memory I have is of the intense heat. We are Colorado people and used to that climate. Paul loves the heat. He lives for it. But I am far happier in a cooler climate. I love warmth, but intense heat is different.
Imagine LA at well over 100 degrees. It was so hot that the asphalt in parking lots was melting. We had to stop and get the dogs out of the heat for an hour or so. We went to a strip mall and found a PetSmart, carrying our dogs across the parking lot and into the blissfully cool air conditioning. Gibby even skipped the toys and just recovered, something I never thought I would see. Thankfully, PetSmart offered them water and let us hang out inside for a little while, escaping the intense heat.
Mural in Barrio Logan, San Diego Photo by Wendy Stieg
Santa Clara, CA, 2015
Before that San Diego show, my real entry into the live world of Grateful Dead music happened at Santa Clara. I had always loved the music, but when many of my friends were going to one hundred shows or more, I was a single mom raising two kids by myself. Road trips and concerts simply weren’t part of my life then, even though I longed for them.
Paul changed that. One of the things I love most about him is that when he decides to do something, we do it. It doesn’t matter whether we are camping or staying in a luxury hotel, we go. He started taking me to shows, and I fell instantly in love with the experience of hearing the music live. Santa Clara was the beginning of that chapter.
San Diego, CA, 2018
Pregame was spent next to the truck in the parking lot, hanging out in foldable chairs. We had stopped earlier for great tacos in the Barrio Logan neighborhood. Getting from the parking lot to the venue was crazy and took longer than we expected, making us a little late. But once we found our spots on the floor in the pit, the show took over.
The show opened with Hell in a Bucket, which happens to be one of my favorite songs. The energy in the crowd immediately lifted. Bobby was on fire, and John more than matched his efforts. Oteil’s voice gave such beauty to the overall feel of the show. Jeff effortlessly hammered tunes on the keys, and Billy and Mickey gave epic performances on drums. When Mr. Charlie opened the second set, the magic was in full swing. Both moments were incredible. For us, Dead music is medicine.
The Airbnb
Back in San Diego, the Airbnb was memorable. There was a faint smell of cat pee outside the door. The rental was actually a converted garage, and not converted well.
The host complained that we were loud, which was funny because we were barely there at all. We were just sleeping there. We chose not to leave a bad review. Staying in a bad Airbnb with a bad host and a cat pee smell added some local color to the trip. Why did we stay there? We had three dogs and they were allowed. Three dogs left no trace except Koda, who felt it necessary to pee on the couch leg. We cleaned it up.
The Notary and the Bagel Shop
Paul and I like to get our bearings by finding a simple café and coffee spot when we first arrive somewhere. Southern California was no different. We found a great little bagel shop with excellent coffee, and that quickly became breakfast every morning.
But life has a way of circling back and making you deal with it even when you are on vacation. We had just refinanced our Leadville house, and the paperwork required signatures. When the lender asked where we could meet, we said San Clemente, California. So, thirty minutes at the bagel shop before surfing allowed us to finalize the refinance. They simply sent a notary to meet us there. It was an oddly normal moment in an otherwise free and fun trip. I am also reminded how simple things felt in 2018. Now, in 2026, life feels a lot heavier. I know I am not alone in thinking that.
Old Man’s, in San Clemente, CA Photo by Wendy Stieg
Hula Girl Rode Shotgun on Every Road Trip Photo by Wendy Stieg
The Tundra, fully loaded and ready for surfing. Photo by Wendy Stieg
Ocean Beach Dog Beach
One of my favorite memories of that trip is taking Gibby, Koda, and Cheyenne to Ocean Beach Dog Beach. California beaches typically do not allow dogs except in very specific areas, and Ocean Beach Dog Beach is one of those places.
