Welcome (or welcome back!) to Part 4 (the finale) of our cross-country mini-series. If youâre new here, hereâs the quick recap: AlizĂŠe, Louie, and I drove from Seattle to Montreal the long way (on the Canadian side) camping every night in national and provincial parks, dodging deer with mafia energy, and perfecting the art of reheating lentils at 6°C in August. (If that sounds wild, go read Part 1. Trust me, it involves a deer attack all caught on camera.)
This chapter? Itâs the return journey. The express edition. Coast to coast in 5 days, 4 nights, 44 hours of driving. Less adventure, maybe. But plenty of stories, mishaps, and micro-miracles. This was about efficiency⌠and survival. Buckle up.
Day 1: Leaving home in Montreal â Cambridge, Ontario
đ Drove: 6h10 (652 km)
đ Slept in: Whistle Bare Campground in Cambridge, Ontario
Leaving Montreal hit harder than expected. After a month of family, home cooking, and familiar faces, it felt like being unplugged from warmth. My momâs foul mdammas had officially become our road trip send-off ritual: warm, garlicky, and filling enough to power the van for the first 300 km. I may have packed emotional baggage, but at least I left with full stomach.
I also spent the morning doing something absurd: attending work meetings and checking emails before a 5,000 km drive. Why? Guilt. That kind of pre-road-trip guilt where you think productivity might cancel out wanderlust. Spoiler: it doesnât. We left around 2:30 p.m., late but happy, and drove into the sunset.
We reached Whistle Bare Campground just past dark. Not glamorous, but quiet. The kind of place where the loudest sound is your own stretching bones.
(Tip: Donât overplan day one. Emotionally and physically, itâs the hardest to leave. Aim for 6 hours max.)
Day 2: Cambridge, Ontario â Geneseo, Illinois
đ Drove: 8h47 (948 km)
đ Slept in: Geneseo Campground in Geneseo, Illinois
Border crossing day. Cue the anxiety soundtrack. We rolled up to the U.S. checkpoint rehearsing our answers like actors in a low-budget spy movie.
âWhere are you coming from?â
âCanada.â
âWhere are you going?â
âHome.â
âAnything to declare?â
âNo.â
That last part? A lie. Technically, we were smuggling enough labneh, mjadra, and zaatar to feed us for 365 days, until our next trip to Montreal.
The border guard stared at me, then repeated the question slower. I broke. âOkay, maybe just snacks.â He raised an eyebrow. âSnacks?â
I nodded like a guilty toddler holding a cookie behind his back. After a dramatic pause, he waved us through. Crisis averted. Or so I thoughtâŚ
Two seconds later, we were funneled toward what looked like a sci-fi car wash: a full-on X-ray machine! I had never seen one before. A border patrol agent motioned for us to drive through slowly while another stood ahead, arms crossed, waiting for the thumbs-up. My heart was pounding like Iâd just drank a weekâs worth of espresso. We rolled through the scanner, paused, and watched the agent ahead nod to his partner. Thumbs up. We were clear.
We drove on, relieved and laughing. Nothing to hide, really, but the thought of explaining what zaatar or seven-spice is to a border agent, and why I canât travel without them, is a conversation Iâd happily avoid. So yes, technically innocent, emotionally guilty.
That night, we camped in Geneseo, Illinois - a town so clean and quiet it felt like being inside a Hallmark movie. Fireflies flickered, neighbors waved, and fireworks popped in the distance. Louie wasnât impressed. I was.
(Pro tip: Always admit to at least trail mix. âNo snacksâ sounds like a serial killer answer.)
Day 3: Geneseo, Illinois â Chamberlain, South Dakota
đ Drove: 8h41 (963 km)
đ Slept in: American Creek Campground in Chamberlain, South Dakota
We entered the Great Midwest Grind. Eight hours of highway hypnosis and enough windmills to power Beirut.
Twice, I pushed the gas gauge to its spiritual limit, coasting into stations on fumes. The vanâs dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree of doom: first the yellow low-fuel light, then a red flashing warning, and finally a polite yet judgmental â0 miles to emptyâ notification. Every beep felt like the van whispering, âHabibi⌠really?â AlizĂŠe started calling me âthe Prophet of Empty Tanks,â half mocking, half impressed that we made it to the station alive.
We powered through this segment of the drive with Mcdonaldâs coffee and podcasts. I canât recall the topics, but I do remember thinking: if Plato had done road trips, heâd have invented podcasting.
We reached Chamberlain just before sunset. The Missouri River shimmered gold. Louie chased smells. I chased silence. The campground: American Creek. Simple but perfect. We ate dinner watching the sky turn from orange to purple. I took a deep breath and realized something wild: we were halfway home.
