The List

86. Race an Iceberg

87. See Petra.

The Tatshenshini and its sister prong, the Alsek, pierce the heart of the world's largest protected wilderness, 27 million acres of Canadian and prime Alaskan mountain valleys, then dump into the Pacific at Glacier Bay National Park. In between bouts of Class III froth, watch out for bemused caribou and fugitive bergs. Individual paddlers dot the river in summer and fall; if you don't want to try it unguided, call Alaska Discovery at 800-586-1911.

87. See Petra
It was hidden by bedouins for 700 years until 1812, when a Swiss explorer heard tales of a glorious city carved into cliffs and connived his way in. Entered through a narrow canyon (remember Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?), Petra widens to reveal intricate facades of tombs, temples, and homes hewn into the walls. No need to disguise yourself as a pilgrim today; just hop a bus in Amman.
88. Land and Release a Marlin
Try your luck at Panama's Tropic Star Lodge, overlooking the Pacific and boasting 155 world sportfishing records. Each bungalow scattered around an Old Salt-tinged lodge comes with a garishly begadgeted boat, gear, and crew ($2,250 a person per week; 800-245-1950). March is best, so start your training in December by reeling in your neighbor's Buick.

89. Go Roadwooding
By Roy Blount, Jr. I collect roadwood. Why doesn't everybody? I'm driving to my house in the country—and there it is, that yellowish flash: fresh cut. A road crew has sawed up a lightning-struck tree or taken down a bunch of saplings that were threatening to encroach upon traffic, and logs are left on the right-of-way: the people's wood. Ash, looks like, and maple. Thick enough to split.

I have a good two years' worth of free firewood stacked already. But this sweet timber is liable to lie here for months, getting waterlogged. You might be surprised how many eight-foot-long logs you can get into the trunk of a 1990 VW Jetta. Where I carry a 24-inch bow saw and a good sturdy set of...I don't even know what you call them. Stout two-handed clippers strong enough to get through an inch-thick branch. That's how underdeveloped the sport of roadwooding is: no established gear terminology.

You manage to get your car up onto the shoulder enough that you are morally certain it is not a hazard—and yet there is something a bit edgy about roadwood collection, authorities might intervene—and you snip and saw as necessary and you heave the logs in and manage (ideally) to close the trunk (and maybe you slide another choice log or two into the back seat), and then all you need back home is a 36-inch bow saw, two wedges, and a splitting maul. Sure, a chain saw would be quicker. But with these simple tools you can savor putting asunder what God has joined together. Then you reassemble it in stacks of your own devising, to dry. Splashes of soft white birch for contrast with the darker barks, some oak I picked up on I-95 in Georgia...

Roy Blount Jr. is the author of Be Sweet.

90. Dive a National Marine Sanctuary
The one at Monterey Bay, California, is an underwater Yellowstone: a canyon 10,000 feet deep spread across 5,300 square miles, with hundreds of animal species. In ten-story kelp forests thick as jungle, current, light, and temperature swirl into dozens of different habitats. No grizzlies, but please don't feed the leopard sharks.

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