Maybe it's the nice almost-spring weather. Could be the winter that never quite was.

Whatever the case, I'm ready for hiking season.

I know, I know, hiking season never really ends (especially this year).

But I'm itching for hiking season.

You know, shorts and T-shirt, light hikers on the feet, sun and blue skies and 70 degrees.

That hiking season.

There's still a few more ski runs to be taken. And there's Reggae Weekend and all that good stuff. Good fun, no doubt.

But it's the hiking I want now. Bad. And I'm ready to jump into it like I can't remember.

How about you? You ready to hit the trail?

It probably hasn't helped one damn bit that I've been reading about the 5,000-plus mile hiking odyssey of Nimblewill Nomad on the Eastern Continental Trail, a contrived route that takes in the International Appalachian Trail, the Appalachian Trail, the Florida Trail and a few other shorter trails on its way from Newfoundland to Key West.

Can't imagine that's had any effect at all. You think?

Old Nomad is quite the storyteller for sure, and not a bad poet either. Here's just one of his inspirational poems from Where Less the Path is Worn that's really got me going:

Here's to all hearts of that cold, lonesome track,
To the life of the wanderlust, free.
To all who have gone and have never come back,
Here's a tribute to you and me.

With our feet in the dirt, we're the grit of earth,
Heads a-ridin' the heavens o'erhead.
And they won't find a nickel of value or worth,
When our fortunes are tallied and read.

But no richer has there ever been known,
Since the times of all ruin and wrack,
Than those of us lost to the dust outward blown,
Who have gone and have never come back.

--Nimblewill Nomad

Your words are beautiful and true, Nomad. Like others, I've gone too, and have never fully returned. The trail does that.

Carry on, my good man. Carry on.