It was a funny scene. Beach chairs, coolers, dog toys, leashes, dog water, and of course, beer. People and their dogs everywhere. Happiness abounds. Unless you are Koda. Apparently, Shiba Inus are not partial to water. Koda would go into the ocean, but only up to his ankles, before quickly retreating straight back to the towel. Gibby did not want to get out at all, and old Cheyenne was pretty tired after chasing a tennis ball in the shorebreak. But all three dogs had a blast. What joy the ocean brings for two-legged and four-legged beachgoers alike.
Gibby, Koda, and Cheyenne at Ocean Beach Dog Beach Photo by Wendy Stieg
The Drive Through Los Angeles
We had to get to San Diego, and that meant driving through Los Angeles. Traffic. You are talking to a mountain girl here, and yes, of course, I have experienced traffic, but it always takes me by surprise. Traffic is all day long, every day. And it was incredibly hot.
Paul was driving, as per usual. Let’s get something straight. Paul is a very good driver. He drove a plow truck for CDOT for eleven years in the mountains of Colorado. He has driven in all kinds of weather and in many different kinds of vehicles. But Los Angeles is a different animal, and that animal brings out a whole other side of Paul. Our friend Mike was with us for part of the trip and eventually volunteered to take over the driving after a particularly memorable stretch of freeway navigation, largely because he feared for his life. We did make it to San Diego, so the story continues.
The Music
Dead and Company at Mattress Firm Venue, near San Diego, CA Photo by Wendy Stieg
Peace in the Sky, Santa Clara, Opening the Next Chapter Photo by Wendy Stieg
Surfing at Old Man’s
Southern California stuck with us, so we eventually returned for a second trip. That time we stayed in a campervan at the beach park near Old Man’s, a longboard surf break at San Onofre that surfers have loved for generations.
I lived in Hawaii for almost a decade after moving there when I was nineteen, so there is something about surf culture that always feels familiar to me. Being at Old Man’s brought back that sense of community around the ocean. We rented longboards from Used Surf in San Clemente and gave it a shot. Being a strong skier does not automatically translate to surfing skill. The ocean is very clear about that. But sharing a beer with Paul and the locals, watching families and kids riding longboards, it felt less like a surf break and more like a small temporary town built around waves. I surfed, or at least tried to, and that was enough.
In Closing
San Diego started with a concert. We spent time eating great fish tacos at Salud in Barrio Logan, survived intense heat, and Paul’s driving in LA. Strangers became friends at Old Man’s, and riding waves was harder than I remembered.
But the trips were memorable and gave us pause in our otherwise busy lives. I remain grateful for the many shows I have seen and the many road trips I have experienced. These trips were special, and a large reason why we travel to begin with.
These Experience articles capture real moments from the road. They are not itineraries or travel guides, but reflections on the places, memories, and small moments that stay with us long after the trip ends.
February’s Experience
How Stepping Out of Your Comfort Zone Results in Just-Right Experiences
Papa Bear was happy with his new job as one of the town’s mail carriers. Baby Bear had made new friends at school. Goldilocks and Mama Bear were selling travel packages like crazy. One morning, the four of them realized they were hungry and decided to go out for breakfast together, partly because Mama Bear was out of porridge. The only question was where.
Breakfast is always an interesting question when we travel. We love how Europeans approach it: light, simple, and unhurried. A latte and something small is usually just right. During our first trip to Portugal, while staying in Sintra, we discovered a tiny café within walking distance of where we were staying. We stopped in on our first morning and were immediately surprised by how good everything was: the coffee, the pastries, the simplicity of it all. It became our morning ritual.
That café was Ca.fé Coffee House
Av. Dr. Miguel Bombarda 9, 2710-590 Sintra, Portugal
The experience of staying in Sintra unfolded easily. Our small short-term rental was walkable to the town center, Pena Palace, and Castelo dos Mouros. Mornings felt slow and spacious. We’d wander out, get coffee, and let the day take shape on its own.
We quickly learned that Portugal does breakfast beautifully. Beyond the familiar pastel de nata, there were savory pastries, delicate sweets, and perfectly made lattes. One small cultural detail I loved: in Portugal, cappuccinos and lattes belong to the morning, while espresso is for later in the day. If you want to sound like you know what you’re doing, you can say, “Queria uma bica, se faz favor.” A bica is a single-shot espresso, and it’s taken seriously.
