Clayton wearing a Sport Hat and Island Breeze Shirt near the end of his 185 mile fastpack

An excellent story submitted by one of our customers:

One fine Sunday in August past, I stopped at the Canadian border. I didn’t
have to stop. There were no Homeland Security folks to give me grief:  there was no fence, no guard station- not even a stop sign. Yet there I was. And I stopped, if just for a bit.

My companion on this fastpack (one could hardly call it running) was a
gentleman from Ashland by the name of Ric Sayre. And he took the obligatory photos of me standing, grinning foolishly, at the Northern Terminus of the Pacific Crest Trail. I was 2627 miles (or thereabouts) and a whole lot of lifetimes removed from the large concrete wall that stands behind the Southern Terminus at the Mexican border, near El Campo, Ca. It’s a trail that connects extremes, a unifying path in our human need to simply get there, wherever there is, once in a while. And I was
there, where I’d set out to be, finally…..

Read the rest of the story here.