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Last week I threw down the challenge: ask me anything about our trip, and I’ll answer it. Well, here goes:

1) Did you get a chance to talk to “locals” as you stopped along the way? (Paula)

Well, Paula, you should know something about me: I’m not a big talker. Especially not to strangers. I sort of have a live and let live mentality. But I’m trying to do better. I’m trying to be nice. The best conversation I had with a local was when one of the guys in the tow truck (pulling us out of the runaway truck ramp on Teton Pass) started talking to us and wanted to help Abra put on her shoes.

2) What do you do after a trip like this? (Larry)

Man, what a question. That will take a blog post to unpack. But the short version is this: find a new house, find some work, make a new life, and let the memories of this trip simmer on low for a few months.

3) What do you do about power/water when you’re overnighting at truck stops or Walmart parking lots? (Christine)

We have a 150 gallon fresh water tank that usually lasts for 3-4 days if we’re real careful. We can fill it at truck stops or rest stops or friendly gas stations. For power, we have a generator in the bottom of the bus. It uses diesel from the main tank, but not much as long as we don’t have the AC running (if we have to run the AC it uses about 1/10th of a tank during the night – ouch! – in which case we’re better off finding a campground where we can plug in to shore power).

4) What is the worst experience you had changing Willy’s sewer contraption? (Dan)

Dan, that’s just plain disgusting. But since you asked, I did unhook one time at a park where the waste pipe was much higher than usual, so when I unhooked and pulled the waste line under the bus, all of the contents still in the line ended up under the bus. But that was probably worse for the people who came after us than it was for me.

5) If you were planning the trip again. What would you be sure to include and what would you consider dropping. As far as places and “stuff.” (Eldon)

Tough one. I can’t think of a single thing I would drop. Honestly. Everything has left such a huge impression on me. I would definitely include more time on the West Coast. Yellowstone was amazing. If I were planning the trip again, I’d try to make it for six months instead of four.

6) What was your absolute favorite place to eat so far on the trip? (Clint)

We have not eaten out as much as we would have liked, due to budgetary constraints. But what comes to mind immediately is “Mother’s” in New Orleans.

7) What’s the most interesting thing you have learned on the road? (Cindy)

So many things. The Lodge Pole Pine (in Yellowstone) has a pine cone that is glued shut and only opened by fire. Our bus has a governor that will continue up-shifting even when you don’t want it to – which doesn’t sound interesting until it’s the reason your brakes go out 8400 feet up. No workers were killed while carving Mount Rushmore.

8) Actually I would like you to ask each of your children what their favorite part of the trip was so far. Would love to hear from their various ages what stands out. (Donna)

Our older two, Cade and Lucy, loved New Orleans for the simple fact that it had their favorite children’s museum. Abra can’t stop talking about Lellowcone (Yellowstone) and Marshmallow (Mount Rushmore). Sam loved it as his Uncle Sam’s, where we got to play on twenty playgrounds at once.

9) WILL WE GET MAILE’S TAKE ON THE TRIP? (Joyce)

Maile has an awesome take on the trip – check out her blog: http://mailesmucker.com

10) What was your favorite natural landscape that you encountered on your trip and why?

There were so many incredible sights. Northern New Mexico was amazing. Wyoming just outside of Yellowstone. A small stretch of canyon just west of Bighorn.

11) What’s the most interesting thing you’ve done during this portion of the trip? (Erin)

Discovering that Yellowstone is actually a huge, active volcano, and seeing all the geysers, mud pots, and boiling springs (and wildlife). I really cannot say enough about Yellowstone.

12) How has God been speaking to you on your trip? What message rings most clearly? (Jon)

To be honest, Jon, I feel like this trip has been one big game of chicken between me and God. God keeps saying, “Do you trust me?” and I keep saying, “I trust you,” and then we get stuck in a ditch. “Do you trust me?” God asks. “I trust you,” I say, and then all of my potential work falls through. “Do you trust me?” God asks. “I trust you,” I say, and then we lose our brakes in the Teton Pass. “Do you trust me?” God asks. “I trust you,” I say (warily), and now we head for home with no home of our own to go to and no solid income lined up.

Mostly I feel a lot like Sammy looks staring out over a huge lake with snow-capped mountains in the distance: overwhelmed by the beauty of it all, not understanding much, and somehow knowing I am very, very blessed.

Well, that’s only half of the questions, but I’ll get to the other half later in the week. In the mean time, here’s a question for you: If you took a trip like this, what would you be the most excited to see?

It’s Monday night and the bus is parked at a truck stop somewhere outside Des Moines. I sit in the passenger seat feeling tired and irritable, playing some game or other on my iPhone. The sun, gone from the sky, leaves a wake of color where it was just shining bright and hot a few minutes ago.

