Riding on a Snail for 55 Years

Age is simply the number of years the world has been enjoying you.

Unknown

What a nice surprise it was this week to receive this card in the mail with the illustration you see above. It was a thank you card from Recreational Equipment Incorporated (REI) congratulating me for being a member for fifty-five years. It is always nice to be surprised by life, and this surprise was sweeter as it contained a thirty dollar gift card.

This long connection has always been a source of pride for me. Often when I make a purchase and check out at the counter, the cashier will comment on my low card number. I engage in the usual old lady banter by adding, “I’ve been a member since before you were born.” And these days I must add, “. . .a long time before you were born.”

I became a member on my nineteenth birthday. I was home from college for the long Thanksgiving weekend, and my birthday fell on the day after the holiday. I do not recall that anyone used the term Black Friday in those days. It was just a shopping day, and this one was a special one for me.

The previous summer I had hiked the Wonderland Trail around Mt. Rainier with my friend Kathy, a way for us to celebrate our graduation from the confines of high school. The trip was a life changer for me. My dad must have figured out that I was going to be in the mountains with a backpack for many years yet to come and took me to Seattle to buy good quality gear. It was the best birthday I have ever had.

By the time we had left the small store in downtown Seattle, I had a new pack, a pair of hiking boots, and a down sleeping bag. The pack was an REI Junior Cruiser, a child’s pack. I was small then as I am now, and no one designed packs for women nor adult packs small enough to fit my small frame. The pack did not even have a hip belt, and the zippers were metal and uncovered, which caused them to rust over the years. I did not mind. I thought it was wonderful, and I couldn’t wait to take my first trip.

The boots were the heavy leather variety and lasted about fifteen years, despite a couple of hundred miles of hiking each summer. When the soles wore thin, I would take them to the boot repair shop at REI, which by then had moved to a much larger building on Capital Hill that sprawled across multiple levels with creaky wooden floors. They would attach a new sole, and my boots were as good as new. I thought they would last forever, but the last time I took them in I was advised that the leather was too thin to attach a new sole. When they ended up in a bag bound for the Goodwill I felt like I had betrayed a good friend. They had taken me over mountain passes, to the summits of peaks, and up and down river valleys. They even were worn under my blue velvet gown, when I was a bridesmaid in Kathy’s wedding. They fit so well that they seemed molded to my feet, and they told stories, happy ones of great adventures.

Over the years I saw Gore-Tex replace the rubber coated nylon poncho I had previously worn in the rain. Tents got smaller and lighter weight. Sleeping bags lost their down and were replaced. Fleece replaced wool, and thermal layers wicked the moisture away from our bodies. REI built newer and larger buildings to house the abundant merchandise that enticed shoppers like myself. The little store on Pike Street was a relic of the past, and the organization opened stores around the country.

Why should it matter that I have been a member of REI for fifty-five years? Why is this a source of pride? As I attempt to answer these questions, I ponder my equipment and am reminded that each piece was chosen with care so that it would accommodate and bring ease to the thing I love to do most, to carry a backpack onto a wilderness trail, comfortable sturdy boots to support each step, and a warm sleeping bag to surround me as I drift off to sleep at night. Yes, I am proud of my many years of adventure. I will let you know when I get the next card, perhaps at sixty years. I am still hiking, and I am proud of that.