Our walk started back in Portland, I remember it well. The fragrant air that pervades the city in the warmer months was just dying down. You caught the last wafts before the winter rains. Let me apologize, here and now, for that apartment I walked you into. It's never fun living next to someone who thinks battery acid gushes from shower heads. That's definitely not fragrant. But I have to say you held your own. There was even that snow in early January when we walked all the way down the hill from OHSU, through downtown, then up into NW. What was that, like 6 solid miles?
Snow we could handle. Hot dry sunshine: yes please! But rain didn't agree with us. It was time to flee either north or south. We went north. Way, way north.
Remember stepping out of the airport in Anchorage? You guys crunched right down into that packed snow and laid claim of the place! I still think you fit right in up there. Truth be told, that's where our walk got interesting. You hated me when I decided, of all friggin' jobs in the world, to become a busboy! We walked through that kitchen muck so many times! I spilled beer, ranch sauce, marinara, coke, and I'd venture to guess, some splatters of baby upchuck all over your leather uppers. You always counterpunched with some pretty mean blisters. I'll give you that.
But actually, I countered your counterpunch pretty effectively when we headed home. Eddy was just a puppy black lab at that point and she'd sneak into the entryway where you hung out, snag one of you in her jaws and tear at breakneck speed around the front room. You were understandably terrified because those canine teeth were as sharp as razor blades and she was relentless in warding off my chase. But yes, sooner or later I'd save you from impending doom and Eddy would make my Achilles heels her next targets while you recovered your pride (I'll save myself the bad Achilles heel pun…but just know that I'm thinking it right now).
So we strolled that path for ½ a year, then veered way off course. You rested on the ferry, then had a couple light workouts up and down the west coast. I think you took a full 3 week vacation when we finally drove from Washington west to Washington east. In effect, I gave you a month and a half off from duty. Afterwards, you practically dove onto the DC streets! Man, we covered some serious ground over there. There was that one day we walked all the way from Arlington Cemetery across the Potomac and the entire National Mall, then up through Dupont Circle and Adams Morgan. Plus, all those nights crunching across old brick and cobblestone in Georgetown. Northern VA had some trails you knew well and lets never forget the Metro platforms I put you through.
You grumbled ceaselessly about those Metro platforms until we took our walk northward to Manhattan. I remember you whimpering the first couple weeks down in the underbelly of that city where you took a beating for the ages! You were spared trampling from neither stiletto nor work boot. The flourishing biology experiments on those train platforms made you reminisce so fondly about the sterile DC metro. But even then, a little toughening-up made you almost crave those daily journeys above and below The City. Whether crunching gravel on the Brooklyn waterfront, stepping on sewer grates in the Lower East Side, or side-stepping mustard packets outside the gyro stand up on 168th, you definitely held your own.
For all those grand steps we took in New York, however, I remember they were tinged with some melancholy. I hopped over a huge puddle outside Stuyvesant Town, landing in the shallow periphery with my right heel. Something didn’t feel right a minute later, and I felt the first pangs of a painful realization. I didn’t want to look, because it’s never easy to see beloved friends withstand such a punishing blow. But I had to look. Sure enough, pierced through the formidable rubber in your right sole was a small hole. At that point it was the tiniest of slits, but I could see the slippery slope had begun. Soon, other bits of rubber would wear away, leaving your hearty inner bones lain bare.
You apologized for a damp sock; I batted your guilt aside and asked whether it was time to retire. You told me that if I was willing to withstand the disapproving looks of folks with shiny new sneakers, you’d march on harder than ever. Just like Barack and Michele, we gave each other ‘the rock’ and resumed the adventure. Admittedly, from that day forward I constantly monitored the pavement for puddles and rocks, but my agility ratings skyrocketed and I enjoyed the new challenge.
So our walk finally led us to Chicago. You were excited about stomping through new territory, but you’d been around that block a few times and decided to sit out a couple strolls. I watched you continue to weaken. That’s not to say your engines weren’t revving, but more days were spent with the maintenance team. The winter months hit you hard, but listen, Chicago’s winter months combined with my commute would hurt the freshest of faces. We stumbled into your last spring and you finally told me it’s time.
You know what? You're battered, bruised, and bloodied, but you're beautiful. You guys are grizzled, noble warriors with many proud stories to tell. Age only solidified your rank among the legends. I want you to know that your model is retired. I loved hanging out so much that I almost hunted down some of your younger brothers for my next walk. That wouldn’t be right. I know, I know, the new guys have a lot of similarities, but trust me, they’ve got their own vibe. We sat down and talked it over; they’re not looking to tread on your tracks, and I wouldn’t let them regardless.
Anways, buddies, this has been the greatest walk of my life. I love you guys and I’ll take the next walk in your honor.
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