I suppose there are many tangible reasons for my irritability tonight: a desire to be home (wherever that is), anxiety about the future, and three and a half months in cramped quarters with five other people (all of whom have many more reasons to be irritated with me than I do with them). Worrying about waste water tanks and fresh water tanks and the money required to keep this beast running.

But emerging in my mind is an unsettled feeling, something new. Something that’s been gaining ground as the trip has progressed. Something beyond my own circumstances.

It started to make itself known in a tangible way a few days ago, when we were in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and we approached the on-ramp of the highway. A forlorn man stood there on the corner. He looked rather pitiful, like a homeless person who had tried to dress up and fallen horribly short. His hair looked combed, but in a way that made me think it wasn’t combed often. He looked self-conscious. Perhaps that’s what he was, because as we drove up, I noticed he held a cardboard sign. I expected the sign to say something like, “Homeless, need money.” But the words I saw scratched in black marker put a lump in my throat.

“Worthington” was written across the top, and “Daughter’s Graduation” was written along the bottom.

Worthington is a town in Minnesota, about 60 miles away. And tonight, as I sit here playing some meaningless game on my iPhone, I’m wishing I would have taken the afternoon and driven him there. Two hours out of my life. I wonder if someone going to Worthington (or that general direction) took him. Or if perhaps, at some graduation ceremony, a girl scanned the crowd, disappointed because once again her father had not come.

* * * * *

Then tonight, as we drove to a Ruby Tuesday’s to use a gift card some friends had given us, we passed another person, a woman this time, standing at another intersection.

“Stranded. Need food,” the black magic marker had written on her strip of cardboard. And again my heart caught in my throat. And my jaw clenched. And I drove on by. We went to Ruby’s and had a good meal, and my youngest cried about his dessert, and I found myself disappointed with what I had ordered.

But my stomach was full, and I wouldn’t have to worry about food until the next morning, when I would look through the fridge and eat whatever I wanted to eat.

Why didn’t I stop the van and take her along?

* * * * *

Again and again, poverty has called out to me on this trip. More than at any other time in my life. Maybe it’s because I’m out of my routine and my eyes are open. I’m looking around. I’m more aware. I’m in surroundings that I do not take for granted.

Again and again, I’ve been sorely disappointed by my response, which basically has been confusion, or uncertainty, or a willingness that comes far too late. My automatic reaction to those in need is skepticism, or distrust. Which is especially sad, considering that I have spent the last 35 years in church. 35 years going at least once a week, and up to four times a week, to a place where people meet who have dedicated their lives to following Christ. Yet after all of those years, I still don’t know how to respond to poverty.

Of course, I do not blame the church. I blame me. I’d like to say that today was the last time. Never again will I encounter poverty without doing something. Anything.

Yet that feels like so many empty promises, and I’m left here, in the passenger seat of a big blue bus, and the sky is almost dark, and I don’t feel that I understand it any better than I did before.

Last week I offered to answer any question you folks cared to ask about our trip. 24 of you took me up on it – tomorrow I begin answering them. Don’t miss it.

I love hamburgers, and at some point in my life I must have received some sort of immunity against documentaries that reveal the disgusting elements of fast food – the shows simply have no affect on me.

In Virginia I had my first Red Robin burger. Whoever thought of putting an egg on a burger is a genius (although I did have an Outback Burger in England with so many toppings – including an egg – that you couldn’t wrap your mouth around it). I love Red Robin.

I had my first Five Guys after I ran the Tough Mudder last November: the unprecedented state of tired and hungry that I had reached meant that those burgers will always hold a special place in my heart.

Then, westward bound, and the further we went, the greater the concentration of In-N-Out burger joints. Eating one of their burgers was on Maile’s to-do list, and in San Francisco we finally got to try one.

People are passionate about their burgers. Today we’re going to settle it once and for all.

Who makes the best burger?

1. The Meat

Red Robin: Perfect size, thick and juicy.
Five Guys: Not sure if the burger itself can taste any better (once again: think “just ran 12 miles”)
In-N-Out: A few rungs above McDonalds?

Winner: Five Guys (1)

2. The Bun

Red Robin: Standard sesame seed. Above average.
Five Guys: Can’t remember it. Not a good sign.
In-N-Out: Slightly toasted.

Winner: In-N-Out (1). Marshmallows, sesames, croutons: everything’s better toasted.

3. The Fixins

Red Robin: Egg and just about anything else you could ever want
Five Guys: Can’t remember it (beginning to think my lack of memory has to do with my physical state at the time)
In-N-Out: According to the menu (more on that later), not too many options

Winner: Red Robin (1)

4. The Fries

Red Robin: Gloriously thick potato fries, AND they supply that Cajun-y spice.
Five Guys: That whole memory thing.
In-N-Out: Not impressed.

