Well, maybe not so much kicked out as asked to tender my resignation. It was the '60s, a time of so much uncertainty -- Vietnam, civil rights, the Red Sox's chances of success.

I was a rebellious, free-thinking, fourth-grader. During my short tenure in scouting, my only commendation was for singing an entire song out loud in front of a small audience. It wasn't pretty, but it earned me a belt loop award, my only badge for merit.

I was never taught to make a fire by rubbing sticks together. I never learned to tie fancy knots. I never went camping in the wilderness.

This is not an indictment of scouting. In fact, philosophical differences aside, my life has seemingly been spent in a struggle to earn those forsaken merit badges for camping -- the starting of fires, the pitching of tents, the telling of ghost stories.

I've traveled much of the Appalachian Trail, through the Green and White Mountains, hiked high in the Rockies, trekked in Yosemite and pitched tents in the Great Smokies. Still, I find myself wanting for that affirmation that comes with mastery of the wilderness.

Many of my ventures over the past few years have been with my family members, accompanying other not-so-timid participants from the Chapel Hill-Carrboro Pacers, who traditionally have staged a combined camping and training trip each cross-country season.

More than 120 young athletes registered for the Pacers' fall season in 2008, head coached this season by Meredith Bolon and assisted by a host of running experts and volunteers. Other specialized group coaches include Amy Leigh Brown, Isabella Archer, Samantha Smith, Tina Clossick, Greg Cordell, Sonia Davis, Harold Hill, Layna Mosley, Wendell Gilland, Joan Nesbit Mabe, Todd Bolon and a large number of UNC Track and Field Club athletes, all of whom volunteer regularly.

Running is clearly only one of the lessons taught through the Pacers, however, and competition remains secondary to an emphasis on participation and self-improvement, which is at the heart of the Pacers' philosophy. That self-improvement comes from testing oneself, perhaps on the track, perhaps on the trails and perhaps in the mountains.

Last year's Pacers trip featured a group of valiant young athletes and brave parents making their way to Hanging Rock State Park. This past weekend, a large-group camping site at Stone Mountain State Park near Elkin played host to nearly 40 Pacers and parents. I was among them, in search of a good workout, a wonderfully rewarding time with family and friends, and perhaps even that elusive Scout Badge of Courage.

Ironically, a troop of Scouts encamped in the same field last weekend. They had badges and mottos and credos and pocket knives; I had my running shoes and a guitar.

If tending to a couple dozen campers is a challenge, tending to boundlessly energetic, elementary-aged kids who hike large mountains at a six-minute mile pace is like herding cats ... cats on caffeine.

As for contending with the environment on the environment's own terms, with true autumn temperatures falling on the mountains last weekend, I was reminded quickly that no man is truly nature's master when among the elements. These fundamental laws I now understand...

•Inflation of blow-up mattresses is easier when the nozzle stays in the mattress inflation hole.

•What takes 20 minutes to inflate will flatten back out in 38 seconds.

•When staring at close range into the inflation hole of a double-bed sized blow-up mattress, the force of four 10-year-olds simultaneously jumping on it like a trampoline can and will blow both of your eyebrows clean off your face, while simultaneously bringing shrieks of laughter from anyone under 16.

•Cords for tents and canopies vanish completely in the dark.

•Cheez Doodles are flammable.

•No matter how proficient you might think you are, never throw away the original instructions for setting up a tent. Ever.

•Tent stakes cannot be pounded into solid granite with a rubber mallet.

•Knowing the guitar chords and just the first verse of every piece of music written between 1965 and 1980 (and nothing since) doesn't make me a good leader of campfire songs.

•Guitars automatically retune themselves at temperatures below 40 degrees ... one string at a time.

•Four melted marshmallows on the bottom of a running shoe can pick up and carry up to four pounds of dirt and debris into a tent.

•"American Pie" on an ill-tuned guitar sounds a lot like an automobile accident.

•Six children can play a complete game of tackle football in a two-person tent.

•A plume of smoke from a campfire will eventually blow directly into your face no matter where you sit.

•When in the wilderness, darkness falls at around 6 p.m. and everyone goes to bed by 9 p.m.

•No one truly goes to sleep until after midnight.

•Birds don't care how much sleep you've had. They wake up at 4 a.m.

•Fires are as tough to start at 6 a.m. as they were to extinguish the previous night.

•Coffee grounds float in cold water.

•Exiting a 50-degree tent for a 38-degree campsite brings a chill. Best to gird one's loins before hitting the 15-degree Port-a-John.

•Adolescent girls potentially can survive life without cell phone or text capabilities for a period of up to 24 hours without the need of medical attention or residual psychological trauma.

•Nothing leaves you colder than getting passed like you're standing still by a 7-year-old running up a large mountain.

•The romance of rustic wood smoke smell looses its charm completely in a car on the way home.

By the same token, however, the point of camping is not comfort. The point is to learn to be at least a little more comfortable with discomfort.

The notion of retreating to the wilderness with a satellite dish, flat screen and a 100-watt per channel stereo system seems little like a retreat than an all-out assault on nature. That's not a campsite; that's a mobile living room.

Perhaps camping is truly about the skinned knees, the smoke in your eyes, the cold in your bones, the dirt beneath your nails and the sleepless nights. In this hermetically sealed, freeze-dried, hygienic, sanitized world, we are often so insulated and cushioned as to grow numb.

Perhaps there is no mastery of the elements, but, more aptly, respect and awe for them. In living life without a net once in a while, we may not all merit badges, but we can earn a view from atop a treeless ridge of sunrise over the Eastern Continental Divide, or all the s'mores we can eat, or the joy of having learned to follow a blazed trail, or the adventure of blazing a new one. Or, after five miles along Stone Mountain, the reward of an endorphin-laden descent through a canopy of poplars and a shower of leaves as we escort young athletes in the direction of the scent of pancakes and bacon.

The Pacers hand out no belt loops or badges. But I'd grant every young athlete, parent and coach the highest rank and merit were it up to me to grant such things. Then again, I've now learned that these shared experiences are their own rewards.

One day, perhaps these young athletes will instill the value of a little discomfort once in a while to another generation of Pacers.

Me? I'm going to learn to tie fancy knots.

Contact Randy Young at chnsports@nando.com or by calling 932-8743.