Where every new Adventure Begins

The latest episode in the Fidgit Saga began (little to my own knowledge) somewhere in the High Sierras last summer. I spent many miles violating LNT code, hiking around the edges of the trail. Most of us thru-hikers justified it; I mean, the trail was a muddy river, or was somewhere under deep banks of snow. Still, even the best justifications do not alter truth. The truth is this, you tromp around off the trail, you impact a wider spread of land. One day in particular I made (as I often did) a Public Service Announcement: I promised to make amends by doing trail work when I got home.

I got home. I missed my life on the trail every single day. I gave (give) talks about the code of that life, calling it 'Truths from the Trail'; telling others to get outside and to love the land and themselves. To accept both unequivocally.
One day in particular I spoke these words, ran out to my car and sped toward my day job. My joy sank into a pit in my stomach. I was not living by the code I preach. I acknowledged I had begun to veer off trail in my own life.
How to get back on? Hold to your commitments.

Months had passed and I had yet to fulfill my promise of trail work. That night I got online and, following names and a few leads I had come across, I found the Earth Rider's blog. They had trail work planned that weekend. My heart leaped and a tiny smile niggled at my cheeks.
That weekend, donning work clothes from my days on the ranch I headed out to the Smoke & Davey's trail head at Smithville Lake.

I pulled into the parking-lot to find 20 some odd folk gathered 'round. Greeted with a box of doughnuts and smiles all around, I was instantly at ease. They asked my name and I replied, "Fidgit." They were not immediately dubious or incredulous; they got it. Several of them bear trail names as well.
A round of introductions and chit chat gave way to a haul out to the area we would be building trail. I expelled the verbal diarrhea which comes with the territory of meeting new people. These folks were as understanding and patient of a group as could be found. They answered every question, chuckled at goofy stories, and most of all, were just plain encouraging.
Within hours we had cleared the brush, chainsaws took care of the larger stuff, and the Dingo (their loving name for what is essentially a pushable Bob Cat) had set a discernible trail. We all rallied around to set a few rock bridges. Imagine, if you will, 10 people trying to do a single jigsaw puzzle. Make the majority of them male and throw a sledge hammer into the mix and you have some idea of what ensued.

Just as we put final touches to the new segment of trail, a family came riding along. Murmurs of "Sweet, man." "Awesome." "That's so cool." swept down the line of trail builders as the 6-year-old boy, followed by big brother, 2 sisters and their dad pedaled past. A grin swept across every face.
These men, with thousands of miles of cumulative riding and vast stores of knowledge regarding mountain biking, gladly stood aside. Behind sports sunglasses, eyes beamed. There was no caste judgment passed, just unadulterated joy at having created something good. I decided I liked these people, very much, and needed more of them in my life.