NEW RIDING BOOTS

On a ride a few weeks back I found that the bottom of my left foot was wet and getting increasingly wetter as the ride progressed and as the pavement got puddly. Come to find out, I'd worn through the sole of the riding boots I'd had for maybe four or five years. Seems the right boot was about shot as well.

I went to the local moto-supply store and bought myself a pair of Dainese Stivale BB3 D-WP Boots touring boots for a real pretty penny. I already own a pair of Dainese riding gloves and they fit, well, like gloves. Likewise, the boots. Cruising around the store, these 12.5s fit my weird size 12 feet as if engineered specifically for me. The YKK zippers at the back of the boot (not the side), however, take quite a bit of tugging - especially where the boot narrows around the ankle.

Took the Dainese’s on their first outing today as the temperature was about 54 and the sky broken overcast. New boots always take some getting used to as the soles and arches fit differently against the foot peg so braking and shifting is thrown off. That aside, these are another example of why one pays more dollar for an up-grade in quality. The Stivale's certainly have it.  The fit is tremendous. The support - especially around the ankle - is superior to anything I've ever worn when riding.

Up Foresthill Road about ten miles east of Auburn, there’s a high-end subdivision on acreage that looks down on the North Fork of the American. I’ve had my eye on a hunk of property up there for some time, so I thought I’d check as to whether it’s still available and whether they’re still asking $550,000 for the bare parcel. (Yes and yes, so "no.") I wore the boots as I walked maybe a half mile of dirt, rock and muddy trails out to a view over the river. Even though new, the boots were glove-soft comfortable, supportive, and did not feel as it their Vibram soles would let me down. Had I opted to head further east and frequent the fancy steakhouse in Foresthill, the boots may have belied my bikerness. (Not that it would have mattered in Foresthill.)

I took the long way home through the little Tuscan-like environ that is the Sierran foothills of Placer County. Where shafts of mid-afternoon sunlight thrust themselves through the broken, misty ceiling, the last of the fall colors ignited and stole my breath.  At one point, however, the clouds gathered themselves up and it rained a good steady bit.  Feet dry and toasty.

After nearly 70 miles, my only niggle would be the zippers. I am hoping to acclimate to the angle necessary when pulling those YKKs. Perhaps I just need to hold my mouth right…

(c) 2010
Church of the Open Road Press