From the Beginning

The sky is quickly darkening and there is a cold when blowing. The terrain makes the mile and a half to my camp site seems endless. My body is exhausted and the panniers are digging into my shoulders and thighs. It has been an excellent day of cycling with breathtaking scenery and a simply monumental cinnamon roll. Throughout the day my spirits were soaring upon the greatest heights and even the strenuous exercise and cold weather could not dampen my happiness. But as the fog sets in the single thought in my mind is getting to camp, having dinner, and climbing into the warm confines of my sleeping bag. I’m alone and tired. I need some Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies to raise my flagging spirits and revive my energy. Looking ahead the dirt path disappears over the next hill and looking backwards the path leading to my current point stretches back to my childhood.

Since I was a young boy I dreamed of coming to the West and the mountains. Almost as soon as I learned to read I became fascinated with Native Americans, frontiersmen, wilderness, and mountains. Among my large collection of books, I still have my children’s book on Native American tribes in North American; illustrated with colorful pictures and stories. On one family vacation I snuck a book about wild animals into the pile for my parents to buy. I got in trouble when they discovered my deceit, but I got the book. As I grew older I read about the wild exploits of mountain men like Hugh Glass, who crawled hundreds of miles through the wilderness to an outpost after being mulled by a grizzly, Jim Bridger who struggled as an independent fur trapper, Kit Carson who guided Army troops throughout the Southwest. I also read about the adventures of Eric Ryback, who hiked the Pacific Crest Trail and Continental Divide Trail end to end, and Peter Jenkins and his adventures of discovering rural America during the seventies. My mind is filled with other stories of people cycling across America and around the world, hiking the Appalachian Trail, running the Iditarod dogsled race, climbing high mountains, and rafting the wild rivers. Every time I flip through the pages of my books, they take my back to my childhood and boyhood dreams.

I watched Davy Crocket kill a bear with only a grin and knife, fight and make peace with the Indians, storm the halls of Congress, and die swinging his beloved rifle Betsy atop the walls of the Alamo. In “Old Yeller” I saw the love between a growing boy and yeller dog; their struggle to survive on the frontier, and finally Travis being forced to shoot his own beloved rabid dog. Throughout the TV series, “Ponderosa” and “Little House on the Prairie” I watched families love and struggle in the growing frontier of the West. I watched John Wayne and Jimmy Stuart stare down outlaws in the dusty streets of Western towns, fight wars and befriend Indians, and struggle for survival and freedom against the odds. These men became my heroes and their stories became a part of me. I wore a coonskin cap and moccasins and acted out the stories in my books and movies.

In the woods near our house I roamed for hours at a time. I jumped the small creek, followed the faint dirt path, and hid behind the towering trees. In my imagination every stick became a gun, every tree was a possible hiding place for me or my foes, every sound was some mystery to investigate. One day I was Daniel Boone, another Davy Crockett, or some other frontiersman or mountain man. With stealth and patience I stalked my prey, hoping to bring meat back home. I crouched behind fallen logs and tall trees hiding from the enemy. I built forts in which to defend myself or become invisible. The woods were my playground, a place where I could go to and let myself and my imagination roam without boundaries. These are my cherished childhood memories.

As I grew older, things changed, but I still had a passion for the West, mountains, and the people that roamed them. Around the age of fourteen I joined a local Boy Scout troop and quickly became immersed in camping and woodcraft. During this time I got my drivers license and was able to explore the local trails. I had many adventures hiking the Waterloo-Pinckney Trail and learned to become self-sufficient and self-reliant. At the age of seventeen, my Scout troop went on a backpacking trip to Isle Royale National Park, which is on Lake Superior in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. It was certainly a learning experience for me. Although many others had been involved in Scouts longer than me, I became the first person in my troop to earn the rank of Eagle Scout.

Although I was entranced by the beauty and history of the West and its mountains I never visited them in my childhood. My present adventure began about five weeks before when I cycled down the dirt road from my house in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Freshly graduated from college and not wanting to settle down I decided to travel. Originally I had planned to backpack in the Cascade Mountains of Washington, but the logistics seemed to be too complicated. Earlier in the summer I had taken a wonderful bicycle tour with a youth group and thus decided I would ride to the Cascades. During the month of August I bought I touring bicycle, panniers, and other necessary gear. Finally in mid-September of 2001 I set out. Over the next few weeks I cycled the quiet backroads of Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and North Dakota. By mid-October I was nearing the city of Minot, North Dakota which happens to be the geographic center of North America. It had been a long day of cycling in the cold, blustery wind and I was exhausted when I entered a cozy café south of Minot. The owner immediately noticed my cycling clothes and tired expression as I inquired about a place to camp for the night. He sat me down and had his wife cook up an excellent warm dinner of cheesy potato chowder and biscuits. As I ate we talked about my journey thus far and I discovered that he was originally from Montana. I asked him when I would catch my first glimpse of the snowy peaks of Glacier National Park. He mentioned some town and informed me that I could sleep in the town park. He even invited me back for breakfast in the morning. I will not soon forget the kindness of this kind couple. About a week later with miles of boring flat plains ahead and winter quickly approaching I hopped a train to Seattle, Washington.

When I arrived in the rainy city after a day on the train it was raining. I struggled to find my way out of the big city with its confusing, winding streets. It was a very stressful day, but finally I arrived at a state park for the night. The next morning I decided to head for Mt. Rainier. I could see it from miles away dominating all the surrounding mountains. The lush vegetation was certainly a change of pace from the dry grasses of the Midwest. It took me about two days of cycling, but finally I stood at the base of Mt. Rainier. At the last outpost I bought some food and the biggest and best cinnamon roll that I have ever tasted and then entered the park. I hung around the visitor center and then climbed on my bike and began the ascent. Along the way I passed incredible cascading waterfalls, entered the clouds, and viewed the valleys far below. After a few hours of climbing I reached the lodge at Paradise and called home to share the good news. Night was quickly approaching and so I ventured back out into the cold wind and put on additional layers for the descent. After a few short chilling miles of downhill I pulled of the road and gathered the necessary items for a night in the backcountry.

This brings me to my present position, along a trail in the wilds of Mt. Rainier National Park, fighting off the tiredness to reach camp. I finally arrive and select the best site. I quickly set up my camp and begin preparing a warm meal. While I wait for supper, I snack on my precious chocolate chip cookies. The warm meal is wonderful and helps to revive my energy. Darkness has settled in and I crawl into the soothing comfort of my sleeping bag. In the few moments before sleep sets in I think back on the wonderful scenery and adventures of the day. It has been a long time in coming, but I have finally arrived in the West and the mountains; the famous Mt Rainier of all places. The mountains can be harsh and unforgiving environment, but they are also wild and wonderful. This is where I belong; this is the place I call home.