Thanks to the snow, Cary and I suffered from a sever case of cabin fever this weekend. Aside from a walk Saturday afternoon, we had been cooped up in the house all weekend. Cary is very susceptible to Cabin Fever; I’m usually immune to all but the most virulent strains, but this one hit me pretty hard, too. So on Sunday, Cary suggested that we walk to the local church (our usual church is in Chapel Hill, and out of walking range)a couple of miles away, and grab some lunch at one of the nearby shopping centers on Highway 54. Mass was at 11:00, so we gave ourselves plenty of time and left at 9:30.
Cary found an old pair of Gortex-treated hiking boots in the closet — a pair she had owned since she was 16, but hadn’t used in several years — and decided that this would be a good day to wear them. We bundled up and ventured out.
About 30 minutes into our walk, Cary noticed that her left shoe was making a popping sound — she figured the steel shank was flexing a bit too much — it didn’t bother her, so we trudged on. By the time we reached the church, Cary found out what was really making the noise: the rubber soles of her boots had dry-rotted, and the sole of the left shoe was separated from the boot from the heel to the middle of the arch. The popping sound was caused by the rubber heel slapping against the bottom of the shoe as she walked. There wasn’t much we could do about it at the moment, and the waterproofing of the shoe hadn’t been compromised (her feet were still warm and dry), so we continued on to church, and I decided we would figure out what to do afterward. I figured we should be able to repair the shoe long enough for her to make it home.
Leaving the church, Cary realized that her sole of her right shoe was also starting to separate.
We walked over to a Roses department store (one of the few left in existence, I think) where I bought a roll of duct tape. We sat down on a clean spot of the covered sidewalk outside the store, where Cary removed her shoes and I implemented one of the myriad established uses of the miracle adhesive:
Picture the two of us, wrapped in cold-weather gear and me with a substantial growth of facial hair — having not shaved in a couple of weeks — sitting on the cold cement outside a Roses, wrapping Cary’s shoes in duct tape. If there had been more people out shopping that day, I’m pretty sure at least one person would have tried to give us spare change.
After finishing with Cary’s shoes, we walked across the street to a pizza restaurant, ate lunch, then started back home (Google Maps tells me the trip from there to our house is 2.1 miles).
The duct tape held fast, and the only downside to the repair was that Cary’s shoes had slightly reduced traction, and she would occasionally slide on the ice as we walked. But for the most part, the fix worked like a charm (the above picture was taken after we had arrived at home; the duct tape held firm).
We were about 3/4 of the way home when I reached into my jacket pocket to pull out my iPod to check the time. No iPod. I checked my other pockets. No iPod. Somewhere during our walk, I had lost my iPod. I remember using it briefly at church (before mass had started, of course). I was pretty sure I had used it while we were sitting outside the Roses, but it had remained in my pocket after that. So I had either left it at church, or set it on the ground while repairing Cary’s shoes; or it had fallen out of my pocket while we were walking.
By the time I realized I had lost it, it wasn’t logical to backtrack on foot, so we decided to walk the rest of the way home. Arriving at home, I decided to drive to the places we had stopped and search for the iPod. I drove back along the route we had walked, scanning the sidewalk for any sign of the iPod. I had no luck finding it at the department store or where we ate lunch. On the way back home, I decided to stop by the church to see if maybe I had left it there; no luck. So I headed for home again. On the way home, I decided to check my Blackberry to see if I had any e-mail from work. I had only received one e-mail, and it said, “Have you lost an I-Pod touch? If so, I’ve found it on Crooked Creek! You can call me at XXX-XXXX my name is Billy!”
I called Billy back and made arrangements to meet him — luckily, he lived pretty close by, and had been walking along the same route Cary and I had taken, and had spotted my iPod lying face down in the snow on the sidewalk. Based on where he said he had found it, it seems did indeed drop it when taking off my jacket. I thanked Billy for calling me; some people might not have turned in a lost iPod.
So all in all, not a bad day. Cary’s feet stayed dry, duct tape once again proves its efficacy, and I saw firsthand that there are still honest people in the world.