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Every blog has a story behind its name, and mine is no exception. The truth is, most of my favorite travel memories aren’t the perfectly smooth, Instagram-ready moments. They’re the ones where things go sideways—where plans unravel, unexpected chaos creeps in, and laughter somehow carries us through. It was one such trip, years ago in Wyoming, that gave birth to the name Grand Misadventures.

The Beginning…

It all started with a trip to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. We set off after work, ready for the four-hour drive north. I wasn’t feeling my best—just a little cough and some congestion. Nothing serious, I thought. A few days of fresh mountain air in the national parks would surely clear me right up.

We checked into a hotel just outside of Jackson, grabbed dinner while spreading park maps across the table, and went to bed with big plans for the next morning.

But when the morning came, I could barely breathe. My glands were swollen, my chest tight, and my voice had turned into a raspy whisper that belonged more in a horror movie than on a hiking trail. Instead of heading into the parks, we found ourselves making our way to the hospital in Jackson.

After checking and rechecking, the doctor finally looked at me and said, “Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news—you’re not contagious. The bad news—it’s a viral respiratory infection, and the only thing to do is let it run its course.” She suggested some over-the-counter medicine to ease the symptoms, but otherwise, there was nothing to do but wait it out.

Yellowstone’s Beauty…and Sulphur

With a quick stop at the grocery store to stock up on medicine, we headed north toward Yellowstone National Park. Since Grand Teton and Yellowstone sit side by side, we decided to save the Tetons for the next day and push on through to the northern edge of Yellowstone, stopping along the way to stretch our legs and soak in the park’s wild beauty.

If you’ve never been to Yellowstone, here are two things to know: first, the park is filled with stunning geothermal features—brilliantly colored pools, steaming vents, and geysers shooting water high into the sky. Second, all of that geothermal activity fills the air with the unmistakable smell of sulfur. Think rotten eggs, but stronger.

Now, mix that sulfur-heavy air with a respiratory infection, and you can imagine the result: spectacular coughing fits echoing through some of the most beautiful landscapes in the country.

When Plans Unravel…

We had packed a tent for the rest of the trip, but Brad, trying to make things easier after my doctor visit, had booked a room at the lodge on the north end of the park for the night. We spent the day winding through Yellowstone, stopping here and there to explore, until night finally fell and we pulled up to the lodge.

Only—it was closed. Completely shut down for renovations, not reopening for months. Brad double-checked his reservation and realized the truth: he had accidentally booked a room for the same date next year.

So, plan B: camping. Except every single campground between Yellowstone and Jackson Hole was full. We drove for hours in the dark, searching, until we finally found a spot just outside Jackson.

By the glow of the headlights, I pulled out the tent while Brad wrestled with the air mattress. Within minutes, I heard him muttering, then full-on cursing. No air pump. No tent poles. Which left us with only one option: sleeping in the car.

I tried to take some medicine to ease my symptoms and help me sleep, but my swollen glands wouldn’t let it go down—I started to choke. Panic ensued as I scrambled to get out of the car… only to set off the car alarm in the middle of the campground.

Bear Spray and Belly laughs

After only a few hours of squished car sleep, we set out for Grand Teton. We hiked the stunning 10-mile loop around Jenny Lake—well, Brad chatted with everyone on the trail while I croaked out the occasional whisper, my voice still on strike.

That night we booked a hotel back in Jackson Hole, abandoning any further dreams of camping. The next morning, before heading home, we decided to squeeze in one last hike outside of town. Brad, ever the Boy Scout, brought his bear spray and insisted on teaching me how to use it “just in case.” He took off the cap, aimed, and sprayed—only for the wind to kick up and send the fiery mist straight back into both our faces.

We went on the hike anyway (though not for long), stinging eyes and all. On the drive home, we laughed until our sides hurt about everything that had gone wrong. And yet—despite the mishaps—it had been a wonderful trip.

The Heart of Grand Misadventures

That trip ended up being a turning point for us as a couple. Brad would later propose to me in the Tetons, and he even had the mountain skyline engraved on his wedding ring.

But more than that, it shaped the way I think about travel. Because here’s the thing: the best stories often come from the misadventures. From the plans that go wrong. From the moments you never saw coming. Those are the ones you look back on and laugh, the ones that make travel richer and more real.

That’s how Grand Misadventures was born—not just as a name, but as a philosophy. Travel isn’t about perfection. It’s about embracing the messy, the unexpected, the hilarious, and the extraordinary. It’s about finding joy in the journey, even when it doesn’t go according to plan.

So here’s to the road trips that don’t quite work out, the hikes that take longer than expected, the hotels that don’t exist, and the bear spray moments of life. They may not be what we planned, but they’re the stories we tell again and again—the ones that turn ordinary trips into Grand Misadventures.