Sole Mates

Some of you know my brother, whom I call Mantel Man, as a talented writer and a terribly silly person. While you are spot-on in your assessment, you should know that Mantel Man also has a rich and diverse background of exotic travel and adventure outings. Also, he talks to his shoes. Would you really expect anything else from a Fooleryland family member?

If you know ME, then you know I am  cheap  thrifty, which is a trait my brother Mantel Man shares. We can squeeze more use out of  a rotary phone   a decrepit artifact  a beloved old item than almost anyone we know. Except for possibly our father and his clothes, but that's  revolting  a story for another day.

Mantel Man sent me this little essay, or paean to his hiking boots, just because, a couple of weeks ago. I made him send me photos which (this being Mantel Man) I was certain he had. Yes, he had them. Here is his story.

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(Photo used by permission of Robertbody at en.wikipedia)

After a few recent hikes up Squaw Peak ( a short climb in the middle of Phoenix) in my sneakers, during which I felt every single rock on the trail through the thin soles, I finally decided to invest in a new pair of hiking boots.

At the Sports Chalet, the shoe department is right next to the rental department, and I glanced over at the red canoe on the rack to see if it had gotten any new scratches since the last time I rented it.  Probably not -- this being Scottsdale.  The salesman helped me try on about six different pairs of boots.  When I asked how long they generally last, he said, "Oh, all these brands are pretty durable.  Even with heavy use, they should last you up to a year."

SAY, WHAT?

I keep shoes longer than most people keep their spouses -- at least in Scottsdale (even with heavy use).  In a year, my relationship with a pair of  shoes usually isn't even beyond the "on your best behavior" courtship stage.  In fact, my fanzi-panzi Italian sneakers, the ones I got in Rome in 2005, are known in my closet as "the new guys."* (Some of my other shoes are a little passive-aggressive.)

 
(Original photo used by permission of andrew.petro at Flickr, Wikimedia Commons)

The whole reason I needed new hiking boots is because last summer my old ones finally fell apart during my descent from Humphreys Peak, north of Flagstaff. I walked the last couple of miles with the outsole of one boot in my hand. With only a thin insole remaining, the injured boot was little more than a slipper. Fortunately I was past the rocky part of the trek. When I later told the elderly Korean shoe-repair shop owner about the boot while picking up some other shoes (I was a regular there), he was sure he could fix it -- but he hadn't seen the remains of the boot and didn't realize how thrashed both of them were. 

 
(Original photo used by permission of Mckaysavage, Wikimedia Commons)

I had ordered the heavy-duty boots in 1994 for my trek in Nepal. Even though they arrived in the mail right AFTER my return, forcing me to trek in my $20 "Korea specials" (which I finally threw out in 2004), they endured years of strenuous hiking on rough terrain, occasionally strapped to crampons or snowshoes. It was time to let them go.

I actually have yet another pair of all-leather boots, but their outsoles are peeling away from the midsoles and need to be glued -- again. They are my oldest shoes, purchased in 1989 and made in the U.S., probably by Amish cobblers.

 
They are pretty low-tech, more suitable for walking across pastures at the ranch than carrying a backpack on some rough trail. Hence my trip to the shoe store to start a new relationship. The honeymoon phase ended unusually early, as last weekend I put the new boots through an 18-20 mile hike involving a good bit of off-trail bushwhacking in the alpine region above Arizona's Mogollon Rim. The boots are still in a snit over it, and we're not speaking right now. I can hear my 1989 boots snickering in my closet.

 

*Those fanzi-panzi Italian shoes are known in our family by a battery of unflattering names, none of which is "The New Guys."

Comments

[Suz Broughton]

HaHa "package frame." Loved the story.

[Meg]

Okay, dude, who are you and what have you done with my husband? Because he could have written this, about not only his shoes, but also about most of his wardrobe. Especially sweatpants. I buy him new stuff but he still wears the old stuff. And I won't even talk here about his underwear... I don't have time for the crying jag and hissy fit I'd have to throw.

[The Glamorous Life Association]

Um, Mantle man is kind a HOT.
Or maybe it is just his insane slightly wacked out version of frugality that has got me all excited.

Nope. He is just hot.

He is frugal AND hot to boot.

Call me Mantle man. Just as soon as I am divorced and looking for a guy with shoes that have 10yrs+ of sweat and SMELL in them.

MMMMMM. Yummy.
:)

[Mantel Man]

It's not a "gnarly package frame," you terribly silly person - it's a climbing harness! Available at REI and adult stores everywhere. Use only with gnarly packages.

[Rick's Cafe]

I guess I never understood why some people (female) believe one should throw away perfectly good stuff....just cause it's old. Granted, if a t-shirt is so tired that it won't stay on, I'll throw it away (with a quiet nod of appreciation for years of service). But to throw away a tie just 'cause of it's width? ...jeesh, some people! Next thing ya know, they'll be expecting you to throw away a good pair of shoes just cause ya had a bad 1st date.

[boB Cleveland]

"....as a talented writer and a terribly silly person."

Sounds like it runs in your genes. You know, kind of like diarrhea.

Great story.