Hiking fashion

Late this summer, my wife, Cheryl, and I spent a week near Asheville, North Carolina. The reasons were the usual—to get away for some alone time, to eat well and browse artsy shops and places, and to see some mountains. I think we both would agree that perhaps the most enjoyable part of the trip was driving twisty roads up into those mountains, marvelling at the dramatic vistas that swung into view around each corner.
As we were visiting a waterfall, we saw another sight we weren't expecting.
Upon returning to the parking lot, a late model Jeep Cherokee pulled into the lot. A 40-something couple emerged from the front seat. The back door opened, and first appeared a well-turned female leg, with a five-inch black stilleto shoe. It was attached to a maybe late teen girl who was wearing a tight black dress that was as short as it could possibly be and not be called a shirt. I am not sure where such a dress would be acceptable, but it seemed laughably inappropriate for a gravel walking path. In fact, that's what we did: laugh.
But then I was reminded of something in my life. Cheryl and I had visited Mt. Mitchell, the highest peak east of the Mississippi, a few days earlier. Seeing the sign proclaiming that fact, I was taken back to a visit I and my family had made there in the 60's. It was the height of popularity for The Beatles, and I was crazy about them. So, naturally, I did my best to emulate them, as much as an adolescent could. So how did I dress for my trip to Mt. Mitchell? In a Nehru jacket, of course. Never mind that it was Summer. Never mind that my pants could have crossed a river and never gotten wet. I was cool.
When we returned, I found that original picture, from the summer of 1968. It is posted to remind me that youth is indeed a squirrelly time.

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And here, Cheryl and me, in 2012.

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