Perhaps the appropriate verb is chosen for us by location or circumstance:
I’ve rambled on the Yorkshire Moors and tramped the Milford Track,
Hiked half the Appalachian, still hoping to go back.
I’ve trudged up half the Munros, been trekking in Nepal
Bushwalked in the Dandenongs where Kookaburras call
I’ve scrambled, slogged & struggled to Kokoda in the wet.
Once fifty miles in fifteen hours I stomped to win a bet
Paras tab and Royals yomp, to them I raise my hat,
And wistfully remember days when I was part of that.
I’ve clambered up and stumbled down some mighty peaks and fells.
Then wandered lonely as a cloud by nodding daffodils.
I’ve drifted, sauntered, ambled, strolled on many pilgrim roads
I’ve traipsed along without a care not noticing the load
For fifty years on ANZAC Day I’ve marched beside the blokes
To be in step behind a band still grabs me by the throat
Me encanta caminar. I hope I always will.
While legs and back can do their job and get me up that hill
What’s a word? It matters not. The essence is the same
Put one before another, then put it there again.
I’m the universal walker. I’m everyone who knows
The simple and unfettered joy of being on the road.
And when they ask how I’ll depart … as compost or as soot?
I might reply, “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll go on foot.”