The Middle-Aged Hiker

Foreword

Hi. My name is Dennis and this is my name tag. And here is Stevie, here is David, and here is Susan. We've done hiking, but it's not what we do, if you get my drift. Susan makes pottery things, David writes notes and words, Stevie delivers babies. Oh yes. I write note and word stuff too. We're all middle-aged and not especially athletic. Nice to meet you.

Enough pleasantries. Read this book. Take the serious stuff seriously, and all the rest you can pro-rate against the price when you try to return it to the bookseller.

Our advice: Leave your beer cans at home, don't think you're better than the world around you, learn what silence is, and pack out all your trash. Never overestimate yourself, and if you're one of those people who gets lost but won't stop the car to ask for directions, stay home. If you still get lost after you've asked, come ahead. Arrogance and stupidity might kill you, but--take it from us--klutziness won't.

Now it's true we've done some bad things ourselves--ending up at the wrong campsite, hauling insufficient water, ignoring a bit of bureaucracy, getting behind our permit's schedule. We try to be good, although we blow it at sort of an average-person rate ... but we're going to tell you about it, unlike other hikers. Can you really believe everyone who writes a hiking guide is holy? We can't. We know better. There's a tendency for hikers to exude a sense of stoicism and to imply that their desert hiking is a kind of victory over the elements, to point to their survival as an achievement. Though over the years we've taken some pride in our growing confidence and strength, we are not drawn to the desert as conquerors, except of our own fears.

Something else. Folks who have read parts of this book have commented that it sounds like we hate the labors of hiking, so why do we do it? That's the wrong impression, but we don't know quite how to give the right one. What's difficult is the inexpressible beauty we discovered and self-restoration it provided--what's easy are the complaints. (They're also funnier). So we leave it to you to muse over the beautiful Canyon photos and essays and poetry and paintings. You shouldn't go inside unless you really want to. And if you still want to after reading our journals, well, you're braver than we are.

Above all, never rush Nature. She'll slow you down just enough, but, lest you later regret what you miss, find her rhythm and hike within it.

Central Vermont, 1993

Disclaimer: If you do it, we didn't tell you, okay? Seriously, this is a book about experiences, and is not intended as a guide to, among other things, specific locations, directions, supplies, activities, techniques, procedures, or recommendations. No one can make a judgment about your abilities except you. All hiking is dangerous to the underprepared, fatal to the stupid. This book is strictly informational in nature, and neither the authors, nor the publisher, nor the distributors of this book can accept responsibility for what you do with the material we present here. Be careful there. (Heck, be careful anyway.)

All trademarks and service marks mentioned in The Middle-Aged Hiker are the property of their respective owners, and should not be construed generically, whatever that means, and whether we mean it or not.

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