Å spurte langs sjøen i over tretti plussgrader i raskt tempo, tar en (tenkt rask) avstikker inn i en krattskog fordi man er så teit at man ikke følger regel nummer 1: Følg alltid stien. Etter en god stund snubler ut av allverdens krattskog med opprevet hud på armer og ben til blods, og finner stien atter igjen. Fyller opp vannflasken på en lokal strandbar, og retter nesen igjen hjemmover i brennende varme. Snubler slukøret ved leid hus noen timer senere, smører seg inn med Aloe Vera på alle skrubbsår og kaster seg i bassenget. Hva har man lært? FØLG STIEN!
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.