Sunday, October 16, 2011


Saturday saw me off on another rogaine, this one right smack dab in the middle of spring, and thus blessed with gentle weather and native orchids going berserk with beauty.

On the last rogaine I caused no end of consternation with my blistered feet and my utter lack of preparedness. This time I took care of the latter by learning from experience, and brought everything I knew or suspected I’d need. As for the former, I avoided it by two means. First, I wrapped my toes in so much fixomull that they resembled a foot fetishist’s remake of ‘The Mummy’. And second, I bought a new pair of rogaining shoes.

It’s surprisingly easy to buy good rogaining shoes. One simply walks into an adventurewear shop (the ones filled with folding hats, shirts that couldn’t get wet if you held them underwater and many-pocketed pants) and buys the ugliest shoes one can find. The ones that are the most lumpy and hideous are guaranteed to be perfect rogaining shoes. I’m working off the theory that rogainers, being huge fans of nature, don’t want to own anything that might compete with the attractiveness of the Australian bush. This theory would also explain why they all drive Subarus.

My team did a little better in this rogaine, placing in the top 43%, as opposed to being in the top 47% as we were last time. However our pleasure at doing better was tempered by our displeasure at picking up unwanted parasites. Even though I was wearing long pants, a thick shirt and shoes so abhorrent that any sensible creature should have fled at the sight of them, I still managed to collect three ticks. I was not happy about this.

Frankly if I wanted weird-looking bloodsuckers attached to my thigh, I’d go on a date with Lemora.


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