At New Belgian Brewing, we celebrate the autumn harvest by mashing pale and wheat malt

with rye and oats to create a creamy cornucopia of hoppiness, hoptober golden ale, 5 hops

form a bonfire of citrus notes, 30 cheers, and a bold finale.

Throw another log on the fire and enjoy, employ your own wind powered, committed to sustainability,

New Belgian Brewing. Follow your folly, ours is beer. Find your flavor online at NewBelgium.com.

This is The Shorts, and you're listening to The Dirt Bag Diaries.

Two weeks from today, I head to Namibia. In fact, when you're hearing this, I will likely be back from Namibia,

back from doing something for which I'm not insured. I'm going to Namibia to go climbing, or at least that's part of it.

I'm also going to spend 34 nights in a tent under the African sky to travel to the northwest corner of the

currently populated country in the world, and to keep pushing my understanding of how adventure and culture might mix.

And I want insurance to do so.

A hypochondriac at an early age, I could give my babysitters directions to my doctor's office by the time I was six.

I didn't become the tough kid until two years later, when I got glasses and a Michael J. Fox haircut,

people kept mistaking me for a boy. Push up contests, led to floor hockey, and eventually to climbing.

And even though I traded my tutu for a harness, that little girl who thought every stomachache was an appendicitis attack has stayed with me into my 30s.

And the way I keep her happy is to have insurance.

I can do the extended trips and remote places as long as I make some concession to the what if.

It's my bargain with myself. For the past several years, this concession has been quick and dirty.

I figured that if I have medical insurance, I'm covered enough to sneak in all the risks I want to take.

This worked, and tell Namibia.

I've spent 18 months planning.

547 days is a long time to want something, and it's no wonder that desire has led me to try to increase my probability of a return.

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