It was late May in 1992. I had just finished my first year as a high school English and Journalism teacher. I immediately left the small northern town of Medford and went north to the Chequamegon National Forest for a long Memorial Day weekend. I returned to Medford for a couple of days of golfing before heading to Quetico for a week long canoe trip. After some very successful walleye fishing I returned in time to load up the truck and head off to the Rocky Mountains. I spent six weeks travelling from Colorado to Seattle to Idaho and to Montana. With the exception five days in Denver and Seattle, I was alone and in a tent for the rest of the trip.
I lived with a tent, a camp stove, a food cache, and some biodegradable soap. I slept in the front of the truck in a wayside on Interstate 80 somewhere near North Platte, Nebraska. I slept in the bed of the pick-up twice, once on the edge of the Wind River Mountain Range in Wyoming, and once along the Salmon River outside of Stanley, Idaho, right smack in the middle of the Sawtooths. I caught trout in five different states that summer (six if we include Wisconsin); I set up a tent in four states; I bathed in hot springs; I made coffee on my truck's tailgate nearly every morning; I drank fresh and tasty local brews in front of a campfire nearly every night. I even remember collecting as many newspapers as possible to put on my bulletin board back in my classroom. Back in my real life.
Weeks later on my way home, and as the Mississippi River valley drew closer, I reflected upon the summer. I had less than 10 dollars in my pocket, my MasterCard was nearly maxed out, my gas tank was getting low, I had been eating crackers since eastern Montana, the Ranger was a little temperamental, yet I was joyful. Tired but refreshed! Lonely yet fulfilled!
Over the previous sixty days I had spent nearly all of them out of doors and nearly 45 of the nights pitched in a tent. I had seen a lot of America. I was hooked!
Next Up: Fast forward 18 years!
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