The worrywarts tell us: never hike alone, but pretty much all of us do it probably most of the time, because it’s so much easier to just find your way to a trailhead and start walking than it is to attempt to find other people who want to go to the same place at the same time for the same distance at the same pace. Solo is like hiking itself: simple.

But there are times when you’re going to need to be with other people, like for instance, hiking at altitude on strange trails where getting lost or falling down a ravine could get you into deep doo-doo. That was my experience over the weekend, when I went out with some experienced backpackers to get a taste of Sierra air.

The camping was excellent — my companions were smart, funny and fun to be around — but the hiking was what I’ll call California-style, which is to say: the fast leave the slow in the dust. (In my case the fast were kind, and gave me many chances to catch up, but not all California-style hikers are so thoughtful). It’s a perfectly reasonable arrangement, because nobody is obliged to walk at somebody else’s pace, which is a drag. It’s just taking me longer than I expected to get used to it.

Ever since I learned to walk, I’ve been slow. In school I was always the last-place finisher, the last one picked, the one who lost every one-on-one athletic competition he ever entered. The great thing about graduating was: no more gym class humiliations.

So, after driving to the mountains with one’s fun, cheerful companions and seeing them promptly disappear up the trail, I was back in school again — the kid who couldn’t keep up. It’s a bit annoying to have this happen at the tender age of 44.

One thing I’ve noticed in my group-hiking travels is there are always the people who are happy with their pace, who realize it’s not a race, that there’s no hurry to get the hike over with. Someday I’m going to finally graduate from school and become one of them.