The way a journey is gone, to come to the point, is walking.  Asking many
folks' pardon, to tear through the air in an open car, deafened,
hilariously muddled by the rush and roar of wind, is to drive
observation from the mind: it is to be, in a manner, complacently,
intellectually unconscious; is to drink an enjoyment akin to that of
the shooters of the chute, or that got on the very latest of this sort
of engine of human amusement called the "Hully-Gee-Whizz," a pleasure
of the ignorant, metaphorically, a kind of innocents' rot-gut whiskey.
The way a journey is gone, which is walking, is a wine, a mellow
claret, stimulating to observation, to thought, to speculation, to the
flow of talk, gradually, decently warming the blood.  Rightly taken
(which manner this paper attempts to set forth), walking is among the
pleasures of the mind.  It is a call-boy to wit, a hand-maiden to
cultivation.  Sufficiently indulged in, it will make a man educated, a
wit, a poet, an ironist, a philosopher, a gentleman, a better Christian
(not to dwell upon improving his digestion and prolonging his life).
And, too, like true Shandyism "it opens the heart and the lungs."
Whoso hath ears, let him hear!  Once and for all, if the mad world did
but know it, the best, the most exquisite automobile is a
walking-stick; and one of the finest things in life is going a journey
with it. (pg. 14)

It is best to go a journey on a road that you do not know; on a road
that lures you on to peep over the crest of yonder hill, that ever
flees before you in a game of hide-and-seek, disappearing behind great,
jutting rocks and turns and trees, to leap out again at your approach
and laughingly, elusively, continually slip before you; a road that
winds anon where some roaring brook pours near by; a road that may
deceive you and trick you into miles out of your way. (pg. 16)

"Walking-Stick Papers" by Robert Cortes Holliday, 1918, Project Gutenburg

URL: http://www.gutenberg.org/catalog/world/readfile?fk_files=1492692&pageno=14