3 Dopes On A Rope

My eyes stare longingly at the weave of the yellow climbing rope wondering if the strands of nylon will hold my oversize frame. I’ve always believed that I was a young hardcore male like the rest of my friends. I owned a cap gun at 8 years old, a sport utility vehicle at 20, and roused the gumption to kiss just a girl or two. But it all becomes very apparent how much of a wimp you really are when you get 300 feet off the ground dangling in mid-air on a rope hanging by two ascenders that don’t look like they would hold even the skinniest Calvin Klein model. I gruntingly moved the ascending contraption up the rope another 2 feet and weighted it with the extreme ease. I forget that each ascender could hold more than 2000 pounds of weight. I looked up towards my goal just in time to get my photo taken by Kyle Drake, Junior, Oregon State University. Kyle smiles and tells me that I’m looking good…I flash him a nervous smile. Shannon Gibb, Junior, Walla Walla University is right next to me hanging in the same feeble state pulling gear off the rock trusting her life to the same two ascenders. I wonder how I got the easy job of just getting up the rope without having to clean the protection off the wall. Inside I feel sorry for her and very discourteous as she grunts up the rock. I was getting the feeling you get after you forget to open the door for the girl and she stands outside to wait for you, but you don’t catch on until later when she brings it up in an awkward conversation. You could’ve been nice…but you weren’t. I think about it for a second and then write it off as luck of the draw and continue ascending.

Kyle, Shannon, and I have climbed, skied, and worked together for the last few years and this climb would be Kyle and my third attempt on the Monkey’s Face at Smith Rocks, OR. Smith Rocks is one of the birth places of sport, traditional, and aid climbing. It is a virtual mecca for many professional climbers and weekend warriors alike. Monkey’s Face is home to some of the hardest climbing routes in the world and has seen many capable climbers pawing and scratching over its sheer faces, way more capable than myself at least.

On this attempt, the plan was to climb the West Face Variation route which is two pitches of gear placing, a pitch of aid climbing, and a final pitch of bolted sport climbing to the top. Unfortunately there were already climbers on the West Face Variation so we headed up to the classic Pioneer route which back in the 60’s was the first line ever climbed on the face.

We arrived at the base of the Pioneer route around 2:30 pm and began to set up our gear. Kyle racked his gear quickly and jumped on the “sharp end” rope for the first lead up through the gap separating the main buttress and Monkey’s Face. He stopped long enough to belay Shannon and I up to the ledge just below the Monkey’s mouth and then led out in the next pitch of aid climbing. Kyle has more experience than both Shannon and I combined so we are fine with letting him set ropes and aid climb. He got into the mouth of the Monkey, set the ropes at the anchors, and Shannon and I launched out into open space jugging (ascending) up the rope to the mouth. Every second I spent hanging there in this new experience I was thinking back to easier times in my life like learning how to blow G.I Joe’s up with fire crackers or how to crack open a sunflower seed in my mouth.

I pulled over the ledge and got locked into the anchors with the help of Kyle. We both sat down and watched Shannon struggle with the gear, trying desperately to clean the route. By no fault of Shannon, by the time she pulled over the edge it is getting dark and so we made the tough but quick decision to bail off.

Kyle rappelled first followed by Shannon and I was left alone for a short while contemplating the 200 foot rappel down to the base of the route. I prayed a little since it was just God and I. Then I heard, “Off Rappel!”, from Shannon and that was my cue to lean out over 400 feet of exposure and descend the rope. The fact that I couldn’t see anything actually calmed me as I slipped lower and lower on the rock. I flicked off my headlamp and descended into darkness. The lights of the surrounding towns and the night sky were amazing. I once again remembered why I climb.

