Describe your most memorable vacation.

I’ve taken some decent vacations in my life. I’ve had a few long weekends that were more about catching up on sleep than seeing sights, and I’ve had some trips that ended with me wondering why I even left the house. But hands down, the most memorable one? Colorado. No question.

It wasn’t just a vacation—it was the vacation. The kind that changes your life. I got married. On the side of a mountain. At Camp Hale. In September.

Yeah, let that sink in. A full-blown wedding, tucked away in the Rockies, surrounded by pine trees and those golden-yellow aspen leaves that only show up when fall is just starting to flex. No big church, no stiff tuxedos, no boring food or awkward family speeches. Just me, Jennifer Yuhase (my soon-to-be wife and now forever adventure buddy), and the wild beauty of Colorado standing witness.

The air up there felt different—clean, crisp, and like it actually gave a damn about what you were breathing. We said our vows under the open sky, with the mountains stretching out behind us like a postcard. No frills, no drama. Just nature and love and maybe a couple of happy tears that I’ll blame on the altitude.

After that, we didn’t hop on a plane or hit some fancy all-inclusive resort. Nope—we kept it real. We jumped in the car and headed west, straight into Utah. The honeymoon became its own kind of adventure.

First stop: Arches National Park. I’d seen photos, sure—but standing there in person, those giant stone arches just slapped me in the face with how unreal they looked. It was like walking through another planet. The way the sun hits those red rocks at sunset? It’s the kind of thing that makes you shut up for once and just take it in.

Then came Canyonlands State Park, which feels like the lovechild of the Grand Canyon and a Mad Max movie. Miles and miles of pure jaw-dropping silence. No traffic noise, no phones ringing, just the sound of the wind and your own heartbeat reminding you you’re alive.

We hiked. We took photos. We talked about everything and nothing. And every night, we crashed in random little motels or campgrounds, tired but grinning like idiots.

That whole trip—the wedding, the road trip, the parks—wasn’t just a vacation. It was the start of something bigger. Something that actually mattered.

And I wouldn’t change a single second of it.