Hikers, Not People: My Kind of Weekend

So, by now, it should be no surprise to you that I hate people... but I love hikers.

Hikers are people, I hear you say. Well shame on you... No, no they are not, actually. They are......forest-souled wanderers, forged by mud, sweat, and silence.

They don’t make small talk — they nod.

They don’t crowd your space — they step aside on narrow trails like civilized woodland monks.

They say “good morning” at 6 a.m. with zero irony and 100% sincerity.

People sip mimosas for brunch.

Hikers sip stream water and think brunch is a myth told by indoor people.

People are chaos in a shopping mall.

Hikers are serenity in damp socks.

People hoot. Hikers breathe.

They are not people. They are trail beings. They are an entirely different species, and thank the trail gods for that.

So normally, my weekend hike excitement kicks in around Wednesday. You know, once the hikes are locked in.

But this week? This week my excitement hit on Monday. Why? Because the plans weren’t just forming — they were multiplying.

Saturday hike? Locked.

Sunday hike? Yes please.

And the tribe? A spicy mix of battle-tested hiking pals, generously sprinkled with those “we should totally hike sometime!” social media pals who finally were to become real trail companions.

So yes — I’m booked. I’m busy.

With hikers. Not people.

Keep up... people. Not hikers.