Friday, June 8, 2012

From behind the counter...
         
          Rock shoes have come a long, long way. One of my favorite climbing stories comes from IME’s own Andy Ross, who recalls purchasing his first-ever pair of sticky-rubber climbing shoes, Fires, just after arriving in Spain in the early eighties. After months of sampling some of the best limestone in Europe—and thoroughly wearing out his shoes in the process—my famously frugal boss was flat-broke, barely able to afford his return trip back to the U.K. Upon arriving home, however, the typically abysmal English weather began to steadily improve, and despite his lack of funds—or a functional pair of rock shoes—Andy was determined to make the most of the unexpected opportunity, as well as avoid cutting short his extended climbing holiday. Rather than borrow the money, our ever-resourceful co-worker decided, instead, to simply swap his right shoe for the left, trading his worn-out edges for “fresh” ones, thereby extending his season by another day, another pint…
          Such a novel, low-budget solution would be impossible today; in the years since Andy’s trip to Spain, manufacturers continued to develop and refine construction methods, and designers have radically altered the shapes of contemporary rock shoes to excel on nearly any type of terrain, and to suit every climbing style. Though rock shoes have seen dramatic improvements with respect to fit—just imagine, trying to swap left for right with an asymmetric shoe like our Boostik—and to overall performance, in order to achieve such a high level of climbing functionality, something has to give. In the case of rock shoes, we climbers willingly sacrifice our footwear’s durability for unparalleled sensitivity on stone; by whittling away all excess material, today’s designers are able to create the near-seamless, almost “painted-on” feel that is the ideal. This, combined with the unprecedented popularity of climbing gyms—with their extremely abrasive artificial surfaces—has led to an alarming trend: most rock shoes, these days, seldom ever see a resole. Is this new paradigm a sustainable one?
          The most common mistake climbers make when it comes to their shoes is overuse. Let’s face it—it’s often difficult to anticipate exactly when one’s shoes will develop a hole, and to make matters worse, it’s often just before a hole appears that most climbers feel their shoes are nearly perfect, that they can stand on almost anything. The key is to keep a close eye on the shoes' level of wear.  Here are a few tips:

          Here, we have three pairs of Vapors.  From left to right:  a brand-new shoe, a broken-in shoe and one that is nearly ready for a resole.
          Here's the brand-new Vapor, with plenty of camber and fresh edges.  
          This is my broken-in Vapor.  When I first noticed my old pair getting close to needing a resole, I broke these out and started bringing them along, mostly when cragging.  I run mine on the tighter side, so it takes a bit of time--about a week--to get them to where I can stand to have them on for longer than a pitch.
          And last, but certainly not least, this is my trusted and well-worn Vapor.  As you can see, it's seen a fair bit of action on the granite...  Though, from this angle, it is difficult to see the level of wear on the edges, notice the top of the rand; my Vapors are my go-to trad shoe, and it's evident I've been climbing cracks!
          Here's a head-on view of my broken-in Vapor.  Note how the outsole maintains an even thickness along the toebox perimeter; the edges are still well defined and trace a near-parallel line with respect to the seam, the bottom of the blue tape.

          This is the broken-in shoe, in profile; again, notice the near-parallel thickness of the outsole.
          Here's a head-on view of my old Vapor.  The bottom edge of the blue tape here, too, runs along the seam between the outsole and the rand.  Upon closer examination, it is just possible to make out the line formed by the well-worn edge.  It appears as a faint, white line that, in contrast to the even, parallel edge as seen on the previous shoe, seems to gradually taper toward the apex of the big toe, just above my thumb.  The area where the gap between the tape and the edge is at its closest is of the most concern; if I continue to wear this shoe, a hole will inevitably form.  If the hole continues to expand, it will eventually wear into the shoe's rand, which will necessitate a much more involved and expensive repair, in addition to the resole.  Shoes that have severely damaged rands often require the cobbler to replace them; in the case of this type of fix, there is no guarantee one's shoes will retain its original fit characteristics.
          My old Vapors, in profile, illustrate the level of wear along the edge.  Unlike the newer shoe, it's obvious just how rounded and worn these edges have become.  
          Here's another look, this time it's of the medial edge of the newer Vapor.  Climbers generally favor standing on this side of their shoes when face climbing; rock shoes worn frequently in the gym will often have disproportionate wear in this particular area, so it's important to keep tabs on this spot, as well as on the apex of the toe!
          Here's the last one, I promise!  Again, here's the medial view of my old Vapor, and it's easy to see the difference.  The edge is nearly impossible to distinguish, as it is nearly completely rounded; these babies, though they probably have a tiny bit more life left in them, are destined for the cobbler, ASAP.  Rather than risk allowing a hole to develop either here on at the toe, I'd rather not take the chance.  When they return, they'll boast the crisp edges of a brand-new pair, but with the custom-molded fit of a familiar friend.