Julie Allan and Ranger Kielak just before Ranger took his first steps from Myrtle Beach, SC.
Julie Allan and Ranger Kielak just before Ranger took his first steps from Myrtle Beach, SC.
| by Ranger Kielak Holistic Success Coach CEO – Within Range Coaching “My problems are excuses for not being who I know I am.” On the plane from San Francisco, CA to Charleston, SC, Mike Posner's lyrics poured from my headphones into my ears. His song "Slow it Down" had become an anthem for me, a reminder of why I was doing this. Mike’s journey was what sparked this crazy adventure. On that six-hour flight, his music was on repeat. I looked at my phone to check the time. “7:00 A.M., March 4, 2024.” As we pulled away from the terminal, Julie, my fiancée, held my hand, squeezing it with a mix of excitement and nerves. “Here we go!” she said, and I could tell she was feeling the same cocktail of emotions I was. As the plane lifted off, I tried to lighten the mood, saying, “It’s funny how this plane ride is going to take six hours, but going back is going to take me about six months.” She laughed, “You better run!” After a few minutes we were just another blip in the sky. I peaked out the window from time to time and thought about what it would be like to be on the ground. I’d find out very soon. In a few hours, we’d be touching down in South Carolina, marking my first time on the East Coast. And in less than a week, I’d start walking back to California—on foot. Unassisted. “Most people leave their potential untapped” Mike Posner’s words echoed through my ears. The idea still seemed wild, and I wasn’t sure I was ready. How could I be? This made me sit back and reflect on how I even got to this point. Back in 2019, sitting in my fraternity house at UC Davis, I stumbled upon videos and posts from Mike Posner. He was walking across America. I sat up in bed and went through his content. I watched him on social media meeting people across the country, sharing stories, and sending out his message, “KEEP GOING.” I was in awe. “What an experience!” I thought. I even sent the posts to a few friends, thinking, “I wish I could do something like that.” But just as quickly as the excitement came, it was replaced with words of self-doubt. “I’m not rich or famous—I’m just a regular guy.” These stories bounced through my mind and clouded my dreams. “You don’t have the drive. Or the resources. That’s not for people like you.” That inner-critic spat at me. Eventually, I sat my phone down, and sat that dream on the backburner. Just like plenty of others before that one. Growing up, I’d always dreamed of being a veterinarian. I worked hard in high school, got into my dream college, and then hit a wall (well, a few)—General Chemistry, Calculus, Biology, Organic Chemistry, and others. In the end, Animal Science turned out to be more “science” than “animal.” After multiple tear-filled meetings with academic advisors, tutors, and calls with my parents, I switched majors to Economics and watched my dreams of “Andrew ‘Ranger’ Kielak, DVM” slip through my fingers. I’d watch others graduate from the program and get accepted to vet school. “They just have something I don’t, I guess.” I’d tell myself. This felt like another one of those moments. At this point I was near my highest weight, 300 pounds, was barely scraping by in school, and was looking forward to graduation in December so that I could finally start a new chapter of life- but that new chapter would have its own series of difficult events. Graduating in December of 2019 meant that many of the job opportunities I thought I’d have at my disposal would disappear come March of 2020. The event planner roles, potential teaching gigs, and more were canceled and stripped away from me. Which, on the bright side, meant I could try things out and experiment a bit career wise. During COVID, I tried all kinds of jobs and side hustles—bartending, sales, animal care, wine service—and learned a lot about myself, mostly what I didn’t like and wasn’t great at. Oddly enough, one of the biggest lessons came from TikTok. One night in late 2021, I stumbled on a video by a guy named Andrew Kivett. He’d walked over 2,500 miles across the country, inspired by Mike Posner’s journey. I spent some time scrolling through his content and eventually found another cross-country walker, Mark Dudek, who had shared his story in a podcast. Listening to it, something clicked. These guys, Andrew and Mark, weren’t rich or famous—they were just regular guys. That made me curious... What about Mike? After listening to a few podcasts he was a guest on, and combing through more of his content, I realized something about him too: he’s just a regular guy from Michigan. He also had fears about starting. He also made excuses. He also told himself he couldn’t do it. “Uh-oh, I think my problems are excuses. For not being who I know I am.” Mike’s lyrics hit me hard. Every problem and reason I came up with as to why I couldn’t walk was just that- excuses. Excuses that would prevent me from being who I know I am. I thought status, wealth, experience, resources, or something special separated me from people like Mike, Andrew, or Mark. None of that was true. The only thing that separated us was that they made the decision to take the first step. So, after months of coaching, working on my “why,” and many talks with Julie, I finally committed. In July 2022, I texted her, “I want to walk across America.” She replied, “Great. What’s the first step?” And that’s when the real work began—planning, saving, training, and building up the mindset I’d need to go the distance. That year and a half flew by. