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It's Always the Quiet Ones
April 26, 2006Let's face it. Texas is a state where macho has meaning.
The men here are famous for wearing cowboy boots and hats, swaggering around, pulling out chairs for ladies, driving giant pickups, going hunting and, sometimes, drinking beer and howling at the moon.
I saw the Texas macho characteristics manifest themselves in an interesting way during a six-day hiking trip last year in California.
First of all, I was raised to be macho yet ladylike -- a clash I'm still working out.
My late father taught me how to box but told me not to slump when I'm sitting.
He schooled me in roof removal during a 100-degree day on a hot, black roof but all but cleaned his shotgun when I brought a boy home as if I were a shrinking violet in need of protection.
He encouraged me to "get a way to make a living" but accompanied me on nearly every automobile purchase to keep me from getting ripped off.
So I keep an eye out for machismo and machisma, knowing full well that they can exist in paradoxical ways.
I saw Texas macho play out in my trailmate Lon in a totally different way.
Christina and I referred to Lon as "the quiet little bad ass."
And he was.
Lon was from Texas, but he didn't swagger in word or deed.
He kept up a steady pace through high altitudes -- without any preparatory workouts.
He was also soft spoken.
But everyone was always craning forward to listen to his quiet voice because he talked knowledgeably about the trail, footcare and much, much more.
Many a time I was trying to set up my tent -- for 15 or 20 minutes -- and Lon came over, did a little abracadabra, and the stubborn thing was up in about two seconds. Granted, it was his tent -- but still.
He wasn't bristling with gym-nurtured musculature either. His build was average.
But he'd already hiked the John Muir Trail, 211 miles from the Yosemite Valley to Mount Whitney, according to the Pacific Trail Association. He'd also summited Mount Whitney already, more than once.
It's fair to say he'd earned his bad-ass badge, but he was a thoughtful bad ass.
More than once he told me as I gasped for air at the high altitude, "I hope you're able to enjoy the trip at least somewhat."
And he wasn't being sarcastic
Lon had read a book about footcare and carried with him an assortment of Japanese and German tape and other mysterious items that made life much easier for my trailmates and me.
When I got a blister, he put some tape on it that was like a second skin and advised me to leave it on for the rest of the hike. And that's all I got was one blister in six days and 50 miles.
He did, however, wear a hat and boots -- a hat to keep off the sun and hiking boots.
He did not howl at the moon but was known to snore like others of our party.
Lon also did all the cooking -- not exactly a traditionally macho undertaking.
Many times I grasped a cup of his delicious instant vegetable soup in shaking hands after a day's foot travel. His morning oatmeal and coffee seemed to facilitate the intake of oxygen into my lungs.
Lon was the brains behind the trip.
He mapped the route, arranged for the food and brought some extra equipment -- like the foot tape -- that turned out to be crucial.
Lon broke the mold for macho, and I would have to say that between the foot tape, the cooking and the tent setting up, he was my trail hero.
And he was the best kind of Texas macho.
Posted by at 03:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)
Comments
Since you speak of Texas men, here is one for the Texas women.
A girl from TEXAS and a girl from the west coast were seated side by
side on an airplane.
The girl from TEXAS , being friendly and all, said, "So, where y'all
from?"
The west coast girl said, "From a place where they know better than to
use a preposition at the end of a sentence."
The girl from TEXAS sat quietly for a few moments and then replied:
"So, where y'all from, bitch?"
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