The Tramp

Before I begin this blog, I think a definition or two is in order. And before the definition, an apology to "The Fellow Traveller". I just two minutes ago sent you an email explaining why it was unlikely I'd be bloggin any time soon. And Voila! Out of the clear blue, inspiration.... such as it is.

"Tramp [Noun]"

1 a : a foot traveler b : a begging or thieving vagrant c : a woman of loose morals;
2 : a walking trip
3 : the succession of sounds made by the beating of feet on a surface (as a road, pavement, or floor)
4 : an iron plate to protect the sole of a shoe
5 : a ship not making regular trips but taking cargo when and where it offers and to any port -- called also tramp steamer


I've taken to walking, lately. It was recommended as a form of activity for one who was, otherwise, pretty inactive. I find I've actually become a bit addicted to this form of activity.

A little over a week ago, I found myself in Branson, Missouri, at a family reunion. Table Rock lake was just across Highway 165 (or was that 265?) from our motel, and the entrance to the State Park was just few dozen yards down the road. There is a nice walking trail along this shore of the lake, starting at the park's marina, and running to the dam that created the lake. From the Marina to the Dam was a total of 2.5 miles.

My first afternoon there, I walked from the park down to the Marina, then back, a mere 1.6 miles. This is where the point of this blog, such as there is one, comes to the fore.

As I was walking up the road, I found myself in the middle of the entrance to the boat ramp as a car coming the other way decided they wanted to turn into the ramp area. I was in the way. I chose not to run to clear the way for them (inconsiderate of a mere pedestrian, don't you think?) as i) it was hot, ii) I was a little tired, iii) I have arthritis, making it a tad hard to run and iv) it was all uphill.

As I passed the passenger door of the car, the female passenger muttered loud enough for me to hear (like, duh!) "Tramp!".

Me! A Tramp! Of course, I'm not a pleasant man. I don't take kindly to being called names, and I'm tired of doing so. So, I didn't let this go. I muttered (loud enough for the passenger to hear me, like duh!... no, I won't tell you - you can guess! But I must interject an abject apology to my dog Nikki. Sorry girl, didn't mean to demean you to such a degree!)

But today, I looked up the definition of Tramp... and I see I may have been too hasty to judge the darling lady in the car.

Perhaps she was just calling me what I was! A Foot Traveller. Surely she couldn't have determined from observing me for 5 seconds that I was a beggar or a thief. On the other hand, I suppose I MIGHT have looked a bit of a vagrant. Now, as to being one of loose morals, I totally challenge ANYONE to be able to determine that from watching a tired, sweaty man struggling up a bit of a hill!

And, it's true, I was on a walking trip. My feet are a bit largish, so I do tramp as I walk, slapping my battleships with each step (especially on road, pavement of floor surfaces... uh, what else is there?)

I think I'll categorically deny definition 4. Just doesn't fit. I'm not an Iron Man. I have never BEEN an Iron Man. And I think it is relatively safe to say that, at 47, with arthritis in both knees, it is highly unlikely I shall ever BE an Iron Man.

Which leaves us with definition 5. I suppose to a petite, vapid and totally brainless little thing sitting in a sports car, I might be mistaken for an ocean going vessel. But that part was just plain mean of her. I mean, after all! I've lost 23 friggin' pounds, thank you very much!