Go West, Old Men. Go West.
To celebrate my good friend’s fortieth birthday, we headed west. We aren’t young men anymore, but we pretended we were for two adventure-driven days along the Washington-Idaho border.
A Long Night Alone on a Mountain
What I knew is that I had a story. And, really, the chase of a story—along with some solitude for contemplation—was why I had traveled as far and as hard as I had. I smirked in acceptance. It was an altered mission accomplished.
60 Indelible Seconds on the CLT Tarmac
I’ve not run into Bob since that encounter. I’ve thought about writing him a letter. I’ve wanted to thank him for demonstrating humility—for being an example to me for the rest of my life. I’ve wanted to apologize for telling my story at the expense of his much better ones. My guess, though—from my short time with him—is that Bob wouldn’t have told unsolicited stories.
A Sick Adventure
At the bottom of this plunge, Woody began to worry for me. He wondered if I had tried to follow him. He chided himself for taking off on his own—after warning us not to do it earlier in the trip. He imagined the worse—explaining my injury or even my demise to Crystal.
Minutes From the Top
About two thirds of the way up, I noticed a dark horizon to the north. My stride lengthened; and I pushed the pace just a tad, then more then a tad, then to breathless. Thunder. Victory stood at the top with me on the pinnacle boulders.