Erik Schlimmer hasn’t broken a sweat. After two hours slogging up a bootleg trail on 3,700-foot Mount Bemis, I’ve managed to soak through my t-shirt, shorts, and the entire contents of my wallet. My hiking partner, on the other hand, remains preternaturally cool as we push through waves of spiny blow-downs in a waist-deep understory. On this steamy August morning in New Hampshire, Schlimmer is decked out in Dickies’ workpants, polyester ranger’s shirt, and a Tilley hat. But the journeyman trail builder and self-described adventurer has a reason for dressing like he’s on the job.

After years of seasonal employment, Schlimmer has set his sights on becoming a professional adventurer, funding his far-flung expeditions through writing and motivational speaking. For the last 15 years, Schlimmer has sought adventure in the places others wouldn’t think to look. He’s ticked off all 770 Northeast summits greater than 3,000 feet, made winter ascents of New York State’s 131 peaks above 3,500 feet, and biked the 1,950-mile-long border between Mexico and the United States. His book, Thru-hiker’s Guide to America, passes on established routes for lesser-known footpaths like Pennsylvania’s Mid State Trail. “I like to do things that tend to be unpopular,” he says.

Schlimmer leaves for his next big trip at the end of the month. He says this latest adventure, a two-month, 2,640-mile bike ride from the Canadian border to Mexico, will be the last one that takes him away from home for that long. “It’s a curse and a blessing at the same time,” says Janine Defilippo, Schlimmer’s girlfriend of two years. “He spends time out there, he loves it. But then he comes out into the real world. He’s living in between. He’s not entirely in the woods, but he’s not like you and me.”

He’s not like most people. As we hike, even just the insinuation of a view stops Schlimmer dead in his tracks. “Mmm-mmm. Look at that,” he says, gesturing to the forest sea below us as though I were in the market for mountain real estate. “No, it doesn’t get any better than this.” Schlimmer’s enthusiasm for the outdoors is contagious, and alone on this secluded trail, maybe a little over the top. In many ways, he reminds me of a kid who went out into the yard to play and never came back inside.

But as we plod toward this seldom-visited summit deep in the White Mountain National Forest, I have a hard time seeing how he’ll turn this passion into a full-time job. So far, Schlimmer has failed to parlay his wanderlust into any meaningful employment. And whether or not his brand of backyard adventure-he calls it “adventure for mortals”-finds an audience, at the moment there are signs the lifestyle is wearing on him. At 32, I wonder if his time is running out.

Growing up in Poughkeepsie, N.Y., Erik Schlimmer spent his days hanging out at the mall and hucking his BMX over whatever obstacle he could find: garbage cans, wood blocks, cats, dogs. In 1986 his family moved to Chestertown, N.Y., a tiny Adirondack State Park hamlet with 1,200 year-round residents. Schlimmer went to the local high school where he graduated in 1991 in a class of 32. One week later, he shipped out for basic training to Fort Benning, Ga.

Schlimmer, whom friends describe as “fiercely independent,” was horribly miscast in the military. He chalks his enrollment up to a persuasive Army recruiter and the promise of college tuition on the other side. During his two years of service, Schlimmer learned desert warfare and spent four months in Honduras guarding two remote CIA listening posts. He also learned how to drive a Hummer and parachute out of a plane with a missile strapped to his body. At night. “It’s about as much fun as it sounds,” he says wryly.