Back on the ground we readied to pull the ropes and head for the car, but as Kyle went to yank the ropes through the anchors he couldn’t budge them. We adjusted our angles and tried different pulling and flicking techniques. For the next hour we tried to alleviate the ropes from their bind but to no avail. I went through a range of emotions because it was my brand new rope stuck on this stupid rock. I made the normal human mistake of trying to blame someone for the mishap but remembered that sometimes there is nothing you can do about the situation leading up to an accident. If anyone was to blame it was me. I was the one that rapped off without checking to make sure that the ropes weren’t twisted. I even remember seeing them twisted and saying to myself that “it shouldn’t be a problem.”

After Kyle ascended back up the rope to get a better angle, he called down to me that he was coming down and we would come out tomorrow morning to pull the ropes. He was right…there was nothing we could do about it in the dark. With headlamps dwindling we made our way over the ridge and back down to the car.

Back at Kyle’s house we discussed our day over bowls of pralines and cream and chocolate moose tracks ice cream. Good judgment helps you live to climb another day. Dale Goddard and Udo Neumann of Performance Rock Climbing say that “Feeling miserable about your failures only haunts your future efforts with the ghosts of bad experiences past.” That stupid primate has defeated me once again but I don’t plan on letting it defeat me for good. Bring it.

Australia can have the Great Barrier Reef!

Australia has some pretty beautiful things even though I've never been there. I've heard the great barrier reef is phenomenal if you can handle sharks and the Sydney Oprah house is spectacular if you're into that sort of thing. One thing I think the American, Camera toting, tourists missed was developing relationships with the locals.
I spent the last few days with a girl who tiptoed into my life. I've never wanted to develop a relationship with someone at the summer camp I work at, but somehow it just happened. Every Sunday I knew that I would get a chance to see her again at camp line calls when we received our new group of kids for the week. I never really wanted anything from her but a good laugh at first and then toward the end of camp I started to want a little more. On the last day of Big Lake youth camp she planned an Australian "Tim-Tam Slam" for me. It's basically hot chocolate and a wafer cookie wrapped in chocolate with some improvisation involved. You bite off the two ends of the cookie, suck up the hot chocolate, and jam the cookie into your mouth before it melts and falls apart in your hand. This was an experience I had only heard about before. She smiled as I jammed the melting gooey goodness in my mouth and rolled my eyes back in my head as a feeling of pure ecstasy swept over me. There was something different between us at that moment. Before I realized how I felt about her we were sitting in a sketchy or "Dodgey" (she would say) Mexican restaurant in Portland, OR laughing at jokes about burritos and learning more about each other. I had spent the previous two weeks by myself on a 3500 mile road trip across the 10 states and had finished out the trip in Portland definitely wanting some companionship. We spent a day together hiking Multnomah Falls, trying out designer furniture, and getting lost in Downtown Portland. I showed her the mecca of REI and explained why I like the outdoor equipment store so much over lunch at a Mediterranean cafe.
We parted ways and I fully expected never to see her again. I couldn't get the girl off my mind for the rest of that week and when she stepped off a train from Portland in my hometown the next week I knew this wasn't going to be just a simple friendship. We spent the next day touring around the neighborhoods and schools of my childhood. I learned more about her through a CD purchase and a simple 99 cent store stop and shop. We drained the evening light and faced the morning light watching "Blades of Glory" with Will Ferrell. We didn't want to face the reality that she was ultimately going back to Australia.
I tried to make out a face through the tinted bus windows as I watched the her pull away on the Greyhound bus going back to Portland, the lump in my throat settled in for the long haul. We made a decision that long distance relationships really suck and gave the matter to God. Through my confusing feelings I still wonder what we had and what will come of it...

Shorts and Boxers?

