Wolverine Horizon Hiker

No man left behind

"On a run guy," said Glenn Frick. "No man is left behind."

This was said with about two hours left in a race expected in the mountains. I had just watched one last climb up towards the end of the crest of Juneau.

"No way I can still climb a mountain. Go ahead," I said.

I knew the way home. If the cramps do not subside, I could not crawl the final miles. But slowly, each step has started to feel like I can survive this "slow and casual" out to celebrate last month ultra-marathon runner Geoff Roes' in Juneau. So we continued.

Flash back to 12 hours earlier.

I got to the road Basin at 8 am and parked near the trail of Mount Roberts. Frick is already there, doing what Frick does gymnastics, skipping, bouncing off trees, etc.

John Bursell leads to the next. He parked and began a difficult integration of various complementary foods in different pockets and crevices of clothing.

Geoff Roes imminent arrival, not by the transport vehicle or machine, by just running around a corner. He spread a large map on the hood of the car of John.

"What has always interested me," said Roes.

His finger points to an area that takes me through steps of card, about four inches to trace back to Juneau. This is equivalent to a run of nearly 30 miles.

"I looked at the top of the (Mount) Olds and always thought it would be fun to run," said Roes.

There is a saying: Fun Run A man's nightmare is another man.

The group said it would be four to six hours of slow blur. It became obvious that the introduction of a card meant that we wanted to at least double that number.

"Do not worry Klas," Bursell said. "We will not leave behind.You have the camera. "

A slow pace to Trail of perseverance for the beginning of Granite Creek Trail has allowed us to warm up. He was the head of Granite Creek Trail where we hit the first incline real.

I noticed the benefits of the crew I ran with: Roes, one of the best ultra-marathoners in the nation, Frick, nicknamed "mountain goat" because of his time and experience in the mountains the region and Bursell, a renowned triathlete and a doctor of bone and joint. Then there was me: a lean and sickly guy with two left feet and an oversized camera bag.

At the end of Granite Creek Trail, we pass through the top of a ladder assembly and Olds. I was ready to return, but the views of the Tongass National Forest, as he dipped his appendages tired in the Taku Inlet to the peaks and is different, and the horizon to the north, attracted me to continue.

Take a day & take a kick - the first pages of excess

It started off as a day that wasn't out of the ordinary, not by any stretch of the imagination. It, like most days, found dawn sometime after noon, sitting around, sipping on some concoction of fruit juice and alcohol. Today's was another round of Rum and Pomegranate juice, but the mix was light. I had things to do and couldn't rightly risk tempting the lions so early in the day, there would be plenty of time to step into the arena and prove my merit to the gods later. Now was the time to get down to writing. I'd just tucked my pen between my teeth to start the thinking process when the phone rang. This kind of thing isn't at all uncommon really, the damnation of technology haunt the creative types at the worst of times, an I really try and chalk it up to penance more than anything. I stared at it for a long moment as it sounded off it's six second intermission of Mad World by Tears for Fears. There was only one person it could have been. My eyes quickly darted up to the tattered remains of the calendar on my wall - I have a nasty habit of falling out of love with time and setting it on fire - before looking back down at the phone. Jesus. I knew this could only mean one thing.... and it was with great hesitation that I picked up the plastic monstrosity and put it to my ear, ready to hear the bomb drop. "I have work to do. You know, that whole piece on the Dreaming?" Frank had always been my sounding board for work too, ever since we'd met in 2001. Those were the days I remembered with the fondness of cast iron bars, cold steak, and the loss of sanity and breakneck speeds. "Don't tell me you forgot already you self-righteous Boar." This was our typical round about way of getting things done. It always had been, it always would be, and it was the only real way we could see it. "And you're sitting on your ass why?" He snapped in reply. "It's the Saturday before the start of the Carnival Season.." The long trail in his voice was punctuated by the sharp hiss of air on the other end of the phone. "Prime season for the freaks and dreamers.." He added in exhale. "If you're really about to try and grab a dream like that one, you've got to get off your ass and do it. Your generations already been fucked into stasis by half-assed attempts at everything else - and that's not a pile you want to throw your name into. Even a backwater berg like yours has to have something going on tonight. I don't care what it is, or where, you go find it...

Michigan, a guide to the Wolverine State

Michigan. A guide to the Wolverine state

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Michigan, a guide to the Wolverine state