I made it! I conquered the fickle overlord of nature to return victorious and consume mass quantities of seared cow. As I sat laughing at the defeated Appalachian trail, I reflected over my day’s journey…such an uncontested victory had ne’er been seen since Harun-al-Rashid smacked around the Byzantine dogs:
*Unlike my fellow travelers, I snuck up on the Trail entrance unawares by means of a 7′ tall culvert. Also, I’m the only one who ended up starting with wet feet.
*Scanning the forest as I walked, I soon found many areas acceptable for fortification, should the need arise, say, during a military attack on the greater Bangor area. I also found which leaves and berries are edible so I could outlast the imperialistic curs while using guerrilla tactics.
*I alone crossed the fallen log at the old dam Caer Banorg (name changed to protect the stash of beef jerkey I left in case of emergency retreat).
*I, with only one other person, braved the ravages of Big Niagra to explore the wonder of Rock Island. The other person I shoved over the sheer drop into the fall’s pounding waves so I could boldly declare my self King of the Mountain.
*My personal trail mix alone contained gummy bears, necessary for outdoor survival for any appreciable length of time. If I had run out, my itinerary did include plans for eating the weaker members of my hiking party, though I suspect their meat was too marbled to make a decent steak.
*I finished with a forced march at military cadence during pounding thunderstorms that left me soaked straight through, but my impressive foresight saved the day as I accessed my…dry socks.
Yes, I left the Appalachian Trail weeping a bitter Trail of Tears that fateful day. My blisters will heal, but the Trails pride is broken for good.