The Journey to Nature’s Grace.
All the years that have passed me by without indulging in the splendor of nature's grace... how could this be? In a pivotal moment of physical pain, I unintentionally ignited a new obsession. Believe it or not, I've only recently taken up the hobby of hiking at the tender age of 42. I've always had a love for exploration; in my younger years, I adventured on solo bike rides or explored the nature trails at the local park. So, my initial sentence is a little misleading, as I did indulge in nature quite a bit in my youth. But in the last five years, that love has slowly blossomed into a full-fledged relationship with Mother Nature.
I didn't always have many true friends growing up, thanks to a fairly severe and untreated anxiety disorder in my early days. I spent a lot of time alone in a world I fabricated inside my mind. Peace and solitude came primarily through escape via technology and adventure. I used to spend hours playing video games and messing about with computers. It became an early obsession that led to a 35-year life dedicated to the instant gratification of seeing inputs from a controller translate onto a screen. It was a mental adrenaline rush unlike anything else, but it was also a double-edged sword of addiction. It didn't help that I was fairly good at gaming, with fast reflexes and an ability to process information quickly and intuitively. I certainly wasn't the best in the world—I was humbled once online gaming arrived—but I can't say this time was a complete waste. It led to some wonderful friendships and opportunities later, especially regarding my love for computer hardware and its inner workings. It would lead to a stint working at AMD in 2016 where I met one of my best friends, Jason Evangelho.
I wasn't completely confined to a life of ones and zeros. I would also escape the realities of life on my bicycle, riding as far as my mind and body would allow. Growing up, we didn't have access to cellphones or GPS with all the fancy tracking metrics of today. No, it was a complete mystery as to how far those rides actually went. I would ride all around town, out of town, and back before sunset—the sun being my only indicator that it was time to return home. Some days I would ride into familiar locations, and other times I’d head into the unknown, exploring far beyond my then hometown of Corunna, Michigan. Once I obtained my first vehicle (a 1987 Chevrolet S-10), I would randomly drive to places I'd never been—small towns and cities in the vicinity of my home stomping grounds. It was a periodical escape from the small-city living I was accustomed to, right on the outskirts of the farmlands.
For the longest time as an adult, I didn't ride much. After my divorce, I started to ride occasionally again, but not far. It wasn't until about five years ago that I started to ride regularly. I decided I wanted to take better care of myself in hopes of sticking around as long as possible for my kids. I have always been health-conscious to a degree, trying to eat clean and spending time at the gym, but cardio was never a big part of my routine. I knew I could ride pretty far, so I decided to see how hard I could push myself.
The only bike I owned at the time was a Northwoods HT2100 I'd bought a decade prior. Even with its aluminum frame, this bike was a hefty beast. It featured deep shock absorbers in the front but was a "hardtail" in the back. Not ideal for pavement, but that's exactly where I rode it. I started with 7 or 8 miles, then slowly increased to an average of 20. The next year, I hit 30, and the year after, I reached my goal of 50 miles in a single ride. It was a difficult task, but I pushed until I prevailed. During this stretch, my old HT2100 gave up. Since it was a hardtail, there was no way to absorb impact to the rear tire. All the energy from dropping off curbs or hitting potholes went straight into the axle. This led to the rear axle failing during a ride in Flint, Michigan. I mention the city because many of the sidewalk entries there lack a gradual incline; it’s just a six-inch curb slamming against your tire. I eventually bought a new bike with full suspension, though I later managed to break that frame, too! Luckily, a friend at work welded it back together, and it’s like new now.
The next year, I aimed for the obvious next step: a cycling marathon. I set my sights on the Holland 100 in Holland, Michigan. My mountain bike wasn’t suited for a 100-mile trek, so I purchased a Trek marathon bike. It was the most expensive bike I’d ever owned, even though it was the cheapest model I could find! It had an aluminum frame, carbon fiber forks, and narrow tires. It was incredibly lightweight and nimble. I started training with it at Kensington Metropark.
I would drive there every weekend, arriving early in the morning to unload my bike and to pack my water and snacks. I started with mere 40 to 50-mile rides. Once comfortable, I increased to 60, then 65. Finally, I set a goal of 75 miles. This was to be my furthest to date, and unfortunately, it would be my last of great distance. I’ve worked in automotive factories for the past 24 years. I’m no slouch, and I work my heart out, but it has taken a toll. My knees have seen better days from all the pivoting and turning on the assembly line.
About 35 miles into that 75-mile ride, I noticed pain in my left knee. I pushed on until I hit 55 miles, at which point I knew I had a serious problem. It felt like something was on the verge of snapping. I slowly pressed on to 70 miles, but then I knew I was done. Had I gone further, I would have potential caused permanent damage. Knowing I had a physical job to perform, I had to stop. I tried everything—knee braces, cortisone shots—with no luck. Each subsequent ride was shorter than the last. I was forced to withdraw from the marathon, which broke my spirits completely.
It was during this time I decided to switch solely to walking recreational and hiking trails. People say everything happens for a reason, and I’ve begun to believe that. If I hadn't blown my knee, I would have stayed focused on cycling. You can enjoy nature on a bike, but it’s a different experience when you’re focused on pace and pedaling. You pass by so many small details while trying to best your previous time. Walking allows you to absorb the beauty of nature in all its glory.
Every time I take a trip to a new trail, I’m constantly stopping for photos, wondering what discovery is lurking around the next bend. Beautiful vistas and small nooks provide moments of tranquility and solitude. Discovery alone is worth the price of admission—which is basically just gas money and your time. I have yet to walk a trail that I felt was a waste of either. From the wildlife to the breathtaking landscapes, it is never a disappointing journey.
I started my hiking adventures on local trails and in state parks. Here in Michigan, there are endless trails and campgrounds to explore. I’ve only scratched the surface of what the Lower Peninsula has to offer, with plans to expand up north soon. Eventually, my journey will take me across the country. I’ve lived in Michigan my whole life, but in time, I’ll be heading west to the mountains, where I feel at home.
Last year, I visited my friend Jason in California, he took me on the experience of a lifetime through Yosemite National Park. We hiked for three life-changing days: the valley floor, the Mist Trail, the John Muir Trail, and finally, summiting my first mountain on top of Sentinel Dome. I will write a full article about that adventure soon. It’s been almost a year since that trip, and I’ve been sitting on this article ever since. I apologize for the delay; my motivation was spread thin across too many hobbies. However, I’ve recently made significant life changes and am more focused than ever.
That trip cemented my love for hiking. A love that has truly changed my life. I hope you’ll come along for the ride as I explore more in the coming years. I’m currently tied to local trails, but I plan to start backpacking soon—the next logical step on my journey. I hope to inspire you to take a walk through nature. It’s truly the most beautiful medicine for healing your soul. Healing, something the world truly needs.