The saying “life’s a journey, not a destination” has always produced bile in my mouth. So condescending and trite. Yea, I get it. I get it like you’re smacking a brick against my temple. And you’re wrong.

Without a destination in mind, we are aimless and adrift, lacking in purpose or intent. We need something to overcome, we need to will ourselves towards something. And while the actual overcoming happens during the journey, that doesn’t happen until we draw a bead on something and identify it as important.

Haphazard circumstance is amazing when randomness configures a seemingly serendipitous plan. I get it — look no further than the origin of this web site’s name. But when you are adrift, there is no journey. Years blow by and nothing gets better, it keeps getting worse.

From Noon Peak’s cliffs, Jennings Peak, and Sandwich Dome, I spied my destination off in the distance. The journey made me aware that — I got this — despite my current condition. But locking into a destination and deciding to go for it got me putting one foot in front of the other.

Without one there isn’t the other.

A destination is powerful. Why go on a journey, any ways? Because it’s there? Because it’s still there? Because I love it? Perhaps. Or rather, because I need to. The journey is irrelevant as long as I am on one, as long as something is important enough to pursue.

It was never supposed to be like this.

Nine years ago, I fled Massachusetts to take a job in Vermont. I choose to leave the city, my friends, and my family behind to pursue outdoor recreation sans traffic, attitudes, pollution, and suburbia. I was running towards something, not away from something.

And it was amazing. There is something to be said for radical change. Dreaming up an idea and taking a risk. It is nice to have the freedom to do so rather than feeling trapped, without a dream to pursue — the locked down oppressive feeling I have come to know so well.

Seven years ago, I moved to central New Hampshire, sandwiched between the lakes and the mountains. Two hours or less from almost every ski area that I cared to ski, forty minutes from my favorite mountain. A perfect location. I once dreamily stated that it would be great if this specific position in this specific location opened up and I could get the job. And I did.

It was the last time that I could rely on haphazard circumstance to determine my direction. Which was fine for a few years. What was once endless enthusiasm for my work and my play carried me through four great years. But the last three years have been a grind professionally and personally — a grind that has had serious effects on my health.

But I think I am on the mend.

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Without a doubt, fall is the best season for hiking (excepting hiking for turns, of course). And with that in mind, I am done with road biking for the year. Cycling really helped rehab my knee from this past winter’s use injury. But cycling does not help build strong hiking legs and my knee is not yet ready for high impact hiking. And neither is Ari since she has not been hiking this year either. So I decided Mount Percival would be an excellent short hike that is close to home with good views.

Leaf peepers are out in full force this weekend as evidenced by a completely full lot when I arrived at the parking area for Mount Percival. Two cars soon left and I was able to park and begin the hike. We passed many people on my ascent and opted to enjoy the summit views from a ledge slightly below the actual summit and the crowds.

I considered adding Mount Morgan for the standard loop but decided to stick with the plan for the sake of my legs and the pup. Descending had my quads burning with that “good pain” kind of feeling. Soon we were back where we started and heading for home. I am pleased to report that I successfully killed the puppy and she has not made a peep all night.

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