My backpack is resting up between trips. Earlier this month, I was back home in the south, gathering material for Trains and for a special magazine we’re doing about big steam locomotives in operation or under restoration. Next week, I’m off to Durango, Colo., to promote our latest special release, Colorado Railroads magazine and DVD. I’m excited about the travel but worried that this could be the last trip for my trusty and much beloved Swiss Army backpack.
I got the backpack about 8 years ago when I started hauling a laptop with me. It’s a sturdy backpack, and I’ve crammed more stuff in it than I should have. Besides the computer, it holds a nifty fold flat hat that I found in Chama, N.M., one or two Nikons, an ultra-wide angle lens that I love but must baby because I’ve already dropped it twice, and a telephoto zoom lens, memory cards, card reader, extra AA batteries, charging cable for the laptop, notebook, pens, meds for head and tummy, and yes, my spare pare of underwear in case my suitcase and I get separated. It has more pockets than a billiard table, and I have to compliment the manufacturers: It is just about the perfect portable office for a 21st century railroad journalist. I could and have worked out of it for weeks at a time.
The bag has been everywhere on every trip since 2008. We’ve been on plenty of train rides, too many plane rides, several road trips. We’ve been to most states, Canada, UK, Germany, and Switzerland. We’ve seen our share of good times and a few bad times, but mostly good. I decorated it with a few railroad hatpins just to give it more personality, but the sense of adventure it conjures up for me is lively enough.
But now it is starting to rip and tear. All of that overstuffing has caught up with the pack. I’ve put it to the test, and it’s come through for me time and time again. But it is being pushed beyond its limits. I dare not weigh it. I had one tear in the shoulder strap fixed a few years ago. I’m not sure about the new tears, which are in the body of the pack. The Colorado trip probably won’t be too strenuous, but I worry about the next trip, and the next trip after that. Will my pack be around or become a casualty of work?
I feel about this backpack much like the same way John Denver sang about “this old guitar” and Mary Chapin Carpenter sang about a well-worn shirt that was there for so much of her life. The bright red backpack has been with me many miles, and I hope it can make a few more.
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