This morning, as you are undoubtedly snuggled comfy in your bed, I am taking to the forest.
That's right, I've quit the modern comforts of life (for the next three days, at least) and will be roughing it as my backpacking brethren and I walk clear across the whole county.
This morning, we start at the Marilla Trailhead of the North Country Trail. By Monday, we hope to be moseying into town.
But between the beginning and end of the trip, who knows what will happen.
The woods are full of mystery.
And there's always something about the mysterious that arouses fear.
This is one of the reasons why men and women go off into the woods, away from the safety of lights and the comfort of human voices.
It's always good to confront the mystery head on and contemplate the insoluble, existential quandary of our earthly purpose. This is best done in solitude, with nothing but quiet, the trail ahead of you and woods around you.
Then there are the other more baseless fears, namely bears and bank robbers.
Let's start with bears.
For the past week, my brother and our friend have been studiously planning the trip. The subject of bears came up. My brother and our friend asked if they should be prepared.
"Nah," I said. "We should be all right. I don't hear much about bear."
Soon after, as I was driving to Brethren to cover a school board meeting, I was headed east on the Coates Highway when I spotted something black and moving on the crest of a hill.
The bear lumbered slowly across the road without any fear and into the woods.
Now, I've always contended that I could easily take a bear in a wrestling match — as long as you removed their teeth and claws. Until that happens, I will respect their space. I warned the fellas, and the proper precautions have been taken.
But I can't promise the thought of a black bear with a taste for human blood charging me while I amble along the trail won't be far from my thoughts.
The very next day after seeing the bear, there was a bank robbery in Wellston. The crook ditched his getaway car in the national forest. Knowing that the woods was the last place some desperate, armed criminal was seen is unsettling to someone who will soon spend three days in that same national forest.
But my resolve is strong. I will walk the county despite any petty, unreasonable fears.
And you can follow me. I'll be posting updates about how it's going on Facebook and on Twitter throughout our journey. Next week, I’ll also be writing a series of stories about the trip for the print and web edition.
Check it out.
And wish me luck.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Friday, June 17, 2011
A long walk: Staff writer plans a cross-county backpacking trek
We will walk.
When we don’t want to walk anymore, we will still have to walk. From the border of Wexford and Manistee counties to the lake, we will walk.
You’ve heard it here first: I will hoof across the entire county.
I will carry my beer belly, my creaky knees and arthritic ankles all the way from the Marilla Trailhead down the North Country Trail, hook a right at the Little Manistee River on a to-be-determined course and keep on walking.
We’re guessing it will take three days to make it across the county with everything we need strapped to our backs.
My brother, one of our buddies, my dog, Rudy, and I are planning on making the backpacking trip the weekend of June 25, an experience I will chronicle in the News Advocate.
So, the main question I’m guessing you’re asking yourself is: why?
Why walk across the county?
Because I’ve already driven across the county.
Because hiking 12 to 15 miles a day transforms your perspective about your body and your soul.
Because walking is closer to the speed of life, the speed of our thoughts.
Because, at a certain point, one tires of cheeseburgers, video games, Facebook, music, cars, politics, movies, gin and tonics, conversations, work, combing your hair and ice cream sandwiches.
For three days, I’ll be far away from all these things. Instead, I will have one goal, one need, to get from point A to point B.
All I will have to do is follow the trail.
The fellas and I will also get to experience the beauty of our county in its fullest, not just in little snippets.
Stopping at a scenic pull-off in your Hummer that is dragging a motor home is like looking in the store window.
Being immersed in nature for days at a time is like owning the store.
We’ll start at the Manistee River Trail, hook back up with the North Country Trail at Red Bridge, and hopefully get to Sawdust Hole by the end of the first day to camp. The next day, we’ll go from Sawdust Hole down near the Little Manistee River. From there, we’ll probably have to walk the back-roads west toward the lake.
When we were planning the trip, we imagined walking straight to the lake, stripping down to our skivvies and rushing into the water after three shower-less days.
But if we get to Stronach Park, I’ll be happy.
You see, there’s been a glitch: getting my aging, once athletic and agile body, into shape.
The last time I’ve been on a trip kind of like this one was when my brother and I backpacked Isle Royale up in Lake Superior ten years ago.
Ten years ago I was a healthy, virile 23 years old. Since then, there have been too many bags of Funyuns and cans of Pabst Blue Ribbons. And, with apologies to my doctor, my lungs and the American Cancer Association, there have also been too many packs of smokes.
So, a month ago, the training began.
As far as diet, I’ve tried cutting down on the booze, cigarettes and junk food, the holy trinity of guilty pleasures in a guilty age.
I needed to start some sort of exercise regime, though. I’ve always dismissed jogging as kind of a corny, New Age type of activity. None of my health heroes from the 1950s like Jack LaLanne (who passed away in January at the age of 96) or Charles Atlas seemed like they would be caught dead out in a pair of hundred dollar sneakers running around.
