Over the past five years or so, I’ve had more big ideas than I can remember. I generally hesitate to speak them into the world. Just now, I was about to list off a few as acknowledgement but decided against it….just in case they make their way back into my life at some point. Today, I’m putting one out there.
Home.
I have a complicated relationship with that word. I was raised in a nearly ideal one. My sister and I never wanted for anything. We were loved. We had freedom. We learned responsibility without the threat of punishment. From our childhood home, we moved into my grandparent’s lake home. Comfort was in surplus. I have no notes.
But the bubble around that home was too small - the world too large.
Though I have one of the stronger, enduring support systems of anyone I know, by the time college ended and I had moved a whopping 40 miles from home, there was a desire within me to strike out and start multiplying that number.
This eventually took me to Houston for nine months. I laid my head in California for the better part of two years. I’ve crisscrossed the Great Plains in a variety of vehicles more times than I can immediately recall.
What it took me a long time to realize, is that I’ve always been trying to strike a balance between expressing my adventurous traveler’s spirit and maintaining a bond to the people and places I’ve loved since my youth. It continues to be why I refrain from fully committing to one or the other. Hopefully I need not.
In the past year, I’ve tried to be more intentional about creating adventure from my doorstep. Molding the lifestyle I want without going full nomad. I have moved from frightened reluctance to necessary ingenuity. With the unfortunate revelation that distant travel may be in the rearview for one of my priority companions (Charlie, age 11, undeniable champion of the world), it has become even more imperative.
And there’s one pretty damn obvious objective that cuts straight through where I call home.
Two months.
Roughly 1,100 miles.
Nine bartending shifts?
Three homes.
Because something in me insists on doing things my own way.
This is not going to be a thru-hike. It won’t even be a section-hike. The name I have brilliantly come up with for this undertaking is a “non-continuous-thru-hike-bike-home-finding-journey-extraordinaire.”
The premise is this: a monumental endurance challenge performed whilst maintaining something resembling a normal amount of responsibility to my chosen field of work. In a perfect scenario, it will satiate my drive to push my personal limits while expressing creatively what home means to me but not necessitating full upheaval of my domestic life.
Perfect isn’t realistic, and there are sure to be plenty of obstacles standing in the way of that comprehensive goal. For instance, as I write this, I am lying on the couch sicker than a dog (whatever that means, my dogs never get sick) likely unable to put in my planned training miles for the next week or so. Let’s hope we’re getting it out of the way.
The nitty gritty? On August 11th, I will depart from the Western terminus of the Ice Age Trail, along the Minnesota border. I will hike and bike along my new home (the trail) for eighteen hopefully supported days. Going home. Once I reach my parent’s house outside Portage, only then will I allow myself to travel vis-a-vis internal combustion. I will fulfill work responsibilities for three weekends (eight in a row off would be too much to ask), while intermittently resting and revisiting the trail by human-powered means, as it loops around my current home. On September 22nd, I will set off on the final leg, taking two more weekends of vacation and roughly 18 more hopefully supported days for my legs to carry me to Door County.
Again, this is all PERFECT scenario. And I’m pretty friendly with the imperfect nature of these types of things. Contingencies will exist, should they be necessary. I’m giving myself enough arbitrary guidelines, that adding or removing one shouldn’t ruin the experience.
But here’s a cool thing. YOU are the “hopefully” in “hopefully supported days.” I’ve learned through trials and tribulations that I can’t enter into this type of thing treating support as essential. I can still be hopeful.
The nature of the Ice Age Trail makes this idea quite a logistical challenge. Since nearly half of the trail is currently road connectors, these are the parts I want to bike. Walking highway shoulders just ain’t my thing. But the trail also goes from road to trail to road, sometimes a handful of times in a days worth of miles. Having my bike where I need it is going to be huge. Anyone willing to act as an equipment shuttle at any point, please reach out. If you’d like to come cover ground with me, let me know. If you have the money but not the time, I will gladly accept any calorie-dense, shelf-stable treats. I’m particular to Clif Bloks, Skratch powder, and Stinger waffles. If you want to help but don’t know how, that’s cool too. Holler at your boy.
T-minus three months. I’m doing this one for me. But won’t turn down a hand from you.