The owner of the café and his son were warm and welcoming, and after a few mornings, he told us about his “other” restaurant, a lunch spot run by his wife, several blocks away. He handed us a business card and suggested we try it.
We hadn’t planned lunch that day at all, which made the idea even more appealing. Paul and I set out to find it, confident but quickly humbled. Google Maps failed us completely. We stood on a quiet street staring at our phones when a Portuguese electrician noticed our confusion. He didn’t speak English, and our Portuguese was limited at best, but he smiled, gestured, and quite literally guided us down a narrow alley. We were less than a block away. Kismet!
Lunch that day was at Culto da Tasca
Rua Veiga da Cunha 6, 2710-627 Sintra, Portugal
It was unapologetically local. No fanfare. No translation. Just people stopping in for lunch, plates moving quickly from kitchen to table, and food that felt like it belonged exactly where it was. As the room filled, we knew we had found something special. We ate fish, vegetables, and shared a bottle of wine. It felt like a home-cooked meal in a place we never would have found on our own.
What made the experience even better was its staying power. When we returned to Portugal on a later trip, we went back, and it was just as magical. The same warmth. The same quiet confidence. A place that didn’t need to impress because it already knew what it was.
We stepped out of our comfort zone that day, and we were richly rewarded. It’s funny how something so simple, surrounded by kindness, and filled with warmth can give you such a wonderful sense of place.
Goldilocks and the Three Bears were delighted with their breakfast discovery and quickly became regulars. Saturday mornings often found the four of them lingering over coffee, omelets, and conversation. Sometimes, the just-right experience shows up not because you planned for it, but because you released your expectations and allowed it to show up.
If this way of traveling resonates, February’s Blueprint explores how adaptive planning creates space for exactly these kinds of experiences, where intention guides you, but rigidity steps aside.
For more lived-in wandering, you might also enjoy Walking Lisbon, where exploration happens on foot, without an agenda.
Ca.Fe Coffee House, Sintra, Portugal
Culto da Tasco, Sintra, Portugal
Life begins at the edge of your comfort zone.
— Neale Donald Walsch
January’s Experience
Holding presence while the future unfolds
January is a very interesting time of year. There is a distinct energy in the air, one that seems to say, “Pay attention. You have things to do. Let’s look at all the ways you could improve your life.” It feels almost like a wake-up call, even though many of the things asking for attention have been there all along. For reasons that are partly cultural and perhaps partly cyclical, this season invites us to take stock and decide what needs care in our lives. Life Notes is exploring this theme of staying oriented, as this month’s Muse goes into further detail. January is not a travel month for us. We may take a short weekend trip to go skiing or visit friends elsewhere in Colorado, but most of this month is spent at home. While January naturally pulls our attention toward planning and future thinking, our culture often adds an unspoken pressure to “figure things out,” which can quietly turn into resistance or anxiety. I’ve begun to notice when my nervous system tries to grab my attention with a sense of urgency, and I’m learning to recognize that signal as an invitation to ground myself rather than respond to a call that feels urgent but isn’t actually necessary.
The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance; the wise grows it under his feet.
–James Oppenheim
Big Snow Year in Colorado, Winter 2019, Leadville, CO Photo by Wendy Stieg
There is an old adage that warns how easily the mind can trick us into believing a planned journey is already over before it has even begun. It’s a reminder to slow down rather than rush ahead, to remember that savoring life also includes the moments before the thing you are planning actually arrives. That can be surprisingly difficult, because one of the oldest unhappiness traps is the belief that “when I get there, then I’ll be happy,” a way of postponing your own well-being by making it conditional on some future outcome. Planning is necessary, especially in January, and it serves an important purpose. But life and its quiet, meaningful experiences do not pause while plans are being formed. This space of anticipation is not a holding pattern or a lesser chapter. Your life is not empty or on standby during this time. What I’m coming to understand is that this season, right now, is an experience in itself.