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Charleston, South Carolina. Enjoy your trip, and we hope to welcome you back to your next United flight soon.” The pilot said over the intercom, jolting me out of my day dream. When we landed in Charleston, I felt like I was on autopilot. I knew that soon, I’d be completely on my own. At least, that’s what I thought. Julie and I’s week in South Carolina together went fast. We laughed, cried, went on ghost tours, explored Charleston and got in our “last week together” before starting. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a piece of me that was truly scared it would be our last time seeing each other. I had no idea what the country had in store for me. But, I was ready for it. Well, as ready as I’d ever be. Standing on the sand at Myrtle Beach, watching the sun peek over the horizon, I waded into the Atlantic, letting the cold water hit my legs. A million thoughts were racing through my mind, but the loudest was a piece of advice from Andrew Kivett: “The most important step is step one.” I looked at my phone, “7 A.M., March 10, 2024.” “No more excuses,” I told myself. Tears welled up in my eyes and my stomach felt tight. “I’m done walking with the herd, it’s time I go my own way.” Mike said in my headphones. At that moment, I took step one. And just like that, I was officially walking across America. Only 5.5 million more steps to the other side. Day 6, 3/15/24 Start: Long Leaf Pine Heritage Preserve Parking Lot End: Sumter, SC Miles Walked: 24 miles The One Where Ranger Gets Kicked Out of His Campsite by the US Military On day 6 of walking across America, I learned two very important lessons: rain loves irony, and the US Military takes its campground policies very seriously. The day started as the other five did—pitch black, 6 AM, and me trying to prepare for the day as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. There’s not much you can do in complete darkness, in a tent, except hope your fumbling doesn’t wake the entire forest and attract unwanted attention. By the time the sun thought about rising, I’d torn everything down and was compulsively checking to make sure I left nothing behind. “Not a trace,” I whispered like a mantra, brushing leaves back into place like nature’s janitor. Satisfied I wouldn’t make an enemy of the Park Ranger, I turned on my navigation app: 25 miles to the next campsite. With a sigh, I inhaled a couple of protein bars, chugged a quart of water, and pushed Ol’ Reliable, my trusty stroller, onto the gravel road. I started walking at 7:45 AM. Two hours in, I’d turned off my music to admire the sounds and sights nature had to offer. While I was thinking of how lucky I was to be able to experience the beauty surrounding me, I was jolted back to reality by the sound of distant gunfire. “Hunting country,” I reminded myself, adjusting my backpack. Surely, they were trained well enough not to aim toward the highway... right? The night before, Julie and I had called a campground in Sumter, SC. They called me a little after 10 AM, after they checked the voicemails from the previous day. The woman on the phone was thrilled to reserve me a spot. “Wait, HOW much?” I asked. “Just $10! You get electricity, showers, and laundry! I have you down for campground #7,” she replied cheerfully. I felt like I’d hit the jackpot and continued on that morning with a sense of relief—a rare commodity over the last few days. A place to sleep with actual amenities? And people I could talk to? For $10? What a luxury! With a spring in my step, I marched west. About 40 minutes later, the sky traded its blue hues for a darker, ominous gray. I could smell it in the air, but the weather app confirmed it: rain within the hour. I scanned my surroundings for a game plan. I was in the “middle of nowhere,” but surrounded by opportunity. “If I can find some smaller trees, I can pull over, take my paracord and tie it around the trunk, attach it to the tarp and attach that to the cart, I can fasten a makeshift tent to keep me and the cart dr—” My phone started to ring, interrupting the music in my headphones. It was Julie, my fiancée. We chatted for 30 minutes while she was on her 8 AM PST commute to work. Her commute was much more comfortable than mine. As she walked into work, the first raindrop hit Ol’ Reliable’s plastic cover. I spotted a pond to my right and saw the ripples spread throughout the surface of the water. “Game time,” I thought, as I darted to the side of the road with an urgency that would amuse passing motorists (if there were any). Out came the tarps and rope, and within a couple of frantic minutes, I’d created a makeshift tent. I huddled under the tarp as the rain poured down, watching a bug nonchalantly crawl onto my boot, surely to seek higher ground to avoid the mini flash flood. After an hour and a half, the rain paused. I packed