She hikes hard for the money

Fresno may have chunky air and a crappy television show bearing its name, but it's a magical place.

Don't believe me? Then consider this: I just moved here, and my hobby turned into my day job.

I, along with three of my newspaper reportin' colleagues, will be paid to hike part of the John Muir Trail this summer.

Paid to hike. Paid money. Naturally, we'll be doing reporter-like things as well. We'll be producing stories along with buckets of sweat.

I'm already planning what kind of pencil to bring.

Hiking planning brings out every latent obsessive tendency inside me. When I was a kid growing up in the Appalachian Ohio foothills, it was so simple. Get the dogs. Go in the woods. Don't bring a baby raccoon home again.

As a grown hiker, I spend weeks writing and re-writing gear lists. I put myself through hellish training hikes (although I stopped using The Complete Shakespeare for weight a few years ago). I fret about detoxing off of brewed coffee and consider carrying my camp espresso maker.

Soon enough, my boots will hit the dirt and all the planning garbage will melt away.

Until then, I'd better hit the gym.