A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail

by Bill Bryson

“So what are you guys eating?” she said, plonking herself down on a spare log and lifting her head to peer into our bowls. “Noodles? Big mistake. Noodles have got like no energy. I mean like zero.” She unblocked her ears. “Is that a Starship tent?” I looked at my tent. “I don’t know.” “Big mistake. They must have seen you coming at the camping store. What did you pay for it?” “I don’t know.” “Too much, that’s how much. You should have got a three-season tent.” “It is a three-season tent.” “Pardon me saying so, but it is like seriously dumb to come out here in March without a three-season tent.” She unblocked her ears. “It is a three-season tent.” “You’re lucky you haven’t froze yet. You should go back and like punch out the guy that sold it to you because he’s been like, you know, negligible selling you that.” “Believe me, it is a three-season tent.” She unblocked her ears and shook her head impatiently. “That’s a three-season tent.” She indicated Katz’s tent. “That’s exactly the same tent.” She glanced at it again. “Whatever. How many miles did you do today?” “About ten.” Actually we had done eight point four, but this had included several formidable escarpments, including a notable wall of hell called Preaching Rock, the highest eminence since Springer Mountain, for which we had awarded ourselves bonus miles, for purposes of morale. “Ten miles? Is that all? You guys must be like really out of shape. I did fourteen-two.”