View from Salida, CO. Photo by Wendy Stieg
Something I keep coming back to is the reminder that life has never been fully predictable. And when I really think about it, I wouldn’t want it to be. I am an adventurer at heart, and that has always meant taking risks and accepting that sometimes things won’t work out. Over the course of my life, I’ve navigated plenty of situations that didn’t unfold as planned, and I’ve learned that I can handle far more than I once believed. Even the most ordinary systems break down at times. Buses run late. Businesses are closed when they should be open. And occasionally, the thing you absolutely need to do simply cannot get done. We can spend our energy imagining everything that might go wrong, or we can expect most things to go right and trust ourselves to respond when they don’t. I know I can rely on myself in challenging moments, because I’ve lived through them before and found my way forward. Two things are true at the same time: It is not up to me to fix everything, and I can meet situations as they arise and respond effectively. That knowledge has become a quiet source of trust.
Leadville in Summer, Annual Visitors.
Photo by Wendy Stieg
Right now, in our lives, we are facing some real challenges. Each of them opens the door to multiple possible futures. One thing I keep reminding myself is that the future is not fact. It is made up of possibilities, and whatever we imagine will happen rarely unfolds exactly that way, whether for better or worse. Still, the human tendency to label what lies ahead is strong. In truth, we are always living with multiple potential futures, whether we acknowledge it or not. It is easy to get pulled around by your mind when you start projecting yourself into those imagined outcomes, but they are just that, imagined. Recognizing this helps bring me back to what is actually being asked of me right now. It allows me to make plans and then give those plans room to evolve, rather than trying to force a specific outcome. This has never been easy for me, but the more I trust that things tend to work out, the more I can trust the timing of life without needing clarity on every single point.
My logical mind understands this, but my emotional mind needs a different kind of attention. When I don’t recognize how it operates, my nervous system tends to label uncertainty, difficulty, or challenge as danger. That is what it was designed to do. It is trying to keep me safe. But as I sit here typing, there is no real threat in this moment. Other than my thoughts, nothing urgent is actually happening. I’m learning to remember that my emotional, fight-or-flight system can make imagined threats feel very real, even when they aren’t. This is simply my non-logical mind trying to get my attention. There is an important difference between threat and challenge. There is no tiger lurking around the corner, waiting to pounce. There are meaningful challenges in our lives right now, but none that we won’t eventually be able to work through. Remembering this allows me to stay present, rather than bracing myself against an outcome that hasn’t even arrived.
Avalanche Above Frisco, CO, Winter 2019. Photo by Wendy Stieg
View for the Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA
Photo by Wendy Stieg
So what can we do in January? We do have a lot of areas of our lives needing attention. I know that in order to stay centered, grounded and effective at navigating the uncertainty while moving forward, there are things we can do to balance how much time we spend planning without future tripping. For me, knowing we have those little mini weekends, or recognizing some of our free time can be in Staycation mode, gives me the space to be able to set the plans, the anticipation and the anxiety down. That then allows me to shift anxiety into action when it is necessary and appropriate. This means it is possible to let go of your thinking mind, to give it some rest, without abandoning your responsibilities. Staying grounded is an ongoing choice, not a destination. It’s how you stay with your life while it rearranges itself.
January, I’m learning, is a practice rather than a pause. Experience does not wait until you arrive somewhere else or reach a particular goal. It begins much earlier, in the moments when you learn how to stay with yourself while things are still forming. Trusting that this season is doing important work allows me to move forward without rushing toward resolution. And perhaps this way of being does not end once the journey actually begins. Maybe it travels with you. When you do reach a destination or a long-held goal, you can meet it the same way, slowing down, allowing it to unfold naturally, and fully inhabiting the experience as it happens. Orientation, not certainty, is what makes that possible.
Sunset at The Gorge Amphitheater, George, WA Photo by Wendy Stieg