This is a throwback to '09.
I was recently digging through my closet and came across a few old banged up pairs of shoes that I'll never get rid of: the lime green Solomon's I started the AT in, my Keen Voyager boots I summited Katahdin in, and my camp shoes, a black pair of Crocs.
My Solomons served me (semi) well for 747 miles—I hiked from Springer Mountain to Jennings Creek, Virginia in them. They saw me through the wicked snow storm going into Erwin, Tennessee, when I woke up to find them snow-filled and frozen. They saw the sunset on Max Patch, which was a particularly hard day for me, and Rockets birthday party in the Smokies. They saw the hellacious descent into the NOC, and a little swinging on the Keffer Oak tree. They were on my feet when I climbed on the roof of the abandoned school bus in a large, grassy field. And, my favorite hitch ever in a red 90's convertible Mustang, driven by Annette, the angry man-hater.
And then there were a few other pairs in between that made their way to the garbage, and were likely considered toxic waste (the smell was unreal). One was the affectionately named Blue-Light Specials from K-Mart. They only lasted a few hundred miles.
After my first pair of Keens fell victim to Pennsylvania's rocks, they were in dire need of replacing, but not before I put a few hundred more miles on those beaters. My final pair saw 647 miles from Massachusetts to Maine. I wore them through massive, stagnant-watery mud pits, having to outrun mosquitoes by the masses. I outran a zillion storms, nearly getting stuck by lightening a few of times (Ok, that could potentially be a slight exaggeration, but lightening was often striking dangerously close, and more than once we just so happened to be crossing under power lines). They saw the most astounding sunrise on Jo-Mary Lake, and scaled the rock slabs of the White Mountains. They tore up my feet going up Killington Mountain, but ran me down the other side towards cheese burgers and beer. They were on my feet when I befriended Alice the pig, after eating a gigantic bowl of ice cream, and then later juggled apples at the local country store. And then saw me through the proudest moment of my life, reaching the summit of Mount Katahdin.
Every shoe tells a story. What do yours tell?
I was recently digging through my closet and came across a few old banged up pairs of shoes that I'll never get rid of: the lime green Solomon's I started the AT in, my Keen Voyager boots I summited Katahdin in, and my camp shoes, a black pair of Crocs.
My Solomons served me (semi) well for 747 miles—I hiked from Springer Mountain to Jennings Creek, Virginia in them. They saw me through the wicked snow storm going into Erwin, Tennessee, when I woke up to find them snow-filled and frozen. They saw the sunset on Max Patch, which was a particularly hard day for me, and Rockets birthday party in the Smokies. They saw the hellacious descent into the NOC, and a little swinging on the Keffer Oak tree. They were on my feet when I climbed on the roof of the abandoned school bus in a large, grassy field. And, my favorite hitch ever in a red 90's convertible Mustang, driven by Annette, the angry man-hater.
After my first pair of Keens fell victim to Pennsylvania's rocks, they were in dire need of replacing, but not before I put a few hundred more miles on those beaters. My final pair saw 647 miles from Massachusetts to Maine. I wore them through massive, stagnant-watery mud pits, having to outrun mosquitoes by the masses. I outran a zillion storms, nearly getting stuck by lightening a few of times (Ok, that could potentially be a slight exaggeration, but lightening was often striking dangerously close, and more than once we just so happened to be crossing under power lines). They saw the most astounding sunrise on Jo-Mary Lake, and scaled the rock slabs of the White Mountains. They tore up my feet going up Killington Mountain, but ran me down the other side towards cheese burgers and beer. They were on my feet when I befriended Alice the pig, after eating a gigantic bowl of ice cream, and then later juggled apples at the local country store. And then saw me through the proudest moment of my life, reaching the summit of Mount Katahdin.
But wait, what about the horrifically hideous Crocs that provided my feet with sweet, sweet relief at the end of each day? The front of them were melted to a crisp from the countless campfires I burned them on, trying to warm my feet on frigid nights. These gems hung on the outside of my pack for all 2,178.3 miles, so they've seen it all, even a few miles of trail when my feet were falling apart in Virginia. My Crocs still accompany me on each of my backpacking adventures.
Dude I could write a book on the stories my shoes could tell... Love the post storm!
ReplyDeleteOde to a shoe! I love it. Beautifully written. You've accomplished such amazing things.
ReplyDeleteI have to agree with Jonathan's post...beautifully written! Ode to shoes! Those shoes took you to amazing places! "Oh, the Places You'll Go!"
ReplyDelete