Yesterday somewhere around Makapu’u, the sole of my hiking boots peeled off as I was walking. I looked down and they were just flapping there, hanging on toward the back heel like a loose tooth about to fall out on a 7-year old. Though I will not be receiving 50 cents under my pillow, sadly. I pulled them off, walked back, and hung out on the shore. I was bummed, I really loved my boots, we’ve been through a lot together. I’m surprised I hadn’t named them like so many other of my inanimate objects I adore (sad or funny?). I blame it on Pele and Mauna Loa Summit. That hike did me in, and apparently, my shoes too. I suppose days on black a’a lava with a heavy pack will do that. It seems like a timely end though. They’d been through a lot.
My friend said it’s nothing shoe glue can’t fix, but I kind of want new ones. Though I did think they were the best hiking shoes in the world and were never going to fall apart. Even yesterday, I gazed down at them in admiration. I have prided myself in making such a wise decision to purchase them 10 years ago at Hudson Trail Outfitters in DC. They were on sale and everything I wanted in a hiking boot. And then yesterday they just fell apart. Both at the same time, right in front of my eyes.