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Whatever Shall I Wear?

I suppose women and metrosexual males are famous for asking the question above.
But it could be a matter of life, death and a good night's sleep on the trail.

A promised land of gear flashed by me in the pages of "Backpacker" magazine.
Doodads and doohickeys that just about slipped your hiking boots on for you glimmered out at me.
For more than 10 years, I've gotten by just fine with a pair of leather, rubber-soled hiking boots -- brand forgotten and unimportant -- and a flimsy polyester backpack from Wal-Mart. My fashion on the trial consisted of a T-shirt and bicycle shorts and an old sweater if it was cold.
An overnight stay meant breaking out the tent bought long ago from Wal-Mart, the cursed contraption that weighed a ton but kept the mosquitos off. It wasn't a backpacking tent anyway, just something to keep the rain off.
But there in those magazine pages were things I'd never heard of before, many made out of titanium or fabric apparently once worn only by astronauts or race-car drivers.
It seemed the well-dressed hiker traveled light and high-tech, outfitted with boots that nearly floated off the ground and a backpack with clever pockets for everything imaginable.
The tent, trekking poles and Z-pad effectively became a part of their body on the trail.
I read online diaries in which hikers gave long, detailed accounts of testing everything from headlamps and trail mix for durability, utility and weight.
It was possible to spend thousands on the accoutrements.
So the gear thing posed a problem.
At first glance, I had nada. But I knew I'd have to look harder because my budget for the upcoming Labor trip to the Sierras was basically nada.
My friend Christina came to the rescue, arranging for gear through a series of her friends.
Once I actually got to California, there would be a backpack, tent, Z-pad and trekking poles waiting for me. Hallelulah!
One thing I wouldn't give up and certainly couldn't buy new -- my boots. The leather was battered from days of trekking through the Wichita Mountains. The ankle supports were disentegrating but still supportive, and the orginal laces were still there although broken and then tied together on one shoe.
I'd bought those suckers when my daughter was about 10, and I never needed another pair for 11 years.
As for clothing, that would be a T-shirt, khaki shorts, several pairs of socks, a "new" $1.90 pullover from Value Village and various other sundries -- none of them actually new.
I was ready to climb any mountain - or so I thought.

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