The Outdoorsmen
It’s a similar route each morning, east to west up, then west to east down the Charles River. Sometimes up the north bank and down the south, sometimes the other way. Some days, I make six miles, turning for home at the Arsenal Street Bridge. Others, I make it another mile up to North Beacon Street. It’s only after three miles anyway that my stiff legs loosen, that my mind starts to stop, and that my whole body begins to unwind from the internet.
It’s up here, in the two miles between the north and south sides of Arsenal Street Bridge, that I see him. I’ve crossed paths with him now 100 times or more. The old man with the crown of his olive green, wide-brimmed hat facing directly forward. On one of three benches, and once between them, his bags are neatly stacked. One of them looks to be a 75 Liter internal-frame Gregory or Kelty, with the red faded to burnt orange. I wonder if he’s ever noticed me pass, and I think sometimes of stopping to take his picture.
First Attempt Outerwear 