Just over my left shoulder is the call of a mountain that has taunted me for years. Its hauntingly frigid beauty a beacon of hope, of crazy determination. Over my right shoulder lies a stretch of remote road that will eventually lead me home. I am situated between the excitement of my near and distant adventures.
Tomorrow begins the start of a road trip I was told I was crazy to take when my health was plummeting in recent weeks. Then, by my mere agreement to go, it became a sign of mental and physical wellness to my rheumy and family.
Last Friday I flew to Alaska, where I lived during my teens, to visit some friends and break into my old high school to commemorate our ten year reunion. Tomorrow I begin driving south with my oldest friend, to help him move to Los Angeles and pursue his dreams.
The irony being that I am driving away from the physical location of one of my biggest dreams. After peering at the slopes of North America’s tallest mountain, Denali (Mt. McKinley to everyone outside of Alaska), I told myself I’d climb it some day. It was an innate guttural response that I can’t explain.
Over the years, I have slowly lessened my grip on this crazy goal due to my ever-worsening arthritis, but after waking on the plane to see it staring me in the face, I knew what I must do. Climb that son of a bitch.
So, I write this to say two adventures begin tomorrow. One long road trip through the Canadian wilderness where I will attempt to keep Arthur in check and blog about my ability to do so daily along the way. And the second, to actively begin a journey toward accomplishing a lifelong dreams.
Here I go.