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

by Bill Bryson

Finally, this being America, there is the constant possibility of murder.

literaly at any point

What on earth would I do if four bears came into my camp? Why, I would die, of course. Literally shit myself lifeless. I would blow my sphincter out my backside like one of those unrolling paper streamers you get at children’s parties—I daresay it would even give a merry toot—and bleed to a messy death in my sleeping bag.

In fact, mostly what the Forest Service does is build roads. I am not kidding. There are 378,000 miles of roads in America’s national forests. That may seem a meaningless figure, but look at it this way—it is eight times the total mileage of America’s interstate highway system.

If there is one thing the AT teaches, it is low-level ecstasy—something we could all do with more of in our lives.

Yet Shenandoah, despite its perennial want of money, found the funds to post a warden at each AT access point to turn back all thru-hikers.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Katz said implacably. “What do you mean you’ll cross that bridge? We’re on the bridge, you moron. There’s a bear out here, for Christ sake. He’s looking at us. He smells noodles and Snickers and—oh, shit.” “What?” “Oh. Shit.” “What?” “There’s two of them. I can see another pair of eyes.” Just then, the flashlight battery started to go. The light flickered and then vanished. I scampered into my tent, stabbing myself lightly but hysterically in the thigh as I went, and began a quietly frantic search for spare batteries. If I were a bear, this would be the moment I would choose to lunge. “Well, I’m going to sleep,” Katz announced. “What are you talking about? You can’t go to sleep.”

I aspire to be like Krantz in life or death situations

“Sure I can. I’ve done it lots of times.” There was the sound of him rolling over and a series of snuffling noises, not unlike those of the creature outside.