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The Birth of a Dream
On my 50th birthday, a doctor informed me I had cancer.
I was in "Stage 4b" of Hodgkin's disease,
a form of lymphoma. "4b" is the stage just
before they put your name in the paper and people gather
around to say what a swell guy you had been. At that
time, I decided I wasn't quite ready to sing baritone
with the heavenly choir.
I had no doubt that I would beat the disease. While
I was undergoing chemo, I went to the gym three days
a week and worked out for up to two hours at each session.
I believed that if I was able do that then I wasn't
really sick. The horror stories I had heard about chemotherapy
never happened to me. I lost weight. I lost my hair
and my lungs were working at less than half capacity.
But mostly it was just tedious.
Every two weeks, I went for a treatment. I was poked
with needles as nurses tried to find a vein that hadn't
collapsed as a result of the treatment. Then I sat for
two to three hours feeling the burn as my body absorbed
the toxic chemicals.
To help maintain my spirits I made plans for when
I was healthy again. I decided to celebrate being alive
by doing something no one else had ever done..
I grew up in South Philadelphia, just a few blocks
from Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell in what
is called America's most historic square mile.
You couldn't find a cemetery that didn't have a signer
of the Declaration of Independence planted there.
It was impossible not to grow up patriotic.
I was immersed in American history. While other kids
my age venerated Mantle, Musial, Mays and the Babe,
my boyhood heroes were Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin.
It was the start of a life-long love affair with the
American idea and ideal.
As I grew older, I became enamored with the Mountain
Men: Jim Bridger, Hugh Glass, Jeremiah Johnson, Jedediah
Smith and all the rest. I always wondered if I could
head off into the wilderness as they did and manage
to survive. Now was the time to test my mettle.
I decided to circumnavigate the contiguous 48 states
by canoe. This trip would give me the opportunity to
both explore America and find out if I had the right
stuff to be a Mountain Man.
As I began to research the possibility of such an
adventure, the route emerged. From Texas to the Florida
Keys I would travel along the Gulf shore, then up the
East Coast, across Canada, touching on Alaska and down
the West Coast to the Panama Canal. I would then head
north and finish where I had started in Texas. A 24,000
mile trip...by canoe.
My plan was to dedicate the trip to American workers,
a much-maligned group that not only built this great
country but also defended it when called to do so. In
their honor, I would take only American-made equipment.
My original estimate was for about $18,000 worth of
gear to start the trip. Because this was more money
than I was likely to see at anytime in the near future,
I shelved the dream for a while.
However, I still chose in some way to satisfy my passion
for the work-in-progress that is America. Although I
had been a truck driver and traveled through many states,
I still had never seen more than a small portion of
this incredible land.
So, I set out in 2000 on a six-month camping trip
with a $30 tent and a $20 sleeping bag that took me
through each of the lower 48 states.
During this journey I learned some things. First, I
not only renewed my love for the American idea and ideal,
but I fell in love with the land itself and the people
who live on it.
America is a wonderful nation and we are a wonderful
people. It is unfortunate that most Americans do not
appreciate just how great we are.
I also realized I could do the canoe trip for a hell
of a lot less money than I first thought. I took my
dream from the shelf, dusted it off and decided to make
it happen.
The tragedy of September 11th nearly changed all my
plans. I tried to re-enlist in the army, but when I
walked into the recruiting office they told me to try
the Social Security Office down the hall.
I was not going to let that stop me. If I was too
old to go to the war, then maybe I could bring a little
bit of the war to me.
The purpose of terrorism, obviously, is to cause fear.
Every time we give in by changing our lifestyle, the
terrorists win a victory. Every time we go to a ball
game or a concert or get on an airplane we give them
a little poke in the eye.
Therefore, I call my trip the "Poke 'em in the
Eye" Tour and named my canoe The American Victory.
I thought if I could leave myself exposed to the terrorists
and dare those loony-tunes to do something about it,
then maybe other people would be inspired to get on
with their own lives.
I also hoped my trip might provide a bit of diversion
from all the depressing news of the day. I set out on
the cold, windy morning of February 2, 2002, to begin
a 24,000-mile odyssey dedicated to America's heroes,
past and present.
God bless America and give 'em a little poke in the
eye.
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