Okay, so after much deliberation, maybe I shouldn’t try to hike across America. But I still want to hike the Appalachian Trail; that’s almost 2,200 miles from Maine to Georgia. But according to this guide, you know a publication that most sane people would use and commit to memory, I need to be able to carry at least 22 to 25 pounds on my back for 8 hours a day or something like that, blah blah blah. I got tired of carrying my water bottle with me in the woods, and have taken to leaving it at home. *sigh* This does not bode well. Why did I learn to read? Shoot, ignorance was bliss.
Couldn’t I just stuff my socks and bra with beef jerky and peanuts? I do have a water tote that’s like a back pack. I can’t remember the name of it right now but I think it holds two liters, which is what they say I’ll need each day. And carrying my own bed, well, I was just planning on flirting and sharing somebody else’s bed. What? Is that wrong? I mean, I don’t want to carry one. That seems hard. This was supposed to be a fun trip, not manual labor. 😛 I can’t even tell if I’m being facetious or for real. I’m starting to sweat typing this.
Damn. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, isn’t it? Stupid hard work. Now I need a gym membership. Thank goodness they’re building one right across the street from where I live. Training, carrying stuff…hmmm, maybe I should get a mule instead of an alligator. The mule could carry stuff, and potentially me. Oh snap! Wait, am I allowed to have a mule or is that cheating? How about a Red Ryder wagon, with a long handle? That seems fair. If I were in Switzerland, I’d get a St. Bernard with a keg, right?
I’ve got to stop reading stuff.