up, slapped on my poncho, and resumed walking—only to discover Ol’ Reliable’s front tire was flat. Of course. I flipped the cart, swapped the tube, and inflated the tire in record time. Fifteen minutes. My first flat tire of The Walk. How cool. What wasn’t cool was my ETA, which was now 7 PM. I called the campground to ensure that a 7 PM check-in would be allowed since they closed at 5 PM. The same woman from earlier assured me that would be okay. $10 well spent. Shortly after hanging up, I heard a voice call out. “HEY!” I looked to my left and saw a shirtless man doing yard work. “Where you headed?” “California!” I replied. “Long way from here. Need a drink?” “No, sir, but thank you!” It was a quick exchange, but it stuck with me. Around 6 PM, I arrived in the town of Sumter, SC. I rewarded myself with Chick-fil-A. I ate the fries as I sauntered toward the campground. I saved the sandwich for a pre-shower treat at the campground. I passed the town’s “Hospitality Lane,” where all of their hotels stood. I daydreamed about just getting a room but didn’t want to give up the $10 campground. I trudged forward. About a mile away from the campground, excitement, relief, and hunger began to build. “Turn right in one mile,” my GPS announced. It was then that I passed a sign that read “Shaw Air Force Base, one mile, turn right.” Uh-oh. “Arrived,” my GPS announced at 7:10 PM. Sure enough, the campground was on the base. I stood in front of the locked gates, weighing my options. I wasn’t military, and no one was around. Panic set in as I called my dad, hoping for some miraculous solution. We both tried making contact with the inside when I got a notification: “20% Battery Remaining.” After reaching multiple voicemails, I decided to walk alongside the fence to find the campsite and flag someone down. About a half mile up the road, I spotted it. The campsite, with my $10 campground, smugly sat behind a locked military fence. Of course. I waved frantically, trying to get someone's attention, when I heard a car pull over behind me. I turned to see who it was. A young man and his girlfriend, barely 20, pulled over to check if I was okay. I walked over to the passenger-side window to explain what was going on and make sure I wasn’t crazy. It turned out that the young man behind the wheel was stationed at the base. “I’m pretty sure that campground is for active duty and their families only,” he said matter-of-factly. “Ok, but I paid $10,” I told him, defeated. He understood the gravity of the situation. While he made some calls to his superiors, I talked to his girlfriend. I handed her my card, complained about the rain, and answered her questions about The Walk. After a few minutes of him talking to the “higher-ups,” he reported back to us. He told me that some officers would be able to speak with me soon, but he was told to leave the area immediately. I thanked him for his service, and they wished me luck on my journey. Within a few minutes, three men with slanted hats showed up to speak with me through the fence. It was starting to get dark, and my phone was now at 15% battery. I told them my situation. They informed me that the campsite was for military personnel only. I told them I had paid $10. We were at a stalemate. I could see that they felt bad for me, and one tried making another call to another officer. While they were on the phone, I talked to one of the others about The Walk. The first officer came back after the call—no luck. The military doesn’t negotiate over campsites, apparently. The officer confirmed I could not stay there and that I needed to leave the area immediately. “I understand,” I said with a sigh, defeated. “Do you have any recommendations on where I can camp out tonight?” I asked with desperation. They suggested some woods behind a coffee shop down the road, but it was almost 3 miles away. “But you need to leave immediately, and don’t even think about setting up camp along the fence. We will be back to check,” the officer stated as they walked back to their patrol vehicle. Their tone shifted from calm to firm. “Woah,” I thought as I stepped back from the fence. I said I understood and would start leaving. I was frustrated and confused at this point but bit my tongue. I wasn’t about to argue with them—I didn’t want to make an enemy of the US Military only six days into my walk. Frustrated but compliant, I packed up and trudged back towards Sumter’s Hospitality Lane. The patrol vehicle left the area once I started to move. After sending a text to my “Parent Group Chat,” my mother-in-law, Angela, called with an offer to cover a hotel. I initially resisted—this was my mess—but caved after a particularly bleak glance at my stone-cold chicken sandwich. “Let’s call the non-emergency line first to see if there’s another fire station to stay nearby first,” I offered. She said she’d make some calls. Walking east, the wrong direction, a motel sign caught my eye. “American Inn,” the sign read. Its letters looked like they’d been bleeding for years. I thought about seeing if they had rooms, but the ominous sign made me reconsider. About 20 minutes and a mile later, Angela called me back and said she had someone who wanted to speak with me. Cue the conference call with the local dispatcher. I