hike. just hike.
At the opening the narrator cites Walt Whitman’s claim that once business, politics, love and other human pursuits are exhausted, only nature remains, and argues that walking is the most direct way to reconnect with our “big bold true nature.” She describes how upright walking shaped human sentience and frames hiking as a return to that original mode of being.
She continues with a metaphorical “elephant on our laps” to remind readers that the planet’s life is at risk, and presents walking‑in‑nature (biophilia) as an eco‑activist tool that counters neoliberal acceleration. Historical references follow: the 19th‑century flâneur in Paris, Nietzsche and Heidi in the Alps, Wordsworth in the Lake District, Thoreau, Whitman, and Muir as anti‑capitalist naturalists. The narrator calls walking a “deviant act” that corrects a system that “rapes and pillages the planet.”
Adam Gopnik’s description of Manhattan walking as an expansion toward an “American Over‑Soul” is quoted, then the narrator recounts a personal lesson from Helen Gurley Brown (her mentor) who, in a Central Park‑side penthouse, urged her “Don’t stop walking” and to zig‑zag the city grid. The anecdote illustrates the freedom of foot‑based travel versus scheduled transport. The text then lists numerous protest walks—Jesus, Gandhi, MLK, 2019 UK climate emergency protests, global school strikes—showing walking’s historical role in dissent.
The narrator shares a vivid personal memory of taking three misfit friends on a scorching hike, describing each friend’s appearance and later outcomes (Jeremy joining the circus, the others fading from view). She uses this to illustrate how “bludgeoning enthusiasm” and social media curation can spread hiking culture, but argues that data and science are more persuasive.
The practical guide begins: the narrator prefers “train‑hike‑train” circuits, describing the ritual of buying coffee in a glass jar to sip on the train, then arriving “planted in a meditative, open space.” She describes ultra‑light packing—using a DIY bra to hold a credit card, train card and phone, occasionally a KeepCup or pocket‑wear. For short loops she pre‑hydrates, leaves the bottle in a bush to refill on return, and sources water from garden taps near stations. She cites Bruce Chatwin’s minimalism (a fountain pen) and Pico Iyer’s “what I don’t want” mantra.
When hiking for several days she recommends watching packing videos, discarding non‑essentials (multiple underwear, deodorant, toothpaste) and questioning the need for a map. She downloads routes, takes screenshots, but sometimes navigates by intuition, noting a Swedish Karolinska Institute study that spatial exertion reinforces self‑knowledge. She quotes Robert Louis Stevenson on map‑less freedom and introduces “desire lines” as collective disobedient paths, citing an Australian university study.
The narrator switches her phone to airplane mode to preserve battery, avoid EMF, and sanctify the experience, limiting photos to post‑hike upload. She describes the physical sensation of starting a walk—stiff joints, “bones wobbling,” then after twenty minutes the “joints lubricate” and a calming physiological shift occurs. She references grounding theory (earth electrons as antioxidants) and studies on negative ions near water improving mood. After forty‑to‑sixty minutes, “wild day‑dreamy thoughts” replace swirling mental chatter; she sometimes back‑tracks these thoughts as a therapeutic game.
She connects walking to creative problem‑solving, citing Steve Jobs, Mark Zuckerberg, Jack Dorsey’s walking meetings, and classic writers (Woolf, Hemingway, Dickens, Miller) who wrote while walking. A 2014 Stanford study is quoted showing a 60 % boost in creativity while walking, especially near trees, and other research is listed (hippocampal growth, BDNF, VEGF, reduced subgenual prefrontal activity).
Personal mental‑health anecdotes follow: the narrator (who has bipolar disorder and gut issues) explains that rhythmic walking orders tangled thoughts, preventing avalanches of anxiety. She notes Finnish public‑health guidance of five hours of forest time monthly to combat depression, U.S. programs for ADHD children and PTSD veterans, and John Bowlby’s infant‑carrying findings that certain walking speeds calm babies. She ties walking speed to mood regulation, describing how brisk pacing lifts spirits.
Post‑hike rituals are described: lying on the ground to “marinate,” then eating a packet of chips on a train platform, recalling vivid meals from past hikes, and quoting Mary French Kennedy Fisher’s Strasbourg beer‑hall Sunday walk‑then‑meal ritual. The chapter ends with Sylvain Tesson’s line that life needs sunshine, a view, and legs aching from walking, framing walking as an essential, “perilous and interesting” way of living.