I love Mexican food. I have a special place in my heart for it. I've eaten it twice this week all the while sitting on my butt doing nothing really but trying to get set up to finally graduate from college. Portland was kind of a nice finisher to a great road trip. I met a friend I met at summer camp there named Alina. We had a blast walking through the furniture shops of downtown Portland looking at the all the furniture that we couldn't afford even though they labeled it as "affordable design". What has our world come to when people will pay one grand for a sheet of stainless steel that has been brushed with a circular grinder and then four legs welded on. Heck, if you have a friend with a machine shop you could do that for free. Let's think logically here people. I did like the aluminum chairs though. I could lift them with one finger. Greenpeace was out in force trying to recruit members. A guy ironically named Bryan poured out his heart about the enviromental organization. I think that I might of been the first person to actually stop to listen to what he had to say. I looked around at his other friends pleading with passers by and no one else was giving them the time of day. I could be wrong, but I don't really think that a whole lot people want to be associated with the semi-militant organization that straps themselves to trees and lays down in front of dozers. I love what they do and we need people like that in the world, passionate people are few and far between. I just wish we could talk about God like we do our precious rainforests. It is an interest parallel.
There was lots of laughing and sarcasm all day long with my Australian friend from Big Lake Youth Camp. It seemed that we ate too much but after hiking Multnomah falls I felt that we had gotten our exercise and stopped thinking that I was gaining weight. That evening we went on a wild hunt for a Russian Restaurant. Unfortunately when we found it the establishment was gutted and the lights were off. We chose a sketchy mexican food place that actually had decent food. We stayed up late together at a friends house laughing at how tired we were but not wanting to go to bed cause it was so hilarious the things that we were saying.
After morning breakfast and hugs goodbye I headed for Richland, WA in order to make it in time for my physical with Dr. Cain. Talk about and awkward situation. The doctor ordered "Drop your pants." "Shorts and Boxers?" I said in a high pitched puberty voice. "Stupid question." I thought. "Yup." he said kurtly. There is a sense of exposure that is unmatched at this point. You know that he is comparing you to the hundred other patients he's done this to that day. But I realized that eventhough I have pride issues and ego problems this is not a situation that will ulimately determine my self worth. That situation comes later... On my wedding night. Ok...too much information.
I made it back to the Tri-cities only to want to leave for another trip as soon as possible. Just let me catch up on my sleep and get over the nightmares of running through doctors offices with my pants around my ankles looking for tongue depressors.

Face-Slapping Tired

Man is not designed to drive 785 miles across three states in one night, especially on lonely, desolate roads through the heart of Nevada. I did get a little company from the Austin, Nevada police force though. This blink-n-miss town was located just off a small mountain pass and as I dropped down out of the hills “The Fuzz” caught me going 35 in the 25 mile an hour speed zone that was the length of a football field. I knew that they probably spend their nights rabbit shooting and flashing innocent locals with those stupid side mounted search lights that cops so often misuse. I forced out a kind “Evening, officer.” And he gave me the typical, “License and Registration… Do you know why I pulled you over?” I felt like saying, “I don’t know officer...Was it my long flowing beautiful hair, which is Illegal in some states, or cause I don’t have a gun rack?” But instead I gave him a meek, “Yes I dooooo.” In a descending sad tone. I gave him my license and he went back to his cruiser for the typical check that I’ve been through so many times I can’t count anymore. While I waited I saw a drunken man saunter out of the bar a hundred feet away, jay walk across the street, and crank his car stereo to a song that was so vile I wouldn’t let Marilyn Manson listen to it. “I’m glad that justice was served tonight.”, I remember thinking, as he handed me my license back and with a verbal warning told me to slow it down.

The last few days have been a blur of mountains, ski resorts, and clearance sale winter apparel. If you are looking for a place to get a $250 brand name jacket for $85, Colorado ski towns on Labor Day weekend are the place to be. Breckenridge, Colorado was where I chose to spend the Wednesday night after my crazy Tennessee trip. I drove all over “Breck”, as the locals call it, trying to find a place that was truck camping friendly. Every place that had potential displayed signs that read “No overnight parking on city streets, Vehicle will be towed at owners expense.” I began to think that maybe I wasn’t the only cheapskate college kid to have tried this before, especially at a world class ski resort. Oh, but you can’t keep a good man down. I eventually drove further into the mountains on a gravel road to French gulch, climbed into the back and zonked out. I woke up in the morning to a strange sight of old rusted metal sifters and worn out water pumps left for dead. I didn’t realize this at the time but I had camped out one of Colorado’s biggest gold mines or at least the one the warranted the most gold. In the mid- 1800’s “Tom’s Baby”, the name of a 14 pound gold nugget, was pulled out of the mountainside. This find triggered a huge gold rush to the surrounding area and French Gulch became a boom town with saloons, hotels, and supply stores. From the very beginning in the early 1800’s to the late 1960’s when the mine closed, French Gulch produced over $400 million in Gold.