told her my situation, where I was, and how I had paid $10 for a campground but couldn’t get in. She felt bad for me too. She told me a deputy was on his way to check on me. I pulled over in front of a used car dealership to wait for the officer. After about 30 minutes of waiting, my phone was now at 6%. Julie called to check on me. I told her what was going on, how I wasted $10, and that I was waiting for an officer. She said she’d look for a hotel room for the night. She texted me within a few minutes that she’d found one for $100. Sold. Angela reconfirmed she’d cover it. The officer arrived shortly after, and he was great. He asked what was going on. I told him about The Walk, my day, the cold chicken sandwich, and the $10 campground. The whole thing. He couldn’t believe it. I asked if it was possible to get a space behind the fire department. He said he wasn’t sure but offered me a ride to “Hospitality Lane,” and I accepted. It was still 2 miles to the hotel, and I didn’t think it was safe to walk along the highway, at night, in an unfamiliar place. My gear fit snugly in his back seat. I held my backpack in my lap and placed the sandwich on the dash. We talked about his time in the force, and I thanked him for his hospitality. Once we got to the hotel, I felt like a captured fugitive being dropped off for booking. I pulled my gear out of the cruiser and loaded it onto the trolley. A woman walked out of the hotel lobby with her son, and upon seeing me, grabbed his hand and created some distance between us. “Have you ever wanted to be in a cop car?” the officer said to the boy. “Nope!” said the mom. The young boy, maybe 4, was intrigued. He walked toward the cruiser, and the officer sat him in the driver’s seat. “Touch this button,” the officer said, pointing to the dash. A wave of red and blue flickered on, showering us in bright lights. The boy was ecstatic! He had a smile from ear to ear as the officer handed him the microphone and told him to say something. “Mommy, look!” the boy’s voice said, amplified by the speakers. The mom took some photos and thanked the officer. The mom and son walked back into the hotel. “That was so cool!” the boy said, carrying a new core memory. I thanked the officer for his help, and he wished me luck. “There’s good people out there, and I’m glad you’re one of them,” I said. He pulled off, and I limped into the hotel. The woman turned out to be the hotel clerk. I explained my day to her—not to gain sympathy, but to reassure her I wasn’t insane (though, to do all this, I kind of am). Her Chow Chow puppy, Joy, poked her head around the corner. I gasped—she was the cutest thing ever! She looked like a small, blonde cloud. The pup reminded me of my childhood dog, Chewie, a Chow Chow mix, and for a moment, I forgot about all the trials of the day and the pain in my legs. “Her name is Joy, ’cause she’s a joy to the world!” the clerk said. I agreed! After lugging all of my gear to my room, I plopped onto the bed, relieved to be done with the day. It felt like I’d put down a heavy rock of stress, frustration, and pain. I looked at my phone and saw a Venmo payment. “$100—Angela, hotel for the night <3.” At that moment, another “rock” appeared, almost heavier than the last, as I realized how much I’d stressed out my parents during that escapade. I felt like I’d used one of my limited “Stress Out My Family” coupons. They weren’t real “coupons,” but I had assured them everything would be all right during The Walk and was worried that if I used too many of them, they’d all but force me to end The Walk and come home. “I don’t have many of those, and I used one in the first week,” I told myself. Julie called to see how I was doing. I told her about the new “rock,” and she helped me set it down. She assured me no one was upset and wouldn’t make me come home. I needed that. I thanked Angela and took a shower. I stood under the hot shower, overwhelmed with gratitude—for Julie, Angela, the police officer, and, of course, Joy. It was almost poetic that I found Joy at the end of such a long day. Maybe there’s a lesson there. “There are good people out there,” I repeated, almost manifesting. Once I was out of the shower, I made a reminder on my phone to call the campground to request a refund in the morning. It was nearly 11 PM by the time I started my laundry downstairs. While I waited for the laundry to be done, I packed up my cart and did an inventory check. Laundry wasn’t done until almost 1 AM. Julie called me to say goodnight and let me know she was able to find a place for me to stay the following night. “They are SO excited to see you tomorrow! They called me to ask if you needed any supplies, what your favorite food was, and more! They seem like such great people.” Julie’s excitement carried through the phone. “There are good people out there,” I said, so relieved to hear I had someone who would welcome me with open arms the next day. After getting my clothes from downstairs and packing them into the cart, I finally pulled myself under the covers of the queen bed in the room. I set my alarms for 7:30 and 8:00 AM. I kind of wished I was under the stars but was thankful I had a warm bed for the night. “Tomorrow will be better,” I told myself, as I drifted to sleep. |
