A little aside here to acknowledge how crazy-excited I was to get out my big camping backpack when I was getting ready for this trip. I can't remember when I got this pack, but it's at LEAST twelve, and potentially more than 20 years old. It's possible that I got it to go on a backpacking trip to the Porkies when I was in middle school. If that's right, then this thing definitely has nine lives. Especially when I lived in Madagascar and traveled around southern and eastern Africa for nine months afterward, this thing was my constant companion. It was tossed carelessly (by others!) into more bush taxis and chicken buses than I can count. It's been a chair, a pillow, a beast to carry, and the revered container of everything I needed to survive whatever circumstances my come, for months at a time. I remember being disgusted by how thoroughly, impossibly dusty and filthy it was when I got back from Africa. All of the traveling that I've done since then has been more minor and more cushy, accomplished with a smaller pack or even a suitcase. I was SHOCKED when I dragged this thing out of storage and it looked almost like new. I guess a good seven-year rest does a backpack good. There's a broken strap, no zipper on the side by which to access things at the bottom without unpacking the whole dang thing, and I'm sure that in time it will start to show its age and use once again. But it sure is fun to see you and be on the road with you again, friend.
(SS--do you remember me?!?)
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