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How it all Started
 For more than 20 years, every month I'd engage in a familiar ritual; scan newstands for the latest promise of love, money and adventure among the pages of men's magazines. It happens each month like clockwork. I'd buy a handful of magazines, carry them into the coffee shop, set myself down in a nice comfortable chair in the sun, and dream of the day I set out on my own great adventure. Or maybe, instead, I'd sell my company for millions like so many dot-com mavericks before me, or would I find myself directing a handful of supermodels at the Sports Illustrated swimsuit photo shoot. Of course, the later is most unlikely, but nonetheless, it took me ten years of living the life of an adventurer in the seat of a leather bound smoking chair, through the words of others, before I'd stand up in protest. I'd read hundreds of articles, pages telling tales of grand travels, daring feats and heroic misadventures. It was time to stop this nonsense. I objected! No longer would I subscribe to Mens' Journal. No longer would I rifle through the stacks of magazines at newstands. I gave up my past time of living adventure from the sidelines. I could take it no more.
That was ten years ago. And yes, that was my answer back then...quit reading. Well, it only took two years on the wagon before I conviced myself there was nothing wrong with living adventure from the sidelines. I mean, millions of football fans do it. So, it all started all over again.
So, I'd fallen off of the wagon of "vicarious living" and for another 10 years I'd endulge in the same ritualized torment. In June of 2004, everything changed. I picked up a copy of National Geographic's Adventure magazine. The cover touted a special section "The Great Hikes." Even though this didn't really influence my purchase. It spelled "adventure" and that's all I need to know. As I read through it, that sense of frustration slowly began bubbling up to the surface again. It seemed to boil over about the time I finished reading "The Great Hikes" article, and thrill quickly turned to ill. It must have been the maps. Since I was a kid, I've been compelled by colorful maps. The maps were the straws that broke this camel's back. Maps always seem to hold some promise of treasure lost.
It was this momemnt that was the turning point. No longer could I honestly answer the question, "How old and how successful do you have to be before you get off your butt and set out on your own adventure?" I always had the "right answers" that would keep me on the sideline: "You have plenty of time for adventure. Once you've achieved success and a respectable level of income, we're there!" I'd tell myself.
Before leaving the coffee shop. Before I'd vacate my leather smoker, I'd already broken the chains of my captor. I'd made the decision I would hike the Appalachian Trail from start to finish. I'd also comitted that I would let nothing short of a catastrophy stop me. Not money, not time, not my business, not my age, not my family, not my hip or my knee. Not anything, would stop what I had just started. And so the story really begins here.
This website, designed in part to document this respit, pilgrimage, adventure, or whatever it may be, is also a source of amusement and entertainment for you; friends, colleagues, peers, acquaintances and strangers alike...as well as myself, later on in life, when I can reflect and snicker about a younger man's foolishness.
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