Since writing about our last adventure together, I’ve thought a lot about all the ones Ken and I shared that came before. Particularly, I was reminded of the bold decision we made in packing up our lives and driving cross-country to relocate from Chicago to LA in the fall of 2002.

When I met him in early 2001 Ken had been planning to move to LA to be closer to his brother, sister-in-law and nephews–and, of course, to pursue his acting career. His plans went off the rails a bit when he met me. Love has a way of doing that so easily. But it was always a topic of conversation–the idea of moving there together.

We took our first vacation together in early 2002 to visit the LA family. A child of television, I’d long been enthralled with Hollywood and sunny Southern California. It was on that trip we decided to move there. It was an effortless decision in many ways for someone usually so unsettled by change–and so willing to circumvent it whenever possible. I felt confident there wasn’t anything we couldn’t accomplish together–a feeling that only grew stronger throughout the following years.

Thinking back to that time awes me with our bravery. Well, honestly, it didn’t surprise me that Ken was so brave. Being brave was very “Ken.” I was quite surprised at myself and how easy it was to take such a leap of faith, my hand firmly interlocked with Ken’s. He so effortlessly and so quickly engendered a kind of trust I always dreamed of in a spouse.

That autumn we quit our jobs, consolidated our belongings before packing them into a moving truck that would make its own way, and on August 29, 2002, Ken, Quantum and I–along with all our newly purchased camping gear–headed westward in his 1989 Geo Prizm. It was an iconic trip–the once-in-a-lifetime-kind where we didn’t have to rush because we didn’t have jobs, so no one was expecting us to be anywhere. We planned for 10 days of camping and taking in vistas of Americana. One of the most striking memories of the trip was how “in the moment” I was able to be–because of him. It’s a tool that has served me well during the course of our relationship–particularly toward the end of his life and since.

We’d planned to camp our way across the country, but thanks to a moving company mishap Ken had injured his leg because we had to load everything into the pod ourselves. (Thanks to our combined efforts, our entire move expense was refunded.) The first couple of nights he needed a comfy bed, order-in dinners, and plenty of Q snuggles. We did manage to camp once in Nebraska, setting up everything in the pitch darkness of night, and once again in Williams, AZ which was a prelude to a day spent at the Grand Canyon–a place so beautiful and vibrant photos can’t do it justice.

(Ken and his infamous Gray’s Anatomy Leg tattoo. We stopped in Boulder, CO to spend Labor Day weekend with my friend Craig on the way.)


(As a model guest I didn’t see any reason to dirty a wine glass.)


(On the road with our well-behaved and favorite passenger, Quantum.)

We stopped at every rest area so all three of us could stretch our legs and go to the bathroom. At one rest stop in particular (New Mexico, I think) I remember Ken being chattier than usual and encouraging me to take Q to the dog walk area rather than himself–and to hurry up. When we were done he asked me to get into the car first without moving from the spot he’d been in since we arrived–which I thought was odd. After I put Q into the back seat I buckled into the front, never taking my eyes off him, wondering what the deal was. After he was sure I we were in the car, he moved to do the same, revealing a sign he’d been standing in front of the entire time: Beware of Scorpions. We laughed so hard as we pulled away, both of us knowing had I seen that sign I would have freaked and no one would have peed for another one hundred and thirty miles. Even so early on he knew how to “manage” me when necessary.

We arrived in Needles, California on the ninth day of the trip. It was 112 degrees and 115 in our hotel room, as the air conditioner spat and sputtered out warm, moist air akin to breath. As we unloaded the topper from the car, we both noticed mounds of fire ants in the parking lot in addition to the half-inch gap under the door, giving them free and clear access to our room and our Chow Chow. Not cool–in any way. We had our doubts about staying but after plugging in our phones to charge and having the the outlet fell out of the wall and spark, we wearily replaced the topper, packed up and headed out to make the last leg of our trip.

We’d already had about six hours of driving under our belt, and weren’t looking forward to another eight. We hadn’t yet discovered the necessity of a Thomas Guide to tell us the highway we were taking was–in fact–not completed, which our Rand McNally map neglected to inform us. The day was an unforgettable comedy of errors that landed us in LA at something like 10:30 p.m. with family and martinis waiting for us.

(Love this photo we took of the incredible panorama–though nothing compares to the real thing.)


(The Wigwam Motel on historic Route 66! Never heard of it but after seeing it, have never forgotten it.)

This trip was a true experience in enjoying the figurative journey–literally.