I bummed around Breckenridge like an out of work ski bum…wait…I am an out of work ski bum! I realized that while I was sitting in Starbucks and that prompted me to ask the Barista what she did to stay alive here. She told me that she was a snowboard instructor in the winter and worked part time mixing coffee to pay for her season pass. I really enjoyed the area and the people in Breck. This town is probably close to the top of my “move to” list even before Boulder, CO. After getting a sweet deal on an Obermeyer down ski jacket in Frisco, CO just North of Breckenridge I took off for Leadville, CO. Kyle Drake rants and raves about Leadville, so I decided to give it a go. It was on the way to Aspen anyway so I drove the two hours over a few passes, by one of the biggest mining operations in the United States and finally arrived in the small mining town. Kyle told me to visit Melanzana, an outdoor clothing store that manufactures all their own goods in house versus sending them to Vietnam, Sri Lanka, or some other country whose work we can exploit. Unfortunately they were closed but I’m going to definitely check out their website.

There was nothing keeping me in Leadville so I made a run for Aspen crossing over the beautiful Independence Pass where I decided to sleep for the night and watch the sunrise. I woke up at 6:30 to catch the light but I could’ve slept for another hour and half because the mountains are so high the sun takes its sweet old time peeking over the ridges. So I read for a little bit in the dawn light, had worship, took some photos, and raced down the west side of the mountains to the overpriced town of Aspen, CO.

Aspen is a ski town in a world of its own. The people there walk with a strut, wear $300 dollar jeans, and the women have diamonds so big that it probably makes it difficult to zip up their ski jackets. I walked around for awhile but grew disgusted because this is not what skiing is all about. It was a good thing that I met Arthur Ketchum, an old high school and college buddy, so he could give me hope that Paris Hilton will not start to set the standard for ski resort style and décor. Earlier in the week, I sent Arthur my cell number over Facebook but when he called his number didn’t show up on my phone and he didn’t leave it in his message. I had fully given up on meeting up with him and had stopped at a bakery for breakfast on the outskirts of Aspen. I was grabbing my water bottle out of the passengers’ seat when I looked up and who is walking toward my truck but Arthur himself. I yelled his name and greeted him with a hug. We were both amazed at our happenstance, but then again everything occurs for a God given reason. He told me that he worked down the street and was on his way to get a morning pastry. We chatted for awhile over apple fritters and then he took me to his work where he is a computer programmer. He programs electronics systems that integrate all the aspects of electronics, ambiance, climate, and lighting in a home. The systems are incredibly expensive so most of their clients are foreign princes, snoop doggs, and very wealthy business men. All the people that worked for the company were very friendly. Arthur’s roommate and work partner was a very friendly guy who was a very convincing proponent of Mate Tea. With gourd and metal tea straw in hand he explained the benefits to the life improving process of tea drinking. I left the business with a feeling that there are some down to earth people in Aspen and was in high spirits as I drifted down Interstate 80 to Moab, Utah.

