"What, are you kidding me? That's just up the road. What do you mean you can't make it happen?" I said with the scorn of someone who was shooting for the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and needing to learn Portuguese.

Because I was fresh out of my own dreams, I horned in on his.

Once we teamed up, I got excited about the mythology and lore and international pull of the trail. Together we concocted an idea about different reporters writing about different segments of a JMT quest.

The day we realized that the The Bee would go for the project was the day I remembered that I don't backpack. Don't really want to go backpacking. I remembered that I really like hot showers and cold gin and tonics, and that I'm afraid of matches, and that mosquitoes pick on me.

My definitive unsuitability hit Grossi about that time, too.

Every day he looked at me with grave eyes, shaking his head and saying, "Marcum, I'm really worried you don't understand what you're getting into."

I'd readily agreed and suggested we find someone else.

He grew genuinely alarmed.

"Oh, no. You have to do this," he'd say. "If you don't, you'll HATE YOURSELF FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE."

So, OK, I'm in.

Because maybe he's right. Maybe, if you don't climb mountains when you have the chance -- even if you find the concept a little nutty -- you risk regret. It comes down to that time-honed, classical life philosophy summed up as "Oh, why not?"

I began to spend all my free time hiking in preparation. Soon I began to doubt that I like hiking. Or trees. Or physical activity.

Still, I go to Mount Tamalpais in the Bay Area, hiking with my friends when I would rather be lounging on the beach. After 11/2 miles we come to a road junction. And there, in majestic glory, is a glowing soda machine promising Diet Coke. I love Diet Coke. Yes, it's a vice. But, it's not like I'm shooting heroin, so let me have my icy, bubbly, wicked potion.

The next morning, a dollar in my pocket, I -- who am about to go on an eight-day trek that requires filtering my own water -- hike three miles round-trip to have a Diet Coke with breakfast.

As I drink that Diet Coke, I realize what they need on the John Muir Trail are soda machines. Not a lot. It would still be a semiwilderness experience. But if there was just some way to put a Coke machine every 20 miles, I'd be all for it.