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He also is a quite decent photographer. But as we watch a narrated slide show of past events, a deeply disturbing disconnect is revealed between the blissful scenery and Lindsay’s unsentimental narrative of blistered heels, lost trails and hikers who were left to fend for themselves because they couldn’t maintain pace. I envision crawling across the forest floor, hallucinating my way to oblivion as my compatriots recede into the distance, chatting quietly about the regrettable loss of my companionship from the bear that crawled into my sleeping bag and mistook me for its mate. A few days before our excursion, my mother – sensing something short of unbridled gusto on my part – asks if I am really looking forward to the trip. "Absolutely," I brightly assure her, shuddering inwardly. Saturday, September 8, 2001: The day has arrived but not the light. Before sunrise I truck over to Orlando International with Kerry, Gary, businessman Bud Strang and citrus buyer Chuck Watson, who enjoys describing himself as a fruit picker. Lindsay and Carla Bronson meet us at the airport. We depart for Salt Lake City aboard a direct Delta flight, which we board with an enthusiasm born of way too much coffee. My actual notes from that date read in part: "Checked the cockpit. Everyone looks mentally healthy, unlikely to utter ‘God is Great’ just before putting the winged beast into a steep dive." We fly west under clear skies. Of course, at this altitude everyone flies under clear skies. Below, however, most of the nation is hidden beneath a thick cloud cover. Weather reports for our hiking area predict that the showers will dissipate and the snow flurries subside by the time we hit the trail. This is reassuring. Between 550-mph naps I chance upon a magazine article quoting a medical expert as advising hikers not to carry backpacks heavier than 20% of their body weight. My pack is 32% of my weight. According to Gary, this means the nice protective squishy stuff between the vertebrae will ooze out like toothpaste, never to return. This is not reassuring. At the Salt Lake City airport we rendezvous with new urbanism builder Bob Chapman, Kerry’s brother-in-law from Durham, North Carolina, and television photographer Dave Darling, Kerry’s college roommate who lives in Atlanta.
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