This was originally posted over at the
Woods, but since it concerns boots, I figure a repost would be in order, since a post here is usually good for a month or so anyways.:
Ever notice how often war movies focus on an infantryman's feet? Lieutenant Dan in Forrest Gump says, "It's pretty basic here. One item of G.I. gear that can mean the difference between a live grunt and a dead grunt- socks. Try and keep your feet dry. When you're out humping I want you boys to remember to change your socks whenever we stop. The Mekong will eat a grunt's feet right off his legs. . . . Take care of your feet."
I'm not a soldier, but I do see wisdom in these words. More in terms of boots then socks. One time when I was hitch-hiking I was forced to spend the night in a truckstop diner nursing a root beer, waiting for first light so I could get out on the highway again (I had tried to set up my tent but there was only mosquito-infested bog where I was at). Much later in the day, when it was quite warm out, I decided to change out of my boots and put on my sandals (also Merrells). My feet had been locked in my boots for over 24 hours, and I was startled to find that the skin on their undersides were all white and loosey-goosey, sort of like a big blister covering my entire foot, but not. They were fine, they just needed some air, but it was a powerful visual lesson on the importance of taking care of your feet.
Sadly, my Merrells, after nine years, are no longer fit for service; so I got new hiking boots yesterday, and retired (sniff) my trusty old clompers. My new boots are beautiful, however, and I am sure they will treat my feet just fine.
I took my old boots for one last farewell tour last night. Not really a true hike, though I spent the time in a nostalgic revery (why are you laughing at me?) And I decided to pretend that the familiar city sights I was walking past were in fact something more fantastic. Grant MacEwan College became the impregnable fortress of a mighty sorceror. The skating rink on 104th ave, with all its hoodoo-like snow piles outside, became the icy realm of frost-giants. The gothic cathedral just off Jasper was actually a Temple to that formidable God, the Ancient of Days. I came across a glowering dwarf who eyed me suspiciously, but I had no quarrel with him, though by no means did that make us friends. And I saw actual orcs! Others might have mistaken them for drunken frat boys, but I saw through their disguise.
It was a fitting last journey for my worthy old boots.