Winner: Red Robin (2)

5. The Drink

Red Robin: Amazing chocolate shake.
Five Guys: Amazing…Dr. Pepper?
In-N-Out: I didn’t get their milkshake. Their loss.

Winner: Red Robin (3)

6. The Name

Red Robin: A bird. And their mascot terrified my children when they were younger.
Five Guys: It takes five guys to make one burger? Weird.
In-N-Out: Serious digestive connotations.

Winner: Red Robin (4). Scared children sit still.

7. Price

Red Robin: Have to take out a small loan to feed a family of six ($50 – $70). Usually a date-night location for us, as opposed to a family destination.
Five Guys: I don’t remember. And I think we paid for my cousin. Can’t remember.
In-N-Out: Incredibly cheap prices. Great value for money.

Winner: In-N-Out (2)

8. Environment

Red Robin: A huge picture of Einstein sticking out his tongue, along with their bird mascot, scared my children. Admittedly, they’re sensitive. Also: very comfortable chairs.
Five Guys: Not that comfortable.
In-N-Out: So full we couldn’t get a seat at first. Standard fast-food plastic seats.

Winner: Red Robin (5). My kids are older now.

9. Service

Red Robin: Average
Five Guys: Average
In-N-Out: Incredible

Winner: In-N-Out (3)

10. Cult Following

Red Robin: People love the restaurant. They love the burgers. Some of them even love the bird.
Five Guys: Passionate following who will beat you up if you don’t like their burgers. Their fan base has sort of a gangster feel.
In-N-Out: People literally swore at me when I said we might not get an In-N-Out burger during our western loop. Others implored, begged even, that we go there.

Winner: Five Guys (2)

11. Miscellaneous:

Red Robin: Fun setting, very kid friendly.
Five Guys: Plain and simple. I kind of like that.
In-N-Out: They have secret items THAT AREN’T EVEN ON THE MENU!

Winner: In-N-Out (4)

Well, there you have it. Red Robin (5), In-N-Out (4), and Five Guys (2). But we can settle this in the comments. Cast your vote. Of the three, which do you prefer?

You will want to give up.

When you’re not even that far from home and you’re already stuck in a ditch. When your sense of adventure slams up against the inevitable reality of bills and homesickness and costs you couldn’t have budgeted for.

You will want to give up. Don’t.

When your best work falls short and the words don’t flow right, you’ll think of your bed back at home. You’ll remember the comfort of predictability. The safety of not trying. The ease of a life in which nothing is at stake.

You will want to give up. Don’t.

When you realize that nothing is working out as you expected. When you start to wonder if adventure is just another word for irresponsibility. When you doubt everything that at one time seemed so clear – when you start to feel the need to conform to the expectations of everyone around you.

You will want to give up. Don’t

When your popcorn maker burns out. When you run out of Sour Skittles. When you get lost and one part of your adventure takes twice as long as it should. When you get sick and tired of emptying everyone else’s waste (literally and figuratively).

You will want to give up. Don’t.

When your brakes give out and you’re losing control of your life. When your electricity doesn’t work and you fall asleep in a cold, silent, simmering anger. When you drive all day and don’t find what you’re looking for.

You will want to give up. Don’t.

When previous failures push fear to the surface. When each and every hill makes you wonder if there’s a runaway truck ramp. When the kids won’t stop talking, or you and your spouse can’t stop fighting, or you start to wish there HADN’T been a runaway truck ramp.

You will want to give up. Don’t.

Because if you had given up before, you wouldn’t be where you are. You wouldn’t have what you have. You wouldn’t be who you have become.

So don’t give up now. Your future self will thank you for persevering.

The greatest adventure is what lies ahead.
Today and tomorrow are yet to be said.
The chances, the changes are all yours to make.
The mold of your life is in your hands to break.
– JRR Tolkien

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The bus ground to a stop among the loose stones of the runaway truck ramp. My hands shook as I took them away from the steering wheel and placed them in my lap. My legs trembled as they let off the brake, and the burning smell of those brakes caught up to us, enveloped us, reminded us of how bad it might have been.

I looked back at Maile. Her eyes seemed stuck open, unblinking.

“That could have been really, really bad,” she said, her voice wavering.

I swallowed. Nodded.

She took the kids to the back of the bus and turned on a movie. I went out and walked around the bus. Smoke came out from behind the front wheels. So relatively slow had our approach to the runaway truck ramp been, and so effective the 8-inch thick layer of loose pebbles in slowing us, that the bus hadn’t even gone all the way in. Our back tires were still on pavement.

I looked out over the incredible view again – the trees and the cliffs and the mountains. Everything was completely still. Peaceful.

