Welcome back to the sequel prequel serial for my next writing project! Yesterday I showed you how easily a grown man can crumble when things don’t go his way. Strong opening, I know. I may be letting Hannah’s personality influence my writing style too much these days. Part 2 is up now, and today we back up to how I even got there. Subscribe here if you’d rather get future chapters straight to your inbox instead of remembering to come back tomorrow.
If you’re just joining us or need a refresher, you can read all previous parts of the series here.
Chapter 2 – A Plan Emerges
It was early January, and I had just published the memoir of my Appalachian Trail thru-hike. Memories were flooding in as friends and family read my story, and conversations eventually ended with the same questions: When are you going to do another hike? Will you write a sequel?
It didn’t take long to convince me, so I picked up the phone and called the first person I could think of to discuss it.
“Hey Dad,” I said as he picked up the call.
And even though his caller ID had long ago told him it was me calling, he still answered with surprise to hear my voice.
“Sharkbait!” It was the reply he loved to give now, having fully embraced my AT trail name in our daily conversations.
Dad had a trail name too. He’d taken Happy, which fit him better than any nickname ever has. It still felt more natural to call him Dad in regular conversation, but if anyone made the mistake of saying they were happy around him, he was quick to remind them it was his name first.
“Have any good plans this summer?” I said with a hint of drama in my voice. “I was thinking about going… Home.”
I let the air catch before that last word, giving it the dramatic gusto it deserved.
“Montana? What could I possibly be doing that’s better than that?!” he belted. “To be honest, ever since reading your book, it’s all I’ve been thinking about. Even told your mother to mark the calendar for when they open reservations to Granite Park Chalet. Figured if I got lucky enough to snag a night atop the Continental Divide again, I’d plan a whole trip around it!”
“Well, let’s do it. I had the same idea,” I said quickly. “People keep asking me what’s next, and I just keep thinking the same thing. The mountains are calling…”
“…and I must go,” he interrupted, finishing John Muir’s famous quote.
So, a few weeks later, we did just that. With some careful coordination (read: begging everyone we knew to try on our behalf), we managed to secure a night at the Granite Park Chalet, a primitive mountaintop cabin only accessible by foot, and easily our favorite destination. We also managed six other nights of lodging in the park to bookend our itinerary. My sister Devorah and her family even jumped in, making it quite miraculous this worked out at all, given reservations for a party of seven are damn near impossible these days. There were four nights at St. Mary Lodge on the park’s east side, followed by the in and out to the Chalet, and closing with two nights at Lake McDonald on the other side.
It was going to be amazing. All we needed to do was fly into Glacier Park International Airport in Kalispell, Montana, by tomorrow night.
It was Saturday, and because there was nothing direct from the tri-state area to Kalispell, I had booked a ticket from White Plains, NY, to my childhood home of Minneapolis tonight, and then we were all flying to Glacier Park tomorrow afternoon together. It seemed safe enough, plenty of time. What could go wrong?
See you tomorrow for the next chapter. And pick up a copy of Hello My Name is Sharkbait today, it makes a great back-to-school gift for your children. Comments welcome.
Hello Neiman!
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