Best foot forward

Vibram - the first lugged rubber sole

I have spent large swaths of my life walking in the Shenandoah Mountains. I have done it in sneakers, in cheap work boots I bought at the hardware store and in hand-made Italian hiking boots. And to some degree or another, my feet have always suffered. But never have I known podiatrical misery like that I experienced last year when accompanying my brother on a hunting trip up Paddy Mountain in Shenandoah County, Va.

Walking on Paddy Mountain means either scrambling over rocky scree fields or bushwhacking through dense stands of knotty, iron wooded mountain laurel. Ascents are steep and descents are brutal on battered soles; bruised toes jammed into the fore ends of even your good old hiking boots and ankles mercilessly assaulted by the wobble of teetering stones. After a single day I realized that if I was going to spend more time traipsing around Paddy Mountain, especially in cold weather, which seems likely given a recently rekindled interest in spending time in the woods and having access to a cabin abutting one million acres of National Forest, I was going to need a new pair of boots.

The hunters down on Bonnet Hill Road all seem to wear similar 9" huntin' boots. Once you get 'em started on the topic, each will regale you with details of their preferred footwear. Mostly they seem settled on pretty standard boots by Irish Setter and Rocky. Of course what passes for standard these days is pretty high tech. All seem to have intricately interlocked panels, some mixing various fabrics with leather and other space age synthetic materials. The soles look like they could only have been designed by a computer, displaying swooping organic H. R. Giger patterns that wrap up and around the toes. Each man thinks he has the best pair of boots, but they all insist that the real trick is wearing extremely heavy socks in them.

My uncle, who has spent his life hunting in these mountains and who is partner in a hunting club at the base of Paddy Mountain, gave me a couple pair of thick wool socks he insists are the absolute standard of what hunters should wear. These things were huge! Not just that they were a larger shoe size than I wear, but huge in every respect: thick rag wool that came up nearly to my knee, a gigantic red elastic band at the top. They seemed more like some kind of leg warmer an Inuit ballerina might wear or something you might see a Japanese schoolgirl wearing. (Thought: Inuit Ballerina - great name for a band). It seems to me that if you have to wear a gigantic blanket inside your boots to keep your feet warm and pad them from the abuse of actually walking in them, maybe you have the wrong boots.

Chippewa Arctic 50 boots. The best. By far.

Now my brother, a Master Electrician and life-long outdoors-man swears by Chippewa boots, and in particular has been trying to persuade me that the only pair of boots worth wearing on the mountain are the Arctic 50's. They're lined with genuine lamb shearling, a 1/4 inch wool felt insole and a classic Norwegian welt Vibram sole. Old school. Classic. American made boots that have been made pretty much the same way forever. After my day out with him last November I came right home and placed my order on Amazon, but when they came in they were extremely narrow, a bit short and just as heavy and stiff as you could want them to be. I wanted to like them, but I could tell they were not a good fit, so back they went. I couldn't exchange them because at the time Amazon didn't have the next size up and I didn't want to play the back and forth game until I got the fit right. I really wanted to try on different sizes until I found one that fit right. But I couldn't find a retailer in the area that carried them, so I despaired.

Lamb shearling lining and wool felt insoles - what a lovely combination.
And yes, those are little American Flags on the laces. 

Then last month I got back to the mountain and spent some time exploring in my trusty old Timberland Euro Hikers. I love these boots and have had them since about 1995. But man, a couple of hours on Paddy Mountain once again reinforced my need to get a new pair of foot armor. Now as it happened I ran into my brother up around Chester Gap just a few days later and he mentioned that he had just bought himself a new pair of Arctic 50's down at Alvin Stokes General Store in Front Royal. The next thing I knew, I was down at the General Store trying on not my customary 9 1/2 D but a 10 1/2 E. Yes, the Arctic 50's seem to run a bit small. But once I got my feet in to the 10 1/2 I could tell they were going to work out. I was worried a bit by the boots' height, since I'm not used to walking with a collar that high up my shin, but the shearling lining and the thick felt foot bed provided instant assurance that these were boots I could walk and stand in all day, even in the sub-zero cold, even over the broken surface of Paddy Mountain. And I don't need unnaturally thick socks either to keep my feet warm or to provide cushioning.

I know better than to recommend a boot to somebody. Like a bicycle saddle or a toothbrush, some things are just too personal. But if you're in the market for a stout pair of hunting boots, and you're fond of traditional, high quality American craftsmanship, you might just want to stop down to the Stokes General Store and try on a pair of Chippewas. If you like 'em, you'll save money - Stokes undercuts the nearest competitors I can find by at least $25 - and if you don't, well they sell a lot of other brands you might just like. Plus you can pick up some ammo and some beef jerky while you're there.

I think that I shall never see...

With apologies to Mr. Kilmer

Autumn arrived this past weekend. With the exception of the Ginkgoes, most of the yellows have faded to gold. The reds are just passing from their lurid crimson fury to a deep dark magenta. Vibrancy is mellowing to calm loamy earth tones as the world trundles toward its winter dormancy.

Because, you know, red.

This is a time to pay attention. To really look closely. Nature uses this time to demonstrate the extraordinary loveliness of death, which is after all, the necessary precursor to rebirth. This is a time to settle into the warm embrace of sleep.

Form follows fashion

Over the years I have been expanding my notion of  the platonic form of "the good bike" has been evolving. In the 90's when I started riding, I thought the hybrid was the highest evolution of the bicycle, the fusion of all that had been learned to that time from all the different types of bikes ever designed. And to some extent, that was right.

My 1993 Specialized Crossroads Cruz has a TIG-welded chromoly frame, intuitive indexed thumb shifters powering the thoughtfully chosen 27 speed Shimano drivetrain (28/38/48, 14-28), solid cantilever brakes and 700 x 38 wheels. Nice upright position. Eyelets and clearance for fenders and racks. A very flexible platform for lots of practical types of riding. My wife still uses hers as a commuter, and despite being quite heavy, it's extremely serviceable. I even imagine it could serve as a loaded tourer in a pinch, though that weight problem would dissuade me from pointing it at Machu Picchu.

So I rode the Crossroads for about a decade. Then Lance happened so I had to have a racing bike. Then I had to have a fast racing bike. By then I almost knew better, but it was too late. So there I am, an overweight middle manager riding around Rock Creek Park on an overpriced carbon fiber superbike. I slavishly follow all these rules about what to wear and how to outfit my bike and how high my stem can be based on what the idiots on the Goon Ride think despite the fact that I couldn't hang onto those guys on my best day. Or the fact that even Eddy Merckx, the Cannibal himself doesn't follow them. What a sucker.

The reason I mention this whole evolution is because it occurs to me that what I've really been doing all along is merely following fashion. Hybrid > Road Race > Superbike > Rando... OK, I skipped single speed/fixies, mountain and 'cross bikes. I'm intentionally planning to skip fat bikes and gravel bikes, which are currently all the rage. So it is possible I've gotten off the fashion track and entered my retrogrouch years. Presumably I'll get through the lugged steel phase and find my way to recumbents.