An exercise bike costs money. I’m too cheap for that.
A mountain bike costs even more money. Plus, those dudes are always pedaling around in Spandex. You don’t want to see me stuffed into a Spandex suit. Trust me. The shapes would be downright inappropriate.
As far as swimming, it’s still way too cold.
So, for the past month, Rudy the Wonder Dog and I have taken to the trails to get into shape. Rudy, a mutt we got from Homeward Bound Animal Shelter here in Manistee County, just turned one and needs to get worn out everyday anyway.
He bounds and leaps through the woods. He runs up and down hills with the greatest of ease. Frequently, he has to stop and wait for me, looking at me with an expression that says,”Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
At first, I’d be far behind, trudging along, wheezing, cracking and sweating. And that was only a half mile in.
I found it was easier with each day trip I did. Last week, I did eight miles up on the Manistee River Trail, where we’ll be starting our journey. The legs burned a little the next day.
But I kept walking. The next day I found time for three miles.
And I’ll keep walking.
All the way across the county.
When we don’t want to walk anymore, we will still have to walk. From the border of Wexford and Manistee counties to the lake, we will walk.
You’ve heard it here first: I will hoof across the entire county.
I will carry my beer belly, my creaky knees and arthritic ankles all the way from the Marilla Trailhead down the North Country Trail, hook a right at the Little Manistee River on a to-be-determined course and keep on walking.
We’re guessing it will take three days to make it across the county with everything we need strapped to our backs.
My brother, one of our buddies, my dog, Rudy, and I are planning on making the backpacking trip the weekend of June 25, an experience I will chronicle in the News Advocate.
So, the main question I’m guessing you’re asking yourself is: why?
Why walk across the county?
Because I’ve already driven across the county.
Because hiking 12 to 15 miles a day transforms your perspective about your body and your soul.
Because walking is closer to the speed of life, the speed of our thoughts.
Because, at a certain point, one tires of cheeseburgers, video games, Facebook, music, cars, politics, movies, gin and tonics, conversations, work, combing your hair and ice cream sandwiches.
For three days, I’ll be far away from all these things. Instead, I will have one goal, one need, to get from point A to point B.
All I will have to do is follow the trail.
The fellas and I will also get to experience the beauty of our county in its fullest, not just in little snippets.
Stopping at a scenic pull-off in your Hummer that is dragging a motor home is like looking in the store window.
Being immersed in nature for days at a time is like owning the store.
We’ll start at the Manistee River Trail, hook back up with the North Country Trail at Red Bridge, and hopefully get to Sawdust Hole by the end of the first day to camp. The next day, we’ll go from Sawdust Hole down near the Little Manistee River. From there, we’ll probably have to walk the back-roads west toward the lake.
When we were planning the trip, we imagined walking straight to the lake, stripping down to our skivvies and rushing into the water after three shower-less days.
But if we get to Stronach Park, I’ll be happy.
You see, there’s been a glitch: getting my aging, once athletic and agile body, into shape.
The last time I’ve been on a trip kind of like this one was when my brother and I backpacked Isle Royale up in Lake Superior ten years ago.
Ten years ago I was a healthy, virile 23 years old. Since then, there have been too many bags of Funyuns and cans of Pabst Blue Ribbons. And, with apologies to my doctor, my lungs and the American Cancer Association, there have also been too many packs of smokes.
So, a month ago, the training began.
As far as diet, I’ve tried cutting down on the booze, cigarettes and junk food, the holy trinity of guilty pleasures in a guilty age.
I needed to start some sort of exercise regime, though. I’ve always dismissed jogging as kind of a corny, New Age type of activity. None of my health heroes from the 1950s like Jack LaLanne (who passed away in January at the age of 96) or Charles Atlas seemed like they would be caught dead out in a pair of hundred dollar sneakers running around.
An exercise bike costs money. I’m too cheap for that.
A mountain bike costs even more money. Plus, those dudes are always pedaling around in Spandex. You don’t want to see me stuffed into a Spandex suit. Trust me. The shapes would be downright inappropriate.
As far as swimming, it’s still way too cold.
So, for the past month, Rudy the Wonder Dog and I have taken to the trails to get into shape. Rudy, a mutt we got from Homeward Bound Animal Shelter here in Manistee County, just turned one and needs to get worn out everyday anyway.
He bounds and leaps through the woods. He runs up and down hills with the greatest of ease. Frequently, he has to stop and wait for me, looking at me with an expression that says,”Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.”
At first, I’d be far behind, trudging along, wheezing, cracking and sweating. And that was only a half mile in.
I found it was easier with each day trip I did. Last week, I did eight miles up on the Manistee River Trail, where we’ll be starting our journey. The legs burned a little the next day.
But I kept walking. The next day I found time for three miles.
And I’ll keep walking.
All the way across the county.
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