Inside the dense woods, twilight ruled. Patches of the gray sky appeared between intervals in the green overhead, along with freezing gusts of wind that made my bare neck freeze. I followed Logan"s lead, dodging low branches when he did, jumping fallen mossy logs when he did, and changing directions as the course did. Not once did I find any telltale marks that Douglas left for us to follow. I suppose leaving trails anyone could find was unprofessional and so far, all this group had shown me was the canny zeal of professional enthusiasts who worshiped their job. Perfectionists, really, who wanted their work to be better than just superb.
We ran on a carpet of Douglas fir, rotten leaves and moss, over broken logs and jutting rocks—for what seemed to me like an eternity.
When Logan finally
