Forgotten History in Our Most Beautiful Spaces

This sent me down an internet search hole- how many Chinese massacres had there been in the West, in an era rife with racism and lawlessness, when railroads treated workers as expendable subhumans, and what law that existed did the same? How many had I just driven by on a route that began on the Pacific NW Coast? A lot it turns out - from the Tacoma Expulsion to The Massacre at Deep Creek, these sites of a bloody forgotten history dot the landscape of The West. From the middle of cities <link to LA> to the most remote forests <link to Hell’s Canyon>, each unknown to guidebooks and travel itineraries. I’d pulled over for the Oregon Trail. I’d pulled over for lost white pioneers. And I hadn’t pulled over for this.
About a month ago, my friend Cass and I were up in Lake Placid, where she was researching a travel article about the region. We biked to John Brown's farm, surprised the tourism board never mentioned it to her. John Brown was an abolitionist prior to the Civil War; fed up with what he considered pacism and inaction in the face of the atrocities, he advocated armed insurrection to free the slaves. Most associated with Bleeding Kansas and his fateful raid at Harper's Ferry, VA, we had no idea he made his home right here in the Adirondacks in upstate NY. We had no idea the entire area - now one of the whitest districts in the state - had once been set aside as an eden for freed slaves.
So many our most beautiful places are dotted with forgotten history, a distinctly American story of landscapes and wilderness fought over and built upon by people lost to our guidebooks and travel blogs.
10 best lobster rolls. Ride this gnarly trail! Peakbag 35, 46, 21, get your patch.
It's not that I don't want to do these things. I want to do all of these things. I love lobster rolls. I love collecting patches. I love standing at the the top of a mountain and inhaling the scenery for what is is and only what it is. It's just that I've been conditioned to think that what interesting and aspirational is not my voice - that one must be an ultra-fit white guy or a lithe influencer with cascading blonde locks to stand at the top of that mountain and make other people care. That no one would be interested in researching history with me, with studying the blood stained soils of these crystal vistas while shredding them, or roadtripping them, or climbing to their highest reaches. But I travel, I hike, I bike, I camp and backpack, I read maps, I plan trips, I am an amateur historian, an amateur geologist, and I am starting to understand that I see things on these routes that other people don't see.
So Come with me to mountains, the forests, the ravines, while traveling in the footsteps of those who should no longer be ignored.
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