I'm Major Jackson and this is the slowdown.

And this is the slowdown.

Bear story number one. My friend Matthew and I leave a party in Sugar Hill, New Hampshire.

Driving in the middle of the forest, we blast Jay-Z's Black Album into the Night Air. A rainstorm makes the dirt road jerky with muddy ruts. Just as I Mao Che Gavara with bling on, I'm complex, I never claimed to have wings on. A bear leaps in front of the car.

I slam on the brakes. It stares and stares, then runs the and survived. We belt out, now can I get a non-core, do you want more?

Bear Story Number 2

At an environmental conference in upstate New York, I read a poem aloud about driving with a friend through the dark in New England when a bear suddenly came out of the woods.

From the lectern I notice everyone collectively craned their necks,

then opened their mouths in disbelief. I stop and follow their eyes. As if conjured out of my poem, a massive bear has

lumbered out of the forest and onto the lawn. And now, up on two hind legs,

rigles his back against the birch tree.

He slides up and down and then sits,

as though awaiting the rest of the reading.

Bear Story Number Three.

On the last night of workshops in Olympic Valley in California, attendees recite from memory a favorite poem.

Wedged in a large circle, I read out Birches by Robert Frost.

Afterward, with my phone as a flashlight,

I lead a group of us on a descending trail

to the village in.

After 10 minutes, we see a small bear leap onto a Douglas fir.

Our destination is visible beyond the trailhead across the road.

To turn back what mean climbing a mountain.

...