We’ll avoid Leonard’s Butt Slide, which propels you down at 45-degree gradient through several hundred feet of mud and saw briars. We won’t have to cross Son of a Bitch Ditch, a 10-foot-wide, 10-foot-deep gouge in the dense forest. The seven-hour trek up Bald Knob, I am told, is far better than scaling Big Hell, Rat Jaw, or Bird Mountain. He wasn’t the least bit affected by the news. I explained that I was writing a big story on the Barkley Marathons - the world-famous ultra-marathon Lake founded and his life’s magnum opus. I’m here because he reluctantly agreed to let me tag along with him and his crew on their hike to the top of Bald Knob, the highest peak in Frozen Head. I’m not picking up an ounce of the humor or charisma I’d heard so much about. He seems cold, distant, mildly annoyed by my presence. I hustle from my car to where he’s standing and apologize.
At a glance, he looks like a retired truck driver or a felon-turned-farmer. His long gray hair is pulled into a ponytail that hangs down his back. He’s wearing loose blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a new pair of work boots. Lazarus Lake is standing next to a red Honda at the entrance to Frozen Head State Park in Wartburg, Tennessee, about an hour west of Knoxville.
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