I've been doing a lot of hiking, which I love
My schedulers keep getting driven crazy by the fact that they can't fit hikes in my schedule.
I'm simple. I love hiking, going to the gym, doing some simple stuff. I love being outdoors, I love bike riding. Just stuff that's fun!
Some do not walk at all; others walk in the highways; a few walk across lots.
I say we are climbing out of a ditch and we are climbing up.
Vice President Cheney is also on vacation. He's in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. What better place for a guy who has had 4 heart attacks than a place with thin air, rugged hiking and all-beef dinners? Why don't they get some snow for him to shovel while he's out there, too?
I love to exercise outside in the fresh air and sun: hiking, swimming, stand-up paddleboarding, and jogging.
Doubly happy, however, is the man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach.
If thy heart fails thee, climb not at all.
Our philosophies must be rewritten to remove them from the domain of words and "ideas," and to plant their roots firmly in the earth.
The great thing about rock-n-roll is you realize the top of the mountain is big enough for more than one band.
Walking. . . is how the body measures itself against the earth.
Walking I am unbound, and find that precious unity of life and imagination, that silent outgoing self, which is so easy to loose, but which a high moments seems to start up again from the deepest rhythms of my own body. How often have I had this longing for an infinite walk - of going unimpeded, until the movement of my body as I walk fell into the flight of streets under my feet - until I in my body and the world in its skin of earth were blended into a single act of knowing.
We do not go to the green woods and crystal waters to rough it, we go to smooth it. We get it rough enough at home, in towns and cities.
Midwest kids got to summer camp. There is something very special about being away from your parents for the first time, sleeping under the stars, hiking and canoeing.
A vagrant is everywhere at home.
A week of sweeping fogs has passed over and given me a strange sense of exile and desolation. I walk round the island nearly every day, yet I can see nothing anywhere but a mass of wet rock, a strip of surf, and then a tumult of waves.
I see my path, but I don't know where it leads. Not knowing where I'm going is what inspires me to travel it.
Hiking up a hill is an ass kicker, going downhill is a little easier.
That's what I liked about hitch-hiking. If a crowd wasn't big enough, I kept walkin. '