Footloose

9/13/09 Pair of L.L. Bean hiking shoes, trashed

Editor's Note: This is the third and final installment of my "Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike 10-Year Anniversary" trilogy.

Hiking gear is paradoxical. On the one hand, I consider myself a total gear-hound. I love cool backpacking gadgets and new, high-tech solutions to the challenges man has faced in the outdoors for hundreds of thousands of years. Set me loose in any outfitter, and I can kill hours examining the capacity/weight ratio of packs or comparing the merits of water purifiers.

On the other hand, there's nothing like well-worn, wilderness-tested gear. My MSR WhisperLite stove is seventeen years old and works as well as it did the day I bought it. If necessary, I can field-strip the entire contraption, fix any problem, and reassemble it in the pouring rain in plenty of time to boil Ramen for dinner. New is cool, but old is even better as long as it still serves its purpose.

Today I finally had to admit that my most recent hiking shoes could no longer serve their purpose. They were ready for retirement. In the trash can. Those shoes got me up and down Mt. Katahdin yesterday (here's the Downsizing post, in case you missed it), but they are ripped, worn, and seriously stinky.

The trouble is, I'm notoriously bad about throwing away old hiking shoes, and terribly reluctant to spend more money on new ones. I long ago realized that I preferred lightweight, low ankle hiking shoes to traditional hiking boots. They are lighter, more comfortable, more versatile, and - yeah - cheaper. But, while a solid pair of hiking boots can last a decade or more, hiking shoes give up the ghost much quicker.

Yesterday's hike was an appropriate and glorious final act for my current pair of shoes, so I took them to the dump with me this morning. This has left me completely without a set of hiking shoes - a situation which would have totally prevented me from throwing them out in the days before this challenge.

However, I can now see that one great advantage of the Downsizing Challenge is that it brings needs clearly into focus. While I've needed new hiking shoes for over a year, I didn't come to grips with that fact because I could see my old pair sitting at the foot of the stairs, available for use. Now, that floor-space is empty, and my need is as obvious and ugly as my bare feet.

Ooohhh, I'm going to have some fun next time I go into L.L. Bean...