It was the 12th of September in 2001, the day after the 11th, and I was driving to work to fill a newspaper with followups. I lived Alameda County, California, and every day I crossed a minor mountain pass and descended into the wall-to-wall sprawl of Silicon Valley at Fremont, a burb that became a city of 200,000 people.

It was the same view I’d seen a hundred mornings before, but this time it was different. As I wondered what could’ve possibly possessed those clowns to fly jetliners into skyscrapers, I didn’t see Silicon Valley’s smog-inducing sea of sameness. This time I saw an ocean of ingenuity in all those office parks: people designing faster microchips, gleaning the secrets of DNA, making manufacturers more efficient.

I’ll grant you those 19 guys were clever, daring and devoted to a cause. And there probably were thousands more just like them scattered around the globe. But they were outnumbered 50-to-1 in Silicon Valley alone, and the Silicon Valley types were building stuff, not blowing it up.

The lesson of human history is that the builders keep building and the bomb-throwers get blown up. That was the world I saw that morning on my way to work.

In America, we build. Not just houses, factories and fast-food joints. We build ourselves.

We’ve gotten ourselves into terrible jams in the 235 years since the Founders signed the Declaration of Independence. A Civil War, a Great Depression, two World Wars. Today gutsy young Americans are dodging bullets on our behalf, just as they’ve done in all our wars.

I’m not into simplistic, flag-waving patriotism that hollers “my country, right or wrong.” Everybody loves their country, which makes us all easy prey for politicians who’d use our affection for our homeland to fight their ill-advised wars. I’m even a little embarrassed by fireworks when I think of all the people who’ve huddled in bomb shelters as American-made rockets rained down on their neighborhoods.

Yeah, the history books are full of our nation’s screw-ups. We owned slaves, we wiped out Indian tribes. Up until about 1965, liberty meant “you’re free if you’re white.”

Two generations later, descendants of slaves are among our most popular personalities, and our president is a half-African with “Hussein” for a middle name. Try to imagine another country with 300 million citizens where that could happen.

We were the country that dumped monarchy into history’s landfill. We proved that people could elect their own leaders and build a productive, prosperous society despite all the divisions — religion, ethnicity, class — that bedevil us. Making racism obsolete will be our gift to the world. We’re not there yet, but it seems doable.

Update (summer 2013): When I wrote this in the summer of 2011, my prospects looked grim: 49 years old with no job and a home-based business built mainly on a suspicion that I could make it work. Today I have a thriving freelance content business that makes me proud to be an American on this Fourth of July — because impossible is still doable here.

The wilds of capitalism require a lot of skills that hikers take for granted. Among the habits we’ve acquired while walking in the woods:

1. We adapt to the terrain

There’s never only one way to climb a mountain, cross a stream or camp out for the night. There’s only the way that makes the most sense right now and further down the trail. How I hiked a trail last week is irrelevant if a 1,400-pound tree is blocking the trail today.

2. We don’t ignore what’s obvious to our senses

Hikers have to change our minds when the prevailing winds tell us we’re going south when we should be going north. We listen for distant thunder and prepare for rain as it gets closer. We stay off hilltops in electrical storms.

3. We don’t fear getting lost because we know how to get found

Hikers train themselves to watch for signs of wrong turns, pay attention to critical landmarks along the way, and have a turn-back plan in place if the trail we seek doesn’t show up on schedule.

4. We manage risk

Hikers know there are extreme dangers in the woods — snakes, bees, bears, mountain lions — but we also know the odds of these dangers hurting us are extremely remote. The most pressing dangers on a hike are falling, getting lost and succumbing to hypothermia. So we watch our footing, carry our maps and first aid kits, and make sure we’ve got enough gear to get us through a cold night in the countryside.

5. We respect balance

Hikers appreciate nature’s uncanny knack for nipping here, tucking there, and generally working things out elegantly and efficiently.

6. We embrace change

We never hike the same trail twice, even if it’s the 20th time on the same route. We watch for subtle shifts in the landscape because we know they are inevitable.

7. We don’t mind working up a sweat

Hikers crave the exhilaration of navigating a tricky scree field and huffing it to high summits. We know that difficulty is often what makes something worth doing.

8. We have strength of body and spirit

It’s not just the quads built up on 13 percent grades or the cardio capacity elevated by 13 miles above 12,000 feet. It’s the character we build by setting a goal, crafting a plan and getting it done.