I really didn’t expect Moab to have the effect on me that it did. I was thinking middle of the desert, only mountain biking, 4 x 4’s , and lots of dust. Sounds like Tri-cities, my hometown. Though when I began to move through the sandstone cliffs driving into the valley I was awestruck and I felt myself going back in time. I was imagining a war painted Indian atop his beautiful and trusty steed watching me from atop the cliff like I’d seen so many times in the old west movies. I spent the evenings sunset taking photos of Delicate Arch in Arches National Park with about 80 other people who were very adamant on getting the perfect photo. When the light was right it always seemed that some Italian or German tourist would be standing in the middle of the arch taking a personal photo. All the photographers would be mumbling under their breath with their cameras to their eyes waiting for them to move. It never failed, just before the light would dissipate “joe pro-photographer” would scream, “Can you get out of the way, please!” The tourists would cuss in their native tongue and would slowly meander away. “Welcome to America.” I said to myself after this process repeated itself a few more times.

Despite the Labor Day crowd I really enjoyed Moab. I got to know Jason from the local climbing shop, Gearheads, who gave me tips for free camping and good bouldering spots around Moab. He told me that if you don’t mind not having town culture, a good movie theatre, and lots dust in your nose, Moab is the place to be.

That night I camped out in the bush and in the morning on the way back out I heard gunshots. Needing some help cleaning my Fathers rifle that he loaned me I stopped and cautiously approached. I was greeted by retired gunsmith Walter Scott who grabbed the rifle and told me what was wrong and helped me get it in working order. “It really needs a good cleanin.” He told me. He said that he was out here target practicing because he wanted to be able to shoot better through his “Old Timer Shakes” when the country fell apart. After shooting a few rounds through my rifle we struck up a conversation that involved more political speak than I really care to talk about. He was a far rightwing republican that could not understand why we were letting Hispanics takeover the United States of America when our four fathers worked so hard to make us free. Some of it didn’t match up together but I wasn’t really willing to argue with a disgruntled seventy year-old republican with a semi-automatic pistol in hand. “To each his own.” I said to myself as I walked back to my truck hoping not to get a bullet in the back.

I spent the rest of the morning hiking in Arches, taking photos, and playing guitar in the sandstone canyons. It was wonderful. I vowed to bring my wife back here someday for good times. I left Moab and drove for 12 hours to Susanville in Northern California. I rolled in at two o’clock in the morning Sunday of Labor Day weekend. Wal-Mart parking lots are always a welcome sight when you’re face-slapping tired from driving. I figured with all the Land Yacht Motor Homes with extendable pieces parked in the lot no one would mind if a little tiny Chevy Avalanche snuck in between them.

I woke up this morning having not gotten quality sleep and needing very badly to purge all the caffeinated beverages that I had drank the night before. Starbucks is like my home away from home. I’ve been here for about three hours now…I hear the road calling.

A Vanishing Art

Brittney readied herself by the restaurant door and I clutched my Coca-Cola as another flash of lighting lit up the grey sky right above us sending a deafening “CRACK!” into my sensitive ears. She started the count down, "One, two, THREE! GO!", we both sprinted for the car through the heavy rain, the likes of which I hadn’t been in since the Islands. I scrambled to open the car door but it was too late, I was turned quickly into a sticky, sweaty mess. When we pulled into Starbucks a few blocks down I dried off with napkins from the condiment counter. We had spent the day touring around Chattanooga to viewpoints and different sights

We got back from Florida Monday night at 11:30 and we decided that we were all too tired to hang out anymore and all of us hit the sack. We had a great time but not without a little drama spattered here and there. It seems that with men, or at least this man, tact is not one of my strong points and I realized that on this trip. I think that I might of messed up couple of good friendships… “Stop feeling sorry for yourself!” is what is coming to mind right now but I’m still writing. Funny thing is that I can’t get away from hostility…I pulled over today on the highway to help a couple get there car started again with some jumper cables, but when the guy went to grab for the keys they weren’t there. He blew up at his girlfriend, who in turn, began to sob uncontrollably yelling at the boyfriend to give her her phone back, but for some reason unknown to me he had thrown it across the road into the bushes. I stood there jumper cables dangling from one hand and stunned look on my face watching this couple tear each other apart with screams of “You F***ing idiot, how could you lose the keys in 3 minutes!”. Makes you want to stop and help someone, doesn’t it? Oddly enough today I also met two teenage kids honestly running from the law who were sitting in front of a mall asking for money. One assaulted a police officer and was strangely proud of it and the other was a registered runaway. It was a real positive friendly day on the road…yup…uh huh.

