While kayaking the 341-mile Erie Canal from Buffalo to Albany a few years ago I spotted another paddler a mile or so away headed in my direction. Having encountered only one or two other kayaks nearly a week into what turned out to be an 11-day excursion, I looked forward to a rendezvous with a kindred spirit.

But as I held my course close to the bank I could see the approaching boat weaving back and forth. Hmm.

When the distance closed to 100 yards I could see the other paddler had no clear notion of how to steer, so I decided to initiate an evasive maneuver and swerved toward the middle of the 70-foot-wide-canal.

She veered the same way.

I swung back to my original heading; the woman flailed frantically at the water but somehow her bow spun toward mine as if it were a heat-seeking missile.

Back and forth she meandered, somehow covering my moves as we drew closer and closer.

Finally, I stopped paddling and positioned my paddle defensively.

“Look out!” I shouted.

“First time in a kayak! I can’t keep the damn thing straight!” she cried.

Wham!

“Sorry!” she spluttered, bouncing free and continuing her erratic course.

Just my luck, I thought, as she splashed away — the only other kayak for 100 miles and we hit each other.

Sometimes even one other person on the water or on the trail is too many.

Usually, though, it takes a mob to put a damper on things.

Last year about this time some friends and I hiked up Mount Monadnock in Jaffrey, N.H., and had the bad luck to pick the same day for our hike as more than 250 teenage boys from a nearby boarding school.

I remember standing for almost half an hour at one narrow section en route to the summit while the whole troupe marched past. It was like trying to pull onto the Long Island Expressway on a Fourth of July weekend.

On another occasion, while hiking the Long Trail in Vermont, my son and I staggered to a shelter after a 25-mile day in the rain and found it occupied by 30 boisterous Boy Scouts. That was a long night.

I’ve also shared tight quarters with a drunken mob of revelers who aptly called themselves “The Loud Crowd” while hiking Maine’s 100-Mile Wilderness trail.

I recall being mildly annoyed, but they certainly didn’t ruin everything. And now I can laugh about these experiences.

Usually, I enjoy company and don’t intentionally spend that much time alone in the woods or on the water. A few years ago, though, while spending a week as a winter caretaker at a tiny cabin in the White Mountains, several days passed without any visitors. I felt like Robinson Crusoe greeting Friday when the first guest clumped up the wooden stairs during a furious snowstorm late one afternoon.

I thought about that lonely week a few weeks ago while trekking through Times Square in midtown Manhattan on a Saturday night. Talk about a contrast!

I like to walk at a brisk pace, which of course is impossible on the sidewalks of New York City during holiday season.

Still, if I were Mayor Bill de Blasio I would institute some new rules for pedestrians.

Call me unromantic, but number one on my list would be to ban all hand-holding on busy sidewalks, except for parents accompanying toddlers. Better yet, make the parents carry the kids in backpacks.

Couples strolling hand-in-hand cause even more pedestrian congestion than hawkers handing out fliers, who would be number two on my list.

I also would reserve a fast lane for serious walkers and a slower one for window shoppers.

In addition, no texting while walking. I always fantasize watching a texting pedestrian, or one engrossed in a cellphone conversation, step into an open manhole.

My friend and former colleague Jenna Cho, who now lives and works in New York, prefers to get around on foot and shares my antipathy for interrupted perambulation — “especially when it’s a gaggle of children who are taking over the entire sidewalk with their stupid, cheerful skipping,” she complained the other day in an email.

A lot of people also behave like the wayward kayaker on the Erie Canal, weaving this way and that, even when sober. In these situations I turn into a halfback — not knocking people over, mind you, but maneuvering behind some sturdy blockers.

Come to think of it, that would be a great service, renting out two or three huge palookas to run interference while you enjoyed clear sailing. I guess celebrities who travel with posses have already figured that out.

Maybe I should bring my own posse into the woods in case I run into another 250 kids on a field trip.