* * * * *

The next few hours passed in a post-adrenaline haze. The nicest officer in the world stopped and made sure we were okay, then called for the largest wrecker they could find. He invited me to sit in his car while he wrote up the report. Every once in a while he looked at me without saying a word, then shook his head in amazement and looked away. After doing that two or three times, he finally spoke.

“You do realize how lucky you are, right? How bad that could have been?”

I nodded, feeling a bit choked up, and looked out the window, up the mountain, in the direction from which we had come.

* * * * *

A few hours later the truck arrived. Two men were in it. One of them, a long-haired mountain man with a six-inch goatee and a few missing teeth, stared up into the bus at Maile.

“Everyone okay?” he asked in a genuine voice.

She nodded.

“White-knuckled it there for a bit, I guess?”

She nodded again, biting her lip.

We waited in the minivan at the bottom of the mountain and took a picture of the truck as it brought Willie down to us.

* * * * *

After a long discussion with the tow-truck driver, and testing the brakes, we went on our merry way. By now it was past 5pm, but we thought we’d still try to make it to Yellowstone, a few hours away.

Just outside of Jackson Hole a herd of bison crossed the road in front of us. The kids all crowded to the front. The huge beasts, from some other time period, lumbered slowly up on to the asphalt, then into the huge expanse of grass on the other side. It was beautiful. Breathtaking. Surreal.

Out of this silence spoke Cade, our prophet, and he summed up the whole day in one sentence.

“We must be the luckiest family in the world.”

For Part One (In Which We Lose Our Brakes at 8400 Feet), click HERE

We pulled away from the scenic view at the top of Teton Pass. Breathless. Anxious. Eager to have the ensuing four-mile descent behind us.

It wasn’t long before I realized we would be fortunate to make this stretch without incident. Even in first gear, I had to use my brakes too often, too hard. The air pressure dropped. The brakes smelled hot after just half a mile.

I pulled into a side pull-off area to give the bus a rest, and my parking brake barely engaged. Adrenaline left me feeling shaky. I opened the bus door. The cold air felt great, and behind us the mountain side was covered in snow, but both were contrasted by the smell of hot brakes. The smell of something important not going well.

After ten minutes or so, I released the brake and began creeping forward. The brakes felt okay, but not quite right. I had no idea what to do, but then I saw another pull-off a few hundred yards ahead. I decided to pull in there and park for an hour, let the brakes cool completely. We might take all day getting down. Oh, well.

By now Maile and the three older kids sat just behind me. Sam napped in the back. The kids chattered on and on about the view, the trees, and the bears they wanted to see. It was surreal – inside, I felt a massive sense of tension nearing panic, yet just behind me the kids were having a great trip. They had no idea.

But Maile – I could tell she knew what was going on. She asked me short questions in a quiet voice as we crept along at 5 mph, questions that I had no answer for.

“Are we okay?”

“Can you stop?”

“Should we pull off?”

I pulled our 20,000 pounds into that next pull-off, preparing to stop, put on the parking brake, and wait until the brakes cooled. But it was at that moment I realized we couldn’t stop, at least not completely. I pushed the brake all the way to the floor, but we kept coasting, a snail’s pace really. It’s amazing how such fear can rise up in the face of such a slow movement. In a last ditch effort, I pulled on the parking brake, but it did nothing. We kept coasting forward.

I had no other option but to coast back out on to the road. This is when we began gaining speed. This is when I reached over with my other foot, put both feet on the brake and pushed down as hard as I could. This is when I realized we could not stop.

A guardrail defined the next curve, to the left, a hundred yards or so in front of us. Beyond the road, a thousand feet of air and rock and evergreens. Beyond that, the town we couldn’t always see, like a tiny model village. Far beyond that, more snow-capped mountains.

Faster. Now we were going fifteen miles per hour. We came around the turn. I began calculating at what point I would need to wreck the bus into the side of the mountain. The brakes were no longer slowing us. Then we saw it – on the left, a runaway truck ramp, the kind I used to always look at and think, Seriously? People actually use those?

“Should we go in there?” Maile asked me. I didn’t want to. For a second my mind weighed up the costs – getting stuck on the ramp, having to get a tow truck. Surely things hadn’t gotten that bad? Then, in that same second, my brain calculated the alternative. There was no alternative. We couldn’t stop.

A few cars flew past us on their way up the mountain. A large gap in the sparse traffic let me cross to the left hand lane. We approached the runaway truck ramp. I committed to it, veering to the left. We hit the ramp at 15-20 mph, and the bus quickly sank into the loose gravel.

We stopped.

* * * * *

For Maile’s take on this near-disaster (and the way it can change your faith), check out her blog HERE. Come on by tomorrow for the final installment, in which we get off of this crazy mountain and move on with our lives. Sort of.