So there I was. Hiking through the Smokey Mountains. It was hot out, so I did what any of my French friends would do (well maybe not any...): I took off my pants and hiked in my speedo briefs. Seemed natural. Made sense. Right?
Well after a short time, a group of trail riders passed us on their horses. Four in all. The leader was a 60-something mountain man in a cowboy hat with strong grip on his reins. Following him was an equally aged, equally comfortable-in-the-woods-on-a-horse woman. Then a younger couple in college t-shirts, out for a fun afternoon ride. My friends and I watched and chuckled as each of the four riders passed, looked me in the eyes, slowly gazed downward, then suddenly became infatuated with the treetops. What must they have been thinking?
About three hours later, the riders passed us again on the trail, and their musings over our peculiar hiking attire became evident. The mountain man leader greeted us with a question, “You boys been swimmin’ today?”
“No sir,” we answered, “sure haven’t.”
They passed, and the intrigue continued.