On their first break, at the damn where a few trails converge, where a woman with buggy-blue eyes and pale skin cooks on a tiny stove while looking up at small brown birds circuiting from a tree out and over a lake, Jack eats a Chewy Low Fat S'mores Bar and an apple. Chet also eats a Chewy Low Fat S'mores Bar. He leans on a metal railing which hikers used to hang bear bags on before bears became too smart and hoisted them up. Then humans became smarter and invented bear canisters and mandated them. The woman with buggy-blue eyes sat on her bear canister. Jack checks his map. A man hiker approaches and asks Chet if they are from Brooklyn. The man hiker lives near Jack in Brooklyn. The man hiker talks about some stuff he did yesterday in the Adirondacks with his wife, whom stayed at the rented cabin while the man hiker 'bags' Algonquin Mountain. Chet says, "Biked sixty miles my ass," later when they are discussing the man hiker. They laugh at the idea of the man hiker, his highway enthusiasm, his middle-aged 'man on the move' groove. At the next fork, after Marcy Damn, they take another break, for water this time and the man hiker comes down the right prong of the fork, backtracking, looking lost, touching his sweaty red bandanna and furrowing his brow. Jack reassures him of the correct direction. The man hiker tells them about a hard to find trail to a lookout you can find descending Marcy from the south going north. Then he goes down the trail with his large calve muscles dimpling like a stupid chicken, one that feathered itself and ripped its own wings off before signing up for slaughter. Later, when Jack and Chet are hiking a steep rocky trail for the first time in the trip, they joke that the man hiker is about to fall, tumbling from the wooded hill to their left and onto the trail, brush himself off and ask to hike with them, presumptuously and doofus-ly.