These boots have gone everywhere with on my biker adventures, and are battered and stretched and molded to the shape of my feet.
They took many months of breaking in, ruthlessly tearing off skin from my heels; wearing off protective bandaids to bite chunks out until I bled and hobbled. They cost me so much, I was determined to get them to fit, so fat socks, freezer bags and bandages finally tamed them and they became part of me.
In the rain, the water has run down my legs to pool them with water, sloshing between my toes as I braked and changed gears. On long trips where the soggy weather continued to saturate and freeze my feet, I learned to put shopping bags over my socks and tie the handles around my ankles in an effort to keep the water out. It worked, but didn't look as 'cool' as Harley riders should. Of course, longer boots would have done better, leaving no gap below my wet weather gear, but I never got the courage up to go through that pain again.
Around two years ago, the side elastic began to loosen, leaving the top a bit floppy, so I got very creative and hand stitched a tighter elastic band around the inside edge, which worked quite well.
I am sure they have protected me in the few tangles I have had in my biker history. I also remember the sides of the soles scraping the ground when I rode pillion on my man's old Harley Heritage, which always gave me a fright.
But then, Heritages scrape on everything that require a slight lean.
Well, my dear old Johnny Rebs, we'll see whether the broken body comes back together enough for me to need you again. Time will tell.
"Life is a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats. "