A Walk in the Woods

He seemed unusually, almost exaggeratedly, energized, and gave me an impetuous tickle
from behind as he passed, which was out of character.
"You all right?" I said.
"Never been better, my old mountain companion, never been better."
We were joined by two others, a sweetly hesitant and wholesome-looking young
couple, both tanned and fit and also very clean. Katz and I welcomed them with smiles
and started to pitch in, then paused and put back the bowls when we realized the couple
were mumbling grace. This seemed to go on forever. Then we pitched in again.
The food was terrific. Keith acted as waiter and was most insistent that we eat plenty.
"Dog'll eat it if you don't," he said. I was happy to let the dog starve.
The young couple were thru-hikers, from Indiana. They had started at Springer on the
28th of March--a date that seemed impossibly snow-flecked and distant now in the full
heat of an August evening--and had hiked continuously for 141 days. They had completed
2,045.5 miles. They had 114.9 miles to go.
"So you've nearly done it, huh?" I said, a trifle inanely but just trying to make
conversation.
"Yes," said the girl. She said it slowly, as two syllables, as if it hadn't previously
occurred to her. There was something serenely mindless in her manner.
"Did you ever feel like giving up?"
The girl thought for a moment. "No," she said simply.
"Really?" I found this amazing. "Did you never think, 'Jeez> this is too much. I don't
know that I want to go through with this'?"
She thought again, with an air of encroaching panic. These were obviously questions
that had never penetrated her skull.
Her partner came to her rescue. "We had a couple of low moments in the early
phases," he said, "but we put our faith in the Lord and His will prevailed."
"Praise Jesus," whispered the girl, almost inaudibly.
"Ah," I said, and made a mental note to lock my door when I went to bed.
"And God bless Allah for the mashed potatoes!" said Katz happily and reached for the
bowl for the third time.
After dinner, Katz and I strolled to a general store up the road to get supplies for the
Hundred Mile Wilderness, which we would start in the morning. He seemed odd in the
grocery store--cheerful enough, but distracted and restless. We were supposed to be
stocking up for ten days in the wilds--a fairly serious business-- but he seemed unwilling
to focus, and kept wandering off or picking up inappropriate things like chili sauce and
can openers.
"Hey, let's get a six-pack," he said suddenly, in a party voice.
"Come on, Stephen, get serious," I said. I was looking at cheeses.
"I am serious."
"Do you want cheddar or Colby?"
"Whatever." He wandered off to the beer cooler and came back carrying a six-pack of
Budweiser.
"Hey, whaddaya say to a six-pack, bud--a six-pack of Bud, bud?" He nudged me in the
ribs to emphasize the joke.