The Urban Trekker

The last time I bought hiking boots was about 12 years ago, when I was in my 20's, doing a lot of serious hiking.  It occurs to me, that the acquaintances who have come to know me since that time may not have an accurate picture of me when I say I was doing some serious hiking.  So, for those of you who did not know me then, by serious hiking, I mean the kind of hiking you do where you carry everything on your back, dig a hole for your own waste and do not shower for 3-5 days as you explore the wilderness in places like Glacier Bay where the boat drops you off by pulling up to shore, throwing a ladder over the side and tossing your pack down to you.  That kind of serious hiking.

This past weekend, I dug my hiking boots out of the back of my closet, which, to be honest, is where they spend most of their time these days.   Hurricane Sandy necessitated this expedition since the majority of use I get out of the boots these days is to keep my feet warm and dry during rain and snow storms.  The boots, surprisingly, even after what I was shocked to remember as 12 years, still remained in phenomenal shape.  

I should take a moment to mention the significance of the accomplishment acquiring these boots was.  My first pair of hiking boots was an inexpensive, generic brand that carried me through the early days of my hiking as a camp counselor in upstate New York.  They were a sky blue, nylon pair we had purchased from a discount shoe warehouse.  They were functional and supportive but I envied the other counselors who had the elegant leather boots that stayed dry, didn't show the cracked and dried mud caked to the sides and bottom of the boot and had contrasting red laces that crisscrossed up to a decent height at the ankle instead of as high as a flapper boot.  I had these boots forever.  Until, several years after I started working when I could finally afford a new pair.  I, of course, when straight to the holy grail of camping equipment, L.L.Bean and  purchased a pair of boots that most resembled what I had coveted all those years, the Super Expedition III's,  a boot for serious hikers.  Boots that reflected the intersection of my youth, autonomy and self-sufficiency.

Then, I moved to Northern Virginia, got a time-consuming promotion, married my husband and had a baby.  The boots migrated to the back of the closet.  Except on the rare occasions when there was a weather event like the great snowstorms of 2010 or Hurricane Sandy this past weekend.  

Which brings me to this past weekend when I dug my boots out of the back of my closet to keep my feet warm and dry as we braved the hurricane force wind and rain to hike the aisles and hunt the shelves for any remaining bread and milk at Giant.  As I was traversing up and down aisle 10, where there had apparently been some sort of vicious attack on the potato chips, I stepped right out of the sole of one of my boots.  It flapped at first, snapping back quickly with a loud crack and then came right off in one whole piece.  I shouted to David.  This was impossible.  These boots were L.L.Bean.  L.L. Bean is quality.  L.L.Bean has a lifetime guarantee.  

That is when it struck me.  L.L.Bean has a lifetime guarantee.  We have an L.L.Bean store.  So the next day, despite the weatherman's desperate pleas for  everyone to stay home and avoid unnecessary travel, we drove up to the mall to exchange the boots because of course, I am a Serious Hiker, one that braves the elements.  In the shoe department, the kind man who, had himself braved the Hurricane to get to work, was sympathetic and apologetic taking the shoes in his hands.  He admired them, turning them back and forth and around as he examined them carefully, finally pronouncing, "Yes, these look like an early model of the Super Expedition III.  These boots are for serious hikers.  These are the boots they take up Everest."  I smiled smugly, trying not as hard as perhaps I should have to conceal my conceit.  Then he said, "Let me see if I can find you something that will work for you today," and he disappeared into the back.  

Meanwhile, I piled my coat and bags into the stroller the total sum of our gear and equipment being spread across three of the four benches in the store while David and his father chased Emily around.  Prying her off and out of such fascinating things as the heavy sock basket for trying on boots. It wasn't long before the gentleman reappeared with two boxes.  One suspiciously smaller than the other.  The suspicious one, the one on top, was the one he opened first, pulling out a compellingly attractive low-ankled peet colored boot that he called the Urban Trekker.  "This is the Urban Trekker," he said, "Good for walking on pavement and short day hikes."  I was, curiously, simultaneously offended and intrigued.  The Urban Trekker, you say?  Clearly not a boot for a Serious Hiker.  Good for walking on pavement and short day hikes, you say?  In fact, I do walk a lot on pavement.  "Are they waterproof?" I asked reflexively as my only line of defense.  "Yes," he said.  "Do I have to treat them or are they already treated?" I asked desperately clinging to my denial with the only line of reasoning that had any potential to invalidate the boots' practicality in my life.  "They are already treated, you don't have to do anything."  

So, I settled myself down to try them on.  The Urban Trekker, not a boot for the Serious Hiker.  As I pulled them out of the box, the gentleman went on to say that one of the features of this boot was the "easy lace-up" which meant there was only one set of hooks you had to cross the laces under.  A non-hiking, hiking boot, I thought skeptically. Until I tried the easy lace-up.  How fast that was!  I could tie my shoe and chase a toddler out the door into the driveway before she hits the street.  Then, I stood up.  And it felt like I was walking on clouds.  Was there even a floor below me? The last shred of my opposition crumbled and I knew these boots would work for me.  

Which was really what the Urban Trekker is about.  The harsh reality that I have aged past the identity I still cling to.  It's embarrassing to be made aware of this by a hiking boot.  Not accidental nudity kind of embarrassing, but more like realizing you are too old to be shopping in the juniors section at Macy's kind of embarrassing.  It made me wonder how I had gotten from Serious Hiker to Urban Trekker without noticing.  It made me think about the short decade long journey that it was.  It made me grapple with accepting who I am means something to do with embracing experiences beyond my control.  

Nonetheless, upon arriving at home, I resisted the Urban Trekkers, banishing them to the floor in a corner of my bedroom, not taking them out of the box.  Until, we were putting Emily in her costume for Halloween and getting ready to walk the pavement to trick-or-treat.  In the spirit of the holiday, I went upstairs and returned in my own costume, the Urban Trekker formerly known as a Serious Hiker.