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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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