Monday, November 28, 2005
New-fangled shoes
Since the snow on the ground is now up to 18 inches, we decided it was necessary to take extraordinary measures when we go outside. That means wear snowshoes. Now all the snowshoes that I have ever seen look like a pair of tennis rackets with a strap on each one. Well these are a new-fangled model. They have steel grippers on the bottoms and a complicated set of straps that weave in and out and fasten in a couple of places. After fooling with them for about ten minutes I finally figured out how they work or at least I thought that I had figured it out. I walked outside and managed to get them on my feet and then I commenced a methodical march up the hill in our “powder.” My foot plunged 18 inches down into the snow and when I tried to retrieve my foot from this unanticipated dilemma, it emerged unscathed except that the snowshoe was missing. With my foot bent beneath my leg, I plunged my hand into the snowbank and somehow managed to rescue the errant “shoe.” With my other foot still buried deep beneath the snow, I gamely tried to put the shoe back on my foot. The heavy ski gloves on my hands proved useless. I removed one glove and with my foot still in flamingo mode, I try to work the straps back over my Nevada hiking boot. Scruunch! I landed on my derriere. From my backside perspective it was now an easy task to adjust the lashing for my snowshoe. As I righted myself I looked back at my resting-place--not the slightest hint of a snow angel but just a large depression in the snow. If I were to make it up the hill a new strategic plan would be in order. After looking to my right and to my left, I chose to pursue a more compacted trail up the hill. It worked! Once at the top of the driveway, I plotted a path straight down hill with a right angle turn to the mailbox. A quarter mile down and a quarter mile back in my new-fangled shoes. The trip down proved to be uneventful. The trip back up was not! With the mail clutched tightly against my down coat, I try to turn around. Now if you have never walked a half-mile in snowshoes, don’t laugh! I normally make tight turnarounds when I walk. So now rather winded and tired and without thinking I made a lackadaisical, tight turnaround. The footwork could be described by a kind critic as an imprecise pirouette. These new-fangled shoes were not designed for tight turnarounds—let alone “imprecise pirouettes.” Scruunch! Back into another snowbank. The only way to describe my predicament is to think of four left feet tripping over each other. After gathering myself and reclaiming the mail, I headed back up the hill to the house feeling more than a wee bit cold. When I finally made it back inside our warm cozy house both my hands and feet were aching from the cold. There was one consolation. Tomorrow it is Diana’s time to fetch the mail.
Since the snow on the ground is now up to 18 inches, we decided it was necessary to take extraordinary measures when we go outside. That means wear snowshoes. Now all the snowshoes that I have ever seen look like a pair of tennis rackets with a strap on each one. Well these are a new-fangled model. They have steel grippers on the bottoms and a complicated set of straps that weave in and out and fasten in a couple of places. After fooling with them for about ten minutes I finally figured out how they work or at least I thought that I had figured it out. I walked outside and managed to get them on my feet and then I commenced a methodical march up the hill in our “powder.” My foot plunged 18 inches down into the snow and when I tried to retrieve my foot from this unanticipated dilemma, it emerged unscathed except that the snowshoe was missing. With my foot bent beneath my leg, I plunged my hand into the snowbank and somehow managed to rescue the errant “shoe.” With my other foot still buried deep beneath the snow, I gamely tried to put the shoe back on my foot. The heavy ski gloves on my hands proved useless. I removed one glove and with my foot still in flamingo mode, I try to work the straps back over my Nevada hiking boot. Scruunch! I landed on my derriere. From my backside perspective it was now an easy task to adjust the lashing for my snowshoe. As I righted myself I looked back at my resting-place--not the slightest hint of a snow angel but just a large depression in the snow. If I were to make it up the hill a new strategic plan would be in order. After looking to my right and to my left, I chose to pursue a more compacted trail up the hill. It worked! Once at the top of the driveway, I plotted a path straight down hill with a right angle turn to the mailbox. A quarter mile down and a quarter mile back in my new-fangled shoes. The trip down proved to be uneventful. The trip back up was not! With the mail clutched tightly against my down coat, I try to turn around. Now if you have never walked a half-mile in snowshoes, don’t laugh! I normally make tight turnarounds when I walk. So now rather winded and tired and without thinking I made a lackadaisical, tight turnaround. The footwork could be described by a kind critic as an imprecise pirouette. These new-fangled shoes were not designed for tight turnarounds—let alone “imprecise pirouettes.” Scruunch! Back into another snowbank. The only way to describe my predicament is to think of four left feet tripping over each other. After gathering myself and reclaiming the mail, I headed back up the hill to the house feeling more than a wee bit cold. When I finally made it back inside our warm cozy house both my hands and feet were aching from the cold. There was one consolation. Tomorrow it is Diana’s time to fetch the mail.
