A couple of years ago I noticed my pants were gettin' a little snug. Struck me as odd that the cotton in my Wranglers had shrunk that much. Needless to say I sat down right away and penned a letter. Wasn't to the Wrangler people. Wrote it to myself. Mailed it on the weekend when I was down in Grand Marais and picked it up in my box the following week. Went something like this:
Dear Wideload,
Time to get up and move it. You're more than a few degrees south of chubby. Keep it up and you'll be dead in a couple of years and they'll need a fork lift to carry the casket.
One who cares (and doesn't like what he sees in the mirror)
The idea bein' I'd accept criticism from an outsider. 'Specially someone I respect as much as I do myself. Also nice to get mail once in a while. Easy for me to write off my puffing when I hiked down to the stream as nothing more than old age creeping up on me. In fact a lively brain like mine could explain most everything and make reality exactly like I wanted it even if it wasn't. All was fine 'til I was struck out of the blue with a bolt of personal honesty. Hate that when it happens. No way to sneak around the truth so I decided it wasn't too late to get myself into shape before the undertaker carved and pumped me into a fine looking cadaver.
So, I took up walking (way more appealing than cutting down on my eating). Hiking when I want to feel more manly. Not sure what the difference is but I've been told there is one. Might have to do with packing a lunch. Yeah, some of my excursions call for a break or two. Walk an hour, sit for five minutes and move on. Maybe carry a book and binoculars. Bought me a small daypack and a couple of pairs of fancy white tennis shoes with blue stripes made by a company in Germany. Don't walk every day but some hikes push twenty miles.
Usually I stick to the roads. Here to McFarland and back's an up and downhill ten miler. One day when my oats were up I continued on down the Border Trail to East Pike. There I stood mid-shore on my favorite lake, no rod, no canoe. All dressed up for the picnic but forgot the basket. Just stood there a minute staring across a half mile of glassed out water, thought, "there it is," turned around and pounded back uphill towards home. Ate my lunch a mile back alongside John Lake. Never walked rod-less again. Bought a four piece spinning rod to stow in the daypack. Also packed a few spinners and snap swivels. Some lures small enough for trout, a couple for bass. Should I pass along a stream or lakeshore I'd be ready. Felt a whole lot better with an option. It's good to be able to say no once in a while when yes is just as likely.
Don't have many creative thoughts when I'm heading down the road. Seems like I need other people around me before the idiocy floats to the surface. Tried writing but nothing comes out worth reading. Even bores me. Could be that humor, which is the way I'd go if I could write, goes hand in hand with pain, misery and stupidity. Like the other day when I broke a personal record. In a quiet life like mine, personal bests are a big deal. Keeps me motivated. Gettin' better all the time (at least till I don't). Happened on the rise coming out of the valley just past my driveway. Farted on thirteen straight right foot strikes. Near as many as the sixteen left footers I did last fall. Like a one cylinder engine as I chugged my way up the rise. A good writer could make something of that. Maybe even the theme of an entire novel. A saga. But not me. But I did make note of it in my journal. Right after a comment about noticing a wind knot in my fly line leader and maybe should put on a new one when I'm feelin' up to it.
Reflecting water. Those words kept coming back to me on my return from East Pike. Outside of an occasional tiny zephyr the water was truly glassed out. Near upside-down, right side-up confusion of the far shore. Seen it before and never gave it much thought beyond, "That's pretty neat. Maybe I should try a handstand to see if it looks the same?" Never before caught the connection between the reflection of the water and the reflection I get lost in while out on a walk. Also, the dreams I used to have when I was younger. Don't have them as much anymore. Spent most of my dream time from my years in the war 'til I retired either back in the war or out on the water. The water dreams ran the gamut from being iced out to catching large fish. Yeah, I sure liked to catch those dream fish but it seemed I didn't have much control over what was on the end of my line. 'Til I gave it some thought. Reflected on it. Seems those dreams were trying to tell me something. And it wasn't the figuring it out that mattered near as much as changing what needed changing in my life. Reflection's fine but a man's gotta go deeper than the surface. Put those thoughts into action. Did some things right. Some I screwed up big time. Long story short, guess I'm a little slow on the uptake in more ways than you can shake a stick at.
Had thoughts lately of headin' up McFarland way, catch the Border Trail and wander on over to Ely. Can't be more than a hundred-forty miles or thereabouts. A week with close to fifty pounds on my back. What's that to a sixty-three year old man besides maybe death and being eaten by feral hamsters? Once there I'd take a short shopping, eating and sleeping break then head back. See the other side of the trees I'd passed. Or maybe catch a bus back to Hovland.
Anyhow, what I'm getting around to is a walk I took after shoveling out the driveway the other day. Should've known better. Worked up a sweat in the hour and a quarter it took me to clear the snow but felt pretty good. Stuffed my shovel in a snow bank and set off south down the McFarland Road. Probably was above zero but not by much. Half hour out. A little more on the return. A smart man would've started out north. Wasn't much of a wind in the beginning but slowly built on the outbound. When it was at my back I payed the breeze no mind. Sure did on the way back. Near to froze my nose but more important, my privates. My pecker pain got my attention when it started to thaw. Guess that's one of those good-bad things. Bad that it hurt like the devil. Good that the pain said it was still attached. Might not do that again.
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