On Sunday, I leave Mexico to walk the Camino Francés. 

That’s about 500 U.S. miles of walking over perhaps 34 days.

Unlike the Adirondacks, the Pacific Crest, or the Appalachian trails in the U.S., the Camino has cell service, probably too many people (to which I am contributing), and many indoor sleeping options, from bunk-room auberges to hotels with saunas and pools.

 But it is the long walk that matters, a joy I discovered relatively late in life.

I am on the long side of 76, with the Pyrenees Mountains in front of me on Sept. 16, and likely 35 more days of walking after the climb.

That’s something I never thought I’d be saying at my age.

For once, I have prepared physically and mentally — and I hope adequately. 

My aches and my mistakes will be my own. I embrace that. But so will be the days when I hit my goal with no fanfare save from my aching feet and maybe a fellow Peregrino or two.

In answer to your question

I walk to say that I am still alive, and that I hope that fact means something to someone other than me.

I walk to clear my head, cleanse my body, nurture my soul, reopen my heart, and rediscover who I really am after all these decades. The victory is not in saying, “I’m old, and I still matter,” but in finding out why.

The victory is in getting up and doing it all over again the next morning.

This blog isn’t coming along either

I will be writing about my Camino experience, much as I did on the Portuguese Camino, Wild Atlantic Way, and West Highland Way. I just won’t be writing in this blog until I return in late October. (This notebook that I’m writing on right now probably weighs as much as all the clothes I will be bringing. It stays home.)

I will be posting short entries on Facebook if you want to follow along, or as my friend Marc McCarthy said the other day, “We just need ‘proof of life’ from time to time, and maybe not so many pictures.”

Over-writing and over-posting? Me? Oh, Marc.

He has a point. I’ll try to keep the posts brief, brilliant, buzzworthy, and bespoke. With only a handful of pictures.

Which boots get the boot?

On a practical matter, the four pairs of boots in the picture above are auditioning to play a major role in this trek. They all feel they deserve first position, on my feet.

On the right is a pair of Merrells that were picked up in Oklahoma in May 2019. They came with a free towel, which has had more use than the shoes. They have never been on a long hike. They’re comfortable enough but I just lack confidence in their performance over the long haul.

Next to the Merrells is a surprise entry, the Norti V8s. They are Chinese-made and probably come under a dozen different names on sites like Temu. Which is where I bought them in 2024, just weeks before hiking the West Highland Way.

Despite the panic-buy and Temu source, they served well on Scottish trails. I alternated them with a pair of trail runners, which came to a tragic end when I stepped backward into a peat bog hole on a rainy day. The smell was horrific, and the shoes were reluctantly left near the trash bin in Kingshouse.

Despite their service, I’d completely forgotten about the Norti V8s while training. Just this week, I’ve put them on and, well, they’re still comfortable.

Next up is a pair of Flexxi Country boots, bought in 2019 to walk the Portuguese Camino. They look sad, don’t they? Don’t be deceived. They may look antiquated, wrinkled, leathery, and unfashionable – Hey, so do I! – but they still feel terrific. I had them waterproofed last week, just in case.

I bought them here in San Miguel de Allende, a proudly Mexican-made boot in my adopted homeland. The hike was our first, arranged by Rose Alcantara as a reward for surviving heart surgery and as a crafty way to get me to exercise my way back to good health.

The sentiment is strong for that one. We’re both over the hill, but still capable of achieving unexpected things. I went back to look at getting new Flexxi boots for this hike, and I must say, the youngsters look all flash and show, with none of the strengths of their predecessor.

The last pair is the Hoka Anakapa Breeze, which I picked up early this year in San Francisco. I’ve resisted Hokas because they are trendy, pricey, and … well, that’s reason enough. I guess I should have considered that they are a very good trail shoe. Just because some insufferable people wear Hokas to go shopping in Whole Foods, don’t blame the shoe!

Are they right for me? Well, I put them on in the store and immediately walked 10 miles back to our Powell Street apartment, and they felt like walking on clouds.

That they still feel like foot-shod clouds bothers me. They’re a bit, um, squishy. 

To their credit, the Hokas held up well on a spontaneous round-trip hike to Atotonilco, about 18 miles in total.

Merrell? Norti V8? Flexxi? Hoka?

Only one of you can come with me. 

Norti and Flexxi have proven their worth in the past. But they are trail-worn and a touch weary.  Merrell has never had a serious shot. And Hoka is the rookie with potential.

Of course I asked Perplexity, my favorite AI pal:

“For a 500‑mile Camino, your best bet is the pair that’s already proven comfortable on long, loaded days and that gives your toes room as your feet swell. Of the four you listed, the Hoka Anakapa Breeze and the Merrells are the strongest candidates; the Flexxi Country boots and Norris V8s are more niche/rural work boots and are less commonly recommended for multi‑week pilgrim walking.”

Perplexity went into a thorough analysis of each shoe, pros and cons. I will spare you that.

Its advice boiled down to four words: If the shoe fits …