I got in to Denver from Tennessee at 8:05 am. I was sweaty, tired, and sore. I met the coolest people at Southern. Two of which were Matt Turk and Reed Kraus who called me at 11:30 pm to go night climbing with them. I told them I was totally down as long as I got back at 3:00 am to make it to my Nashville Airport Shuttle leaving from Chattanooga at 3:30 am. Let just say that we climbed hard and the beautiful Full Moon that was out really influenced us to try new things on the rock.

I spent the afternoon in Denver touring the Capitol building and taking pictures. The art museum cost money and since a dinner at Taco Bell is more important to me than Rembrandt ever will be, I decided to forego the expense of looking at hanging masterpieces. For old times sake today I looked up a local magic shop and drove to it. Upon arrival I noticed that the shop was incredibly disorganized and looked more like front for drug sales especially when the young pizza eating employee asked me if I was looking for any “Special Trick” today. I walked out. I don’t think they had taken an organizing inventory in a couple of years. Oddly enough they were selling T-shirts that stated “Magic is a Vanishing Art.” What the heck ever happened to David Copperfield anyway?

The First French Fry

A cup of coffee can and always will be a great wake up for my soul. It has been and interesting trip to Florida with two girls and a guy. I don't think that I fully grasp the situation that I put myself in, but I think that a lot of men don't realize that even ten years into a marriage. I came back to Tennessee with a sunburn from a day at the beach and a creepy feeling that I got from sleeping in a cheap hotel bed that's probably been used for lots of other things besides sleeping. I got to hold a beautiful 14 month old baby girl that would put a smile on the face of even the meanest marine. I hung out with Jenna's family Saturday night and even though they were familiarly uncouth and brash at times I had a great evening with them chatting about Adventist religion from their conservative point of view.
If you can beat the humidity here in the South, this is a great place to meet girls. Many of them are looking for that chic flick romance that always ends up with the guy chasing down the girl after a bad break up to express his love for her. My story follows that path a little. I'm looking for that girl to chase down and brow beat her for not falling in love with such an awesome guy like me. Selfish and one-sided? Of Course! As much as I want to say that God has a golden-haired women out there for me, I seem to always want control. I feel that I can handle my love life. My relationships are like a McDonald's happy meal with the little toy. I find something that just satisfies me, devour all the good stuff and then fixate on one key "toy" or thing that links the two of us whether it be a good friendship, something emotional, or, god forbid, something sexual. I then tire and throw the relationship in a box and wonder why I even ate the first "french fry". Where did I go wrong. It's starts with the "me" attitude. I have never had true faith in Jesus Christ and maybe that is why I can't trust people. I'm so blind to the people around me. I just please them long enough to get what I want and then throw them away just like I have done to my Jesus. But that is the story of many, not just me.
I'm starting to realize that you can't please everyone. All my life it has been my mission to try to make everyone like me. When I was younger I would try to entertain with magic tricks. I was unfortunately no David Copperfield and that angered me. There are only so many children whom from you can hear, "I saw how you did that!", before you want to overdose on your Ritalin and call it a night in the bathtub. The trick today is trying to be the jester or the nice guy and hope that someone will notice and laugh or be appreciative. To make life more black and white, maybe I should start making coins and cards disappear again.

