FORT LEE, N.J. — In the autumn of 1776, about 2,100 Continental Army troops were garrisoned here at a primitive fort atop the Palisades escarpment, a sheer wall of black igneous rock that rises several hundred feet above the Hudson River's western shore.

Fort Lee and its counterpart on the Manhattan side of the river, Fort Washington, were intended to prevent the British from taking control of New York City and the vital Hudson River corridor. The defensive strategy failed. In August 1776, thousands of British troops had landed on Long Island, forcing the rebel troops to fall back to New York City. The British had then captured New York and most of the rest of Manhattan. On Nov. 16, they stormed Fort Washington and took it, too, forcing its 2,400 defenders to surrender.

Four days later, 5,000 British soldiers crossed the Hudson in a cold rain and began making their way toward Fort Lee, which retreating colonial forces hurriedly abandoned. The loss of the forts on the Hudson was among the most dispiriting episodes in the American Revolution, prompting Thomas Paine — who was with the retreating army at Fort Lee - to pen his famous line, "These are the times that try men's souls."

It's raining on this morning, too, one month shy of 231 years since the British troops invaded New Jersey, and I have just crossed the Hudson in their figurative footsteps. My wife, her sister and a friend have joined me on an early morning pilgrimage from Manhattan to the Jersey side of the river, walking across the steel-gray George Washington bridge in a windblown drizzle and drawing odd looks from passing motorists.

My companions are surprisingly cheerful and enthusiastic, considering the time of day and the weather. We're a bit uncomfortable, but I gather from the wisecracks that no one's soul is being tried.

From the foot of the bridge, we make our way to the small park that encompasses the bluff-top site of Fort Lee. We find shelter at a covered picnic area amid dripping trees and swirling mist, and open a bottle of good California champagne, which we sip from plastic cups. I am pretty sure this is illegal — the booze, not the plastic - but the moment seems to call for some sort of celebratory gesture. For those first squishy steps onto New Jersey soil meant I had managed to visit each of the 50 states before my 50th birthday.

Perhaps many personal quests begin the way this one did: unintentionally and without plan.

I had not really traveled much outside California until about a decade ago, when I began working on a research project that ultimately involved 33,000 miles of travel and took me all over the country, from Alaska to Hawaii, Pennsylvania to Texas, Alabama to Wyoming. Subsequent reporting projects and journalism fellowships took me to still other corners of America. When I sat down earlier this year and made a list, I realized there were only about a dozen U.S. states I'd never visited, mostly in the South and Northeast.

Until then, I had not deliberately been trying to visit all 50, at least not on any sort of conscious timetable. But I realized that with some careful planning, I could probably visit the rest on vacation trips before the end of my 49th year. And so, my "50 by 50" quest of 2007 took shape. I can't really explain why this struck me as such a great idea, except that it sounded cool, in a campaign-slogan sort of way.

In the spring, my wife and I headed south. In September, I spent a weekend visiting Indiana and Wisconsin, which I had overlooked during previous trips to their neighbors. And last week, we flew to New York and traveled by train throughout New England, culminating with our sodden hike to New Jersey.

I didn't impose many rules on what constituted a visit, other than to say it didn't count if all I did was fly in and depart without leaving the airport. I have seen more of some states than I have of others, and cannot claim to know any of them as well as I know California. But wherever I have been, I've taken the time to talk to people, eat the food, drink the local beer, look at the landscape, and learn something about local history, geology, flora and fauna. I've tried, at least to a small degree, to replace my preconceptions and assumptions about other parts of the country with firsthand observation.

And for every state, I now have a story, which is what writers collect instead of souvenir coffee mugs and key chains when they travel. Some of those stories are more colorful or elaborate than others, but they add up to a fairly entertaining collection.

You've already heard the one about the time I walked to New Jersey in the rain. Buy me a drink, brewed or bottled in the state of your choice, and I'll tell you some of the others.

— John Krist is a senior reporter and Opinion page columnist for the Star. To read previous columns, visit www.johnkrist.com. His e-mail address is jkrist@VenturaCountyStar.com.