Confessions of a Thwarted Gear Geek

A month or so back, my mother and I, on opposite sides of the Equator (she in Argentina and I in Atlanta), came to the same realization at the same time: it is Highly Unlikely that I will ever get my loft furnished reasonably if left to my own devices. Thus, my mother and I agreed that the most practical and financially viable option for accomplishing the task would be for her to come to Atlanta for a weekend and, essentially, make me clean up my room. Thanks, Mom!

Don't Mess with Mom

Between the multiple trips to Target and the independence-affirming experience of Two Women Re-caulking a Bathtub All By Their Own Selves, I had some time to reorganize all of my old backpacking gear. As I was neatly arranging it all in my downstairs closet, I had one of those sweeping moments of nostalgia that so frequently interferes with my cleaning time. Ever since I picked up that first Happy Meal toy off the floor to put it back into my junk bucket and thought “Ah, how I remember the meal that accompanied this toy and how happy it was and the smell of grease and . . .”, I have been plagued by the tendency to pick up one object and then sit down with it for many minutes, sometimes 30 or 40.

Oh! Sweet Kelty external frame backpack! Over the past 12 years you have gotten me across three continents and refused to be anything but bulky and enormous. How I dreamed of getting an internal frame for years, especially when you broke that time right before my spring break trip. But then I fixed you with a wire coat hanger- so much joy! Ah, my little WhisperLite! When I got you, I took you apart and almost could not remember how to put you back together again, and yet you never once singed my nose hairs or eyelashes. And yes! I have not forgotten you tiny OR Backcountry Kitchen! Ok, so I forgot about the bottle with corn oil that you carried through Yosemite 4 years ago, and that IS kind of gross now. Uh- sorry? Dear, dear convertible pants! Will I ever use you again? Polar Pure! Your iodine crystals shimmer like a mountain stream filled with giardia cysts. Et cetera.

Fortunately, Mom was there to keep me on task. And, like so many extension cords and extra light bulbs, everything eventually found its place in my closet. Still, I can’t help but long for the time in my life when my gear was used regularly and trips to REI necessitated Forward Gear Planning and a Gear Budget to be updated and amended regularly.

But really- I’m still young, right? I’m not chained to a desk (well, except when I am)! I will fight back! I will fix the zipper on my mummy sleeping bag, and it shall live again! I will replace my no-longer-functioning head lamp! And this time, I won’t let it sit in dark place until the batteries explode inside! Who’s with me?