All in Active Travel
Embark on an extraordinary odyssey with Dr. Allen Steven Lycka as he defies the odds, conquering the Minnie Mine trail, not as an athlete, but as a survivor of misdiagnosed ALS. Tackling the uphill battle with a weakened body and unwavering determination, he weaves a narrative of resilience, unexpected kindness, and the triumphant spirit that prevails against life's most formidable challenges.
Embark on an adrenaline-filled adventure with Nancy King as she recounts her gripping tale of being lost while hiking solo at age 86 as she faces treacherous slopes, deep snow, and unforeseen obstacles. Discover how her resilience and unwavering spirit guided her through the toughest of trials, reminding us all of the indomitable power within ourselves. Share the triumph of finding her way back, and be inspired to tap into your inner strength.
A snowy March weekend hike and bike in upstate New York reminds Kit Fruscione that adventure can be found anywhere and that creating your own sunshine is important, even in the cold and gray days of winter.
During a guided backpacking trip, Kit Fruscione grows tired of doing camping chores and decides to use candy as leverage to get the work done for her. The sweets work, and Kit becomes known as the "Candy Czar," wielding her newfound power over the other hikers for the remainder of the trip.
At age sixty-four, Ellen Schecter signed up for a Tour du Mont Blanc hike despite her fear of heights. Pushing through nerves, she managed to trek along the steep and narrow trails, climb a ladder secured to the side of a mountain and cross a long swinging bridge high above a canyon. But it all came to a shuddering halt when she found herself petrified on all fours atop the rocky terrain. The mantra she had been repeating—“Feel the fear and do it anyway”—was no longer working.
When a challenging, off-trail hike puts Nancy King’s apprehensions about aging and her physical abilities to the test, she comes out feeling strong and elated.
Richard Collins traveled to the Brecon Beacons, a mountain range in South Wales not far from where he grew up. Despite spending his childhood there, he’d never felt Welsh until he left Wales. But living in different countries had inspired a retroactive yearning to connect with his heritage. So he returned, determined to chase that dragon. It didn’t go easy.
A trekking adventure in West Papua, formerly known as Irian Jaya, a place where some people still hunt their food with bows and arrows, challenges preconceptions and produces unexpected insights for intrepid traveler Barbara Brown Allen.
After emerging from a sweltering jungle trek in Costa Rica, Dina Lyuber saw herself in the mirror for the first time in three days. Her face was sunburnt and sweat-stained. She felt achy, exhausted, and surprisingly exhilarated.
When an elderly woman's stumble turns disastrous on a small-ship cruise in the Galapagos Islands, Sally Moir, a nurse on vacation, suddenly finds the traveler's life in her hands. Fortunately, all ends well, but Sally is left to wonder about the line between adventure and recklessness.
When twin sisters set off on a hiking adventure in the Grand Canyon, a shared fear of heights threatened to ruin the trip. Learn how the sisters made the powerful choice to hike beyond their fears in a decision inspired by the gentlest flutter of a butterfly's wings.
Cindy Carlson dreaded her 50th birthday and feared the heartbreaking agony of aging that she'd witnessed in her parents. Then, a kayak adventure in Hawaii revealed a surprising paradox about fear, and a new perspective emerged.
Not every trip goes as planned. When writer Elyn Aviva and her husband embark on a pilgrimage of gratitude, unexpected obstacles reveal even more reasons to be grateful.
It's not always easy to age. But here's the thing. It happens to everyone. In this story, discover how writer Carolyn Handler Miller faces the physical and emotional challenges of aging during a hike at Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument in northern New Mexico.
When writer Chris Pady decides to slip away for a few hours on a friend's bicycle while vacationing with his wife and kids in Kaoshiung, Taiwan, he discovers the Ai He (Love RIiver) path. What begins as a hot and steamy fling in the form of daily cycling escapes, ends with knowing Kaoshiung a little better. And the best part: No guilt.
by Dan Dworkin
To travel solo for days in a kayak is to be not on or in but of the water. It loves you, rocks you like your mother did, speaks to you with many voices, supports your meandering, bathes you, feeds you, tells you when to travel and when to stay still on the island of the moment. On every trip there is a time of storm, of being wind-bound when the judicious kayaker stays put, writes, rests, wanders, constructs stone sculptures and listens for the still, small voice.
by Elyn Aviva
It took nearly 11 years and three attempts for my husband, Gary, and me to complete the 12-mile-long St Michael’s Way across the southern tip of Cornwall. That’s a rather long time for a short walk—probably a record of some sort. And even though we ended up hiking more than 12 miles, we never did manage to walk the middle five.
But we persevered, although we were misled every step of the way.
by Renee King
The chatter of tourists surrounded me and invaded my ears. I tried to block it out, but, truth be told, even my own travel companions were taking up space in my head. I closed my eyes, took slow deliberate breaths, and cleared my mind. When I opened my eyes, a vast white valley spread itself out before me – inviting me to take in its pristine beauty. Towering majestic mountains on either side bookended the sea of ice before me. Awestruck and breathless, I tried to comprehend that I was seeing was nature – raw, unforgiving, awesome for all my senses. As I heard questions from either side of me, I was able to deflect that unwanted noise. I breathed deeply and found something just for me on the Mer de Glace in Chamonix, France.
It was a gorgeous day for a hike--sunny, blue skies, comfortable temperature-perfect hiking weather. F suggested we hike up to the summit of the 12,000’ peak, taking our time, enjoying the profusion of wildflowers that had suddenly emerged after the night’s rain. She was used to hiking at lower altitudes, so we stopped whenever she needed to catch her breath or eat a snack. We climbed in companionable silence, finding the meandering path up to the top with no trouble.
Almost as soon as we started eating, it began to rain. We put on our rain gear, packed up our food, and started hiking down the mountain. The temperature dropped. Balls of hail mixed with the rain. Rivulets of water poured down what we thought was the trail.
Suddenly she screamed at me. “I’m not doing this anymore. Why do you always have to hike? Why can’t we ride bikes? This is dangerous!”
I learned long ago the correct way to hike the trail to Chimney Rock at Ghost Ranch in the Rockies of northern New Mexico. I knew I needed water, a jacket for rain, sunscreen (although in 1971, when I was six, we called it tanning lotion or sun block - and we only used it at the pool), and sensible, rugged shoes. Footwear absolutely needed to be ankle height, if not higher, with strong laces and a traction-optimized tread. Twisting an ankle always loomed as a real threat, and a good, solid lace-up boot would help prevent that. Snakebite, by a prairie rattler or the dreaded diamondback rattler, could not only wreck a vacation, it could take a life. As a child I had no choice in the matter. When we hiked Chimney Rock, I wore my Red Wing hiking boots, which were perfectly serviceable.
My love of cowboy boots came from my very first pair of Acme harness boots. I got them as a young boy in Nebraska, and they helped me feel independent, strong, protected, and stylish. I lost track of those boots, and really didn’t have another pair until late into high school, at which time I was too cool to wear them -- city kids just didn’t wear boots. We left ‘wearin’ shit kickers’ to the country boys. I chuckle when I return to Nebraska now, because with enough distance, I can see that my hometown has and probably had plenty of room for cowboy boots.
