Cargo Shorts – Plentiful Pockets Down Under

I ended up taking today off. We finally got some much needed rain, and the sky really opened up for a couple of hours. Sure, I’ll go out in the employee shuttle when it’s nasty out, but I’m not going to hike and climb just to get soaked to the bone for no views. And it feels good to heal. And write for you good people. So let me share my thoughts on cargo shorts. 🙂

Cargo shorts have been around forever.  I had pairs of them forever.  But all I ever carry in my front pockets is Chapstick, a pocket knife, and a lighter.  Which is really curious because I don’t smoke, and the only time I pull out a pocket knife is when I’m asked to at the airport and they confiscate it.  But I do have chapped lips, so I guess one out of three isn’t bad. Just don’t use my finger.

 

I’ve got several pairs of those cargo pants with zip off legs, which I’ve never worn.  I’ve got a lot of clothing I’ve never worn hanging in the closet. I call it the Costco Effect.  It happens when Nancy goes down to Costco to get a 1000 pack of AA batteries or a 25 pound bag of nutmeg, and gravitates towards all of those clothing tables so strategically placed. When she sees something in my size, she buys it, I try it on, and put it in the closet. Taking off the tags is optional. Bless her heart, but……

As a result, I currently own 19 pairs of jeans. Given I rotate thru about three of them (at best) a week, I’m pretty sure my Demin needs are satisfied for the next 20 years. Fortunately I’m a guy, and I’m old. Which means I have no sense of style, and I have no problem wearing something until it eventually becomes popular again.

Anyway, so this is why I have a good supply of those convertible cargo shorts/pants. This summer I told myself I’m going to put that clothing collection to use.  Yes!  Go Team Wing.  Recycle, Reuse, Raid the Closet, and pull some tags off.

What I have found out is cargo pockets are pretty cool.  Big problem with hiking is that my waist belt from the backpack pretty much cuts off access to my upper pockets.  Sure, you can can still kinda get stuff out of them. But it’s like those monkey traps where our oh-so smart simian brothers stick their hand in a hole in a hollow box/coconut/gourd to grab and orange, but are then trapped because they refuse to let go of the orange. 

Again, I have chapped lips a lot when I hike when I’m sweating and the salt is pouring out. But not for want of Chapstick, just it’s a pain to get to.  But with cargo shorts, I suddenly have all these pockets below the belt line. 

They are great for snacks, sunblock, GPS, sunglasses, bandanas, phone, camera, tripod, selfie stick, fishing gear, bear spray, altimeter, signal mirror, rape whistle (see mountain goat post), and all that stuff I need when I’m putting on miles and don’t have time to stop. Well, I could make time to stop but I clearly don’t.

Suddenly I have an entire gear closet in my pants.  Access to everything equals want for nothing. Win/win/win.

But I found something out.  Let’s say you do a lot of hiking and maybe lose a couple of pounds around the waist.  Maybe the shorts drop down a little.  Like a white rapper who hasn’t committed to his craft yet. Or like the guy who is not as cool as the thinks he is that and has not yet fully adopted the Screw-The-Man persona.  And then since you are such a super hiker and all, you think nothing when taking a 3000 foot downhill grade at a really rapid pace.  Possibly because you started too late and might be AWOL for work. 

Like a butterfly emerging from the cocoon, you suddenly find yourself in a new world.  All of those pounds of stupid stuff in your pockets now suddenly make you feel like the bells of Notre Dame.  Every step brings a new swing.  Every swing brings a new stop.

After a couple thousands of these iterations, you suddenly realize you have become a human pinata at a Quinceanera party.   Ok, now maybe I have blended a Latino child’s birthday event and a young girl’s coming-of-age celebration, but you get the general drift. 

I have mistakenly created a big swinging hammer and I’m on the wrong side of it.  So after a pretty brutal day on the trail when everything should hurt more or less the same, I look in the mirror and see more bruises that if I had been publicly caned by the Singapore police for a petty act of vandalism. 

I have come to a simple conclusion from this surprisingly long narrative.    Cargo shorts are only as good as the common sense of the user.  From now on I will only use them for the safekeeping of my pretzel thins. And, of course, my bag of mixed nuts.