The last few days were pretty interesting. As one Frontier Airlines ticket agent will attest to, I almost ended up in Milwaukee, WI instead of the dirty, dirty South. The story begins after a good airport meal at Panda Wok Denver International. I was somehow strangely drawn to a wrong gate and boarded the Wisconsin bound plane with complete confidence. Luckily the ticket agent caught it before the plane departed and paged me to the front of the plane and I was once again made to look like a fool. The entire plane was watching me as I weaved my way around the tattered business man putting his brief case in the overhead bin. I came to a stop at the door way. The man said very loudly with a slight smirk, "Sir, you're on the wrong plane." The people on the front rows snickered and laughed. I cracked nervous joke, snatched my ticket like an angry lotto loser, and sauntered back into the terminal with my tail between my legs.
Lightning never used to scare as a kid, but when you see good ol' Tennessee bolts you feel that you really want to find some cover. I flew into stormy Nashville last night around 11:30 was picked up verily promptly by Brittney McClannahan an old friend from the West side of the US. It was fantastic to see her and as we threw my bags in the back of her white compact we joked about old times and how we're getting "old". I never thought that I would make it to this point in my life. A place where I'm 24, haven't graduated from college, and still looking for Mrs. Wright...er...Mrs. Right...Dang it! I can't never get that "right"! I know that it sounds like I'm saying I'm old, but when you're 18 and fresh out of high school 24 years old seems so unobtainable. When you're 24, your passed the age where it's a celebration that you have to make "important adult" decisions. For me it was once you pass the age where you can smoke and buy porn, the next age goal is 21 when you can drink, but being a Christian Adventist really doesn't promote the best conditions for becoming a social drinker like it does at public colleges. Although I did participate in "questionable activities" for a while at my quaint Adventist mecca nestled in the Walla Walla valley, I tried to keep it on the down low in order to keep my reputation as an upstanding Christian man from going down the tubes. "Two faced fence sitter" is what I usually called myself in my prayers.
Florida's nice! On a more positive note, I woke up early this morning as Jenna, a new good friend, slipped into Brittney's apartment. We we're introduced properly and before I knew it I was downing a 40 ounce smoothy from Smoothy King and was talking about life history as we speed down the highway to Ocala, FL. We got to Jenna's parents house around five o' clock and we sat around playing with the Elmo dolls belonging to Jenna's niece Payton. A great day with good conversation and new friends.

