We sat on a moss-covered log in a narrow canyon's cathedral-like glen. I was relating something that's happened to me only twice in my years of barefooting. Both times, I had been walking for about two hours on a variety of surfaces, mostly natural. I had just passed through some soft, warm deeply plowed earth, and was now on rough, pitted asphalt. Brilliant October morning sunlight fell across the path between huge eucalyptus trees, creating a black-and-white bar pattern. Sounds receded into the distance, the colors shifted to bright yellow and dark green. Things seemed to sparkle. My vision tunneled down. I knew I was in some kind of altered state, but I wasn't frightened. It lasted only about a minute or two. Mike told me that Paul Lucas had mentioned a similar experience. Can there be a Zen of barefooting?
Continuing on down the damp trail, we turned left at a fork. After a couple of minutes of cool, damp mud, Mike's directional sense kicked in, and as he studied the map, a Rebock Jogger paused to assist us. I'm not sure whether he even noticed our bare feet. We turned back the other way, and passed through a tennis shoe crowd who greeted us, but said nothing. Did I hear snickering after they passed? (If so, they would have been "shoddy" people.) I felt a bit disappointed that no one had asked us The Question, because I was ready with honest answers. Maybe confidence radiates some sort of protective field. I find that as I become more open and prepared for questions and comments, the less hassle I'm getting.
The next trail was considerably drier, although there was one short stretch of delicious warm fudge-like mud. I've always been more sensitive to textures than temperatures...another sensation I'm trying to be more aware of. We passed a couple of immense stands of poison oak, and paused to examine the reddish-green leaves and florets. I haven't had a case since I was a kid, but the memory lingers. On a fairly steep gravel covered downward section, Mike rated the difficulty at five (on a scale of 1 to 10 toes).
Back down at the flat picnic-play area, I walked along in the tall grass. Mike stayed on the asphalt. I find that too much asphalt gives me sole soreness. He left a couple of his "calling cards"--bare footprints in sand and water. So many times I've done exactly that.
Back at the cars, we promised to meet in cyberspace. Barefooting with companions is something I want to do more of. Anybody up for bagging the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Civil War era Fort Point National Park underneath the south anchorage? Next hike I'll be better prepared. Mike--thanks for the invitation, and the initiation.