(Tip: Chamberlain is a hidden gem in South Dakota. Right on the river, clean, calm, and no RV generators humming at 2 a.m.)
Day 4: Chamberlain, South Dakota â Columbus, Montana
đ Drove: 8h24 (910 km)
đ Slept in: Itch-Kep-Pe Park Park & Campground in Columbus, Montana
Woke up to birds, coffee, and a full bladder (Louieâs, not mine). Chamberlainâs morning mist was cinematic, like a slow morning fog in Kartaba, over the Lebanese mountains - soft, golden, and calm, the kind of scene that makes you forget your toâdo list for at least ten minutes.
We hit the road and entered billboard country.
Wall Drugâs billboard bonanza: A Lebanese travelerâs guide to South Dakotaâs most persistent neighbors
Now picture this, habibi: youâre driving through the wide-open lands of South Dakota, and suddenly itâs like the whole state is your Lebanese tante who wonât stop offering you more hummus. Every mile, thereâs another Wall Drug billboard popping up like itâs saying, âYalla, come on, you canât leave without seeing this place!â By the fifth billboard, you feel like youâre practically cousins with Wall Drug.
So hereâs a little gallery of those billboard cameos, served up with a dash of Lebanese wink and a smile. After all, if South Dakota wants to roll out the red carpet of billboards, who are we to say no? Yalla, letâs dive in!
By the time we crossed the 200th billboard, we were both laughing and slightly brainwashed. We didnât stop, but we did salute it from the highway. A respectful nod to South Dakotaâs most relentless marketer before pressing on toward Montana.
By late afternoon, we rolled into Columbus, Montana, where we found Itch-Kep-Pe Park. A donation-based campground so nice it felt like a setup. Grassy sites, river access, no one in sight. We showered behind the van in the fading light. Total freedom. Louie approved.
(Tip: Donation-based sites are underrated. Some of the best vibes, least rules, and most honesty youâll find on the road.)
Day 5: Columbus, Montana â Seattle
đ Drove: 11h27 (1,255 km)
đ Slept in: King-sized bed in Seattle, Washington
The big finale. The home stretch. The âhow many more podcasts do we have?â day. We woke up early, drove thru McDonaldâs for coffee, and headed west through jaw-dropping scenery.
Somewhere between the third refill and the fifth snack debate, we entered that familiar relationship gray zone - the unspoken sport of couple influence. You know, where each of us starts running a silent campaign to get our way without ever directly saying it.
This time, I went first. I floated the idea casually, pretending it had just occurred to me: âYou know, we could stop at Wanapum Lake for one last night⌠take it easy, enjoy the view, a proper ending.â I said it like it was a public service announcement, not a personal desire.
AlizĂŠe, ever the realist, didnât even blink. She hit me with the silent head tilt - that look that says, habibi, I see exactly what youâre doing. Then she smiled, shook her head, and played her counter card: reason. âOr⌠we go home, shower in our own bathroom, and sleep in our actual bed. You love that bed, Karl.â
TouchĂŠ.
What followed was 100 kilometers of subtle negotiations. I kept bringing up how calm the lake would be this time of year. She countered with strategic yawns and comments about how nice it would be to wake up at home.
Louie, diplomatic as ever, stayed neutral. Dozing off, occasionally switching sides in his sleep like Switzerland on wheels.
Finally, I surrendered. âFine. But only if ChatGPT agrees with you.â We asked. It said, âGo home.â Traitor.
So we did. We crossed back into Washington, stopped at Costco (because rituals are sacred), and finally rolled into our driveway at 8:30 p.m. Louie jumped out, sniffed the grass, and sighed like an old man back in his favorite chair.
(Tip: If youâre debating between one last night of adventure or your own bed, trust the bed. It always wins. But never admit it was your partnerâs idea.)
Final thoughts
Five days, four nights, 44 hours of asphalt, caffeine, and mild delusion. It was our fastest coast-to-coast in the van yet. And somehow still beautiful.
If Part 1 was adventure and chaos, Part 2 was flatland philosophy, and Part 3 was the reward level, then Part 4 was discipline disguised as freedom.
If youâre planning your own quick cross-country drive, hereâs the formula:
Pace it: 6â9 hours a day, no more.
Protect morale: stop for sunsets, coffee, or a good podcast debate.
Embrace the weird: donation campgrounds, border patrol banter, and billboard hypnosis.
Reward yourself: end with a home-cooked meal and a long shower.
We did it. Seattle to Montreal and back again. Coast to coast, with heart, humor, and an unreasonable number of zaatar jars.
Yalla, until the next one. â¤ď¸