Waking up to your own car alarm is never a good way to start your day especially when you're inside the vehicle. Last night I parked my Chevy Avalanche in an upscale Boulder, CO neighborhood and slept in the back. I had a great night of sleep but when I opened the door to don my funky smelling chaco sandals and start the day my stealthy camp spot was revealed by my car horn piercing the warm Colorado air. I felt a little foolish especially when a neighbor came out, trash can in tow, smiling at me like he knew exactly what I was doing. I don't deny that I have a guilty conscience. I'm still not sure if I would like a smelly rock climber/college student camping out in his car in front of my million dollar home. Probably thought I was scoping it out to rob it... I think.
The Flatirons were calling to me this morning, I could see them from the back window of my truck. These spires rise high above Boulder and consist of conglomerate sandstone. They are all over 290 million years old. I don't understand how they know that, but there are a lot of people around here that know a lot about rocks so I believe them. I had breakfast and devotions at the trail head and started off at a good clip passing all the grandmas and the rock collecting 9 year olds. My pace was unmatchable, except, I forgot one crucial thing. I'm in the outdoor sport capital of the world and before long I had a grey-haired senior business executive in a suit...er...running shorts nipping at my heels. I tried to keep up the pace but as the trail turned into switchbacks, my lungs started to burn and my quads refused to work correctly. I stopped and let him pass and felt shameful as he hiked by barely breaking a sweet greeting me with a "Good Morning." "Shut up Grandpa!" I thought as I moved further over to miss his swinging waterbottle. I was disappointed in myself. I blamed it on the elevation and hiked off on a separate trail to the base of the first Flatiron. I stood there for sometime eating dried mangos, watching two climbers work their way up a route protecting against falls. "That is so lame", I said to myself, "I could totally free solo (no ropes or protection) up this." I checked my pride and decided that I was on a one-way trip to a shattered pelvis and I got back on the main trail. I passed twp Italian climbers who gave me an accented "Hi." and headed for the summit. I sat on top of the 290 million year old sandstone eating a Clif bar and snapping photo after photo.
The view was breathtaking as I settled down atop one of the boulders making up the summit of one of the sandstone slabs. There were a lot of climbers all over the place especially one climber whose name I do not know, but I did get know his belayer, Charlie, very well. From the hoarse cries of the guy climbing Charlie was doing everything wrong. Every two or three minutes I would hear a frantic cry, "SLACK CHARLIE! I NEED SLACK...CHARLIE!" I stuck my iPod headphones in and tuned out the disgruntled climber with 3 gymnopodies and other classical favorites. When I had all the sun that I could take, I jumped down, switched the music to Green Day, I took off down the trail. I met up with some guys that were training at one of the belay stations along the trail, I later found out that they were Marine Special Forces. The Kyle Drake in me said that the anchor setup they were using for belaying was a little sketchy. "You're holding beefy marines on the other end and your only wrapped around only one tree?", I said to myself, "You're not pulling my injured butt out of a canyon."
I raced down skipping from boulder to boulder to the sound of The Cranberries until I arrived back at the trail where I thought about free soloing. I'd never done it before. I pondered the consequences and the benefits. I started to turn back toward the main trail and then said to myself that I would regret it for awhile if I didn't indulge. I swallowed hard, took a running leap onto the rock, and scampered hand over hand up the angled slab. I started to get a little freaked out when I got a good 200 feet off the ground. As I neared the summit of the small slab I started to imagine a fall and how much it would hurt. My stupid mind screwed up my adrenaline rush and I started to question my capabilities. I kept climbing, awkwardly, until I reached the summit and hiked down the other side. I met my Special Forces friends on the trail and bragged to them that I had done a little free soloing. I needed to validate my masculinity cause I felt a little dwarfed by these muscle bound All-American bad asses.
I spent the rest of my day at Neptune Mountaineering, a multi-sport mecca of astronomical proportions. I bought a few things and made my way to the coffee shop I was at last night. I have to fight off yuppie college kids again tonight talking about the lights on my laptop. Wait...I am a yuppie college kid. Crap!

After 15 hours on the road through Southern Idaho and desolate Wyoming. I arrived later last night in Fort Collins, CO. It was midnight so I was scrambling trying to find someplace to sleep. I ended up driving way out above Ft. Collins and ended up on top of one of the hills. I pulled off oddly enough by chance at a small bouldering spot. When I get out alone I'm usually a little apprehensive to sleep in my car because it is not the usual queen bed that my home offers. I hit the sack nonetheless and tried to close those road weary eyes. I couldn't get to sleep and and at about 5:00 AM I woke up bright eyed and bushy tailed...well maybe not bushy tailed. I was so tired but I couldn't back to sleep cause the sound of morning work traffic kept keeping me awake. I jumped out, put my sandals, grabbed my rock shoes and headed out an early morning boulder session. I watched the sunrise from atop the boulders and then did a few routes and traverses. I really didn't do that well. But I didn't really care cause no one was there. I stumbled back to the car after I had gotten a little arm pump on the traverses. Morning worship was an awesome experience. The funny thing is that cyclists kept coming by and I would get quiet embarrassed because I was singing alone. I really need to get over that and be proud of my love for God.
I walked around Fort Collins and Colorado State University campus for the rest of the blustery day. I decided that I didn't need to hang around there much longer. I'd seen it all. I headed to Boulder, CO and spent the rest of the afternoon walking the outdoor shopping area that goes for about 6 or 7 blocks there. It was pretty uneventful. I bought myself a map of the Rocky Mountain National Park where I hope to conclude this road trip with a 30 mile backpack trip to see some of the mountains and scenery. I'm sitting at a little coffee shop on the University of Colorado Campus typing you this "little message". I swear this state really prides themselves on their educational meccas. The University basically founded the towns around them.