9. We travel light

We leave our baggage at home, take only what we need, and make do with whatever fits into our pack.

10. We look after our own

Hikers help each other. We warning passing hikers of washed-out sections of trail. We give backpackers rides into town. We send for help. We build karma with kindness.

It used to be easy to explain how I earned a living. Just show somebody the daily scandal sheet and point to the headlines, captions, photos of a proper proportion, etc. All that ended a couple summers ago when I left the San Jose Mercury News by the back door for the last time.

Today I’m doing something similar yet altogether different. I still write, I still edit, I never stopped blogging (it was easier to kick nicotine). I call my new venture Verb Nerd Industries — the link leads to several pages of shenanigans I’ve been implicated in over the years. My life story at a glance:

1961: Born in Peoria, Illinois.

1968: Moved to suburbs of Peoria with family (yes, Peoria had suburbs).

1979: Graduated from Limestone High School (see “Dazed and Confused”; it tells all of our stories).

1982: Lived in Abilene, Texas; assistant-managed a fast food joint called Hot Dog Castle, acquiring sufficient motivation to better myself.

1984: Entered journalism school at Southern Illinois University at Carbondale. Worked for campus paper called the Daily Egyptian, which was at least 10,000 miles from the Nile.

1988: Started first big-city newspaper job at the Tampa Tribune. Learned the true meaning of sweat.

1991: Married Melissa, next-door neighbor of the guy at the desk next to mine at the Trib.

1993: Moved back to Peoria to work for the Journal Star. Career highlight: compiling a package of stories revealing that the all the rich and famous Peorians got that way after moving away.

1996: Started my first blog, devoted to journalists’ websites. Didn’t realize it was a blog until years later.

1999: Moved to Silicon Valley to see the great Tech Boom up close. Tech Bust ensued as if on cue. Followed all the fun from the front lines at the San Jose Mercury News.

2005: Started Two-Heel Drive, my hiking blog; persisted all these years despite persistent evidence that bloggers rarely hike, and hikers rarely blog.

2009: Second market crash in the space of a decade motivated me to try new things outside the newspaper business. Relocated to North Carolina for the abundance of cheap housing and hiking trails.

2011: Launched Verb Nerd Industries. Avalanche of clients currently poised on a cornice somewhere in the Grand Tetons. Hire me now and beat the crush.

When I’m not noodling with my various blogs, I’m often killing brain cells at these online hangouts:

Facebook

I was geeky enough to snag facebook.com/thomasmangan before somebody else did.

Twitter

Twitter was a mildly diverting toy till I discovered a site called Paper.li, which allows you to create an online newspaper from the links posted to Twitter. Now I have four tweets-papers:

• Tom Mangan Daily: Roundup from all the people I follow on Twitter.
• Triad Tweets: News & culture links from the Triad region of North Carolina.
• Hiking & Outdoors Afternoon Update: Cool links for people who like to play in the woods.
• Outdoor Gear Morning Update: Gear news for folks in the trade.

Everytrail.com

I’ve posted dozens of iPhone hiking guides and GPS-enabled travelogues there.

Linked In

Work history and recommendations from colleagues.

Funny how necessity recalibrates your intentions. Back in California I’d do almost anything to avoid long drives to trails — it seemed like a crime against nature to spend more time driving than hiking. The reality, though, was there were so many excellent hiking trails in the Bay Area that I could always find an excuse to pair a long hike with a short drive.

On our current end of the country, the situation is almost entirely reversed: it’s crazy to make do with local trails when excellent ones are just a couple hours away. Case in point: Saturday’s hike at Grayson Highlands State Park paired five hours of driving with five hours of hiking. While the Appalachian peaks seem scrawny by Western standards, they are nevertheless mountains that stretch for 1,200 miles from Georgia to Canada. There’s nothing like it within 50 miles of Winston-Salem.

The route up to Grayson Highlands twists, climbs and dives though at least 50 miles of remote two-lane blacktop; I’ve always loved taking these kinds of drives. Seems I now have two reasons to head for the hills.

(I’m sure it’s just a coincidence — not karma or anything — that my luck seems to have been continually improving since my departure from the daily-dose-of-doom industry.)

This is the Yadkin River, taken from Tanglewood Park. Used my iPhone camera.