So, yesterday was the official kick-off of the Keep Portland Weird festival here in Paris, which meant that I had a reading/screening in the...
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I read Mr. McKinney’s book because I wanted to hike the rail. It was recommended as the most honest account of the experience. Because I have so far found truth in that (I attempt a Northbound this March, 2009, keep y’all posted), I’m obliged to pass it on. There was a moment, an early passage, in the snows of Georgia or North Carolina’s waning winter, when I got hooked. He wrote about a day of snow on the trail, cold body, and wet everything. Then he mentioned the greatness of the day. Mr. McKinney’s writing is conversational, genuine, and visual, which eases the reader along that narrow corridor, baiting the imagination with endorphin-rich panoramas and enlivening determination. This storybook is part conversation, part diary, all exploration. It is a joy to read (and beware: reading aloud is even better!)
Mr. McKinney gives a fullness to the people he meets, describing them so generously you can’t help but figure that when you hike it (it might take a certain type of crazy to argue this, but if one could finish the book and not start planning “when,” I’d be shocked) you’ll be sure to meet a host of characters deserving of their own chronicle. But that tangent brings up a curiosity about me as reader versus the vicarious reader, who will never attempt the Trail. Who will enjoy Mr. McKinney’s journey more? His honest musings, the raw tenacity unhindered by the downside of struggle, which he writes with visceral fluency, helped set my mind. How universal that phenomenon, I’m not sure.
I recommend this read because Mr. McKinney brings you along, quite amiably, from the not-so-comfortable-anymore confines of home, on his personal adventure, and that is a gift.
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Dead Men Hike No Trails by Rick Mckinney
Little Haxby, December 16, 2008
I read Mr. McKinney’s book because I wanted to hike the rail. It was recommended as the most honest account of the experience. Because I have so far found truth in that (I attempt a Northbound this March, 2009, keep y’all posted), I’m obliged to pass it on. There was a moment, an early passage, in the snows of Georgia or North Carolina’s waning winter, when I got hooked. He wrote about a day of snow on the trail, cold body, and wet everything. Then he mentioned the greatness of the day. Mr. McKinney’s writing is conversational, genuine, and visual, which eases the reader along that narrow corridor, baiting the imagination with endorphin-rich panoramas and enlivening determination. This storybook is part conversation, part diary, all exploration. It is a joy to read (and beware: reading aloud is even better!)Mr. McKinney gives a fullness to the people he meets, describing them so generously you can’t help but figure that when you hike it (it might take a certain type of crazy to argue this, but if one could finish the book and not start planning “when,” I’d be shocked) you’ll be sure to meet a host of characters deserving of their own chronicle. But that tangent brings up a curiosity about me as reader versus the vicarious reader, who will never attempt the Trail. Who will enjoy Mr. McKinney’s journey more? His honest musings, the raw tenacity unhindered by the downside of struggle, which he writes with visceral fluency, helped set my mind. How universal that phenomenon, I’m not sure.
I recommend this read because Mr. McKinney brings you along, quite amiably, from the not-so-comfortable-anymore confines of home, on his personal adventure, and that is a gift.
(0 of 1 readers found this comment helpful)