(See Cover)
It is 7 a.m. in Washington, D.C. Through the deserted lobby of the Shoreham Hotel moves an elderly man with a brown cane. He sets out at a brisk pace into the morning mist that still mantles Rock Creek Park. His shoes are scuffed, his trousers baggy, his shirt frayed. He is alone, and he is happy.
Not many people know this side of the man. He is perhaps most content while walking through a park-or climbing to the top of Old Rag, his favorite mountain in the Blue Ridge chain. Up...
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