You love climbing. You love the approach. Tie in your safety knot, and take a look at the wall. The grade--tough but well within your range. So you slip into your shoes, and brush your fingers against the rock, getting familiar with the surface, seeking those first few elusive holds. Then you pull up and take that first step off the ground. Don't look back. Don't look down.
The first several holds are a bit awkward as you struggle to get used to the route. As you climb higher, it gets better and better. You're high enough up that you know a fall now won't be fatal. You get a feel for the moves. Goddamn, you think, this line is fuckin' rad! It may be the best route you've ever been on. And you love it.
Hard enough to keep it interesting, you reach each bolt with excitement. Any bit of nervousness dashed as you find that deep hold and reach down to clip your rope. Safe again! Shake 'em out. Stay fresh. You want the line to go on forever. You love this route. Your fingers get so familiar with the intricate crimpers and tiny pockets. It's like it was made just for you. Clipping!
As you get higher, you feel stronger. You start to dream of sending--all the way with no falls. But just as you start to think that, you feel a pump coming on. Ignore it. Continue up. Don't check your rope drag. Don't estimate how far past your last bolt you are. Keep climbing.
Grasp the hold and squeeze! The next bolt is just up there. One more move. Forearms start quaking. Latch your thumb and fingerlock. You can do it. Pull. Look for foot holds. Don't give up. Don't look down. Must clip that bolt! Losing grip. No! Stay on, goddamnit! Fingers start opening of their own accord. Adjust your hold. Slipping--no! It's right there. Oh God, how high up are you? Don't think like that! Go for the hold! Errggghh. Rational thought vanishes. Ahggh. Evvvhh. Stay strong. Ffffff.
Falling! you blurt.
You lose your grip and plummet. Wind whistles in your ears. Hands instinctively flail. As death rushes up at 9.8 m/s, suddenly you're caught up short, and your feet slam against the wall. You look skyward. Fifteen feet up is your bolt, pointed out by your taught rope. Now what? You've lost the onsight. Are you too tired? Will you ever see the route the same again? Try to shake off the defeated feeling.
Climbing! you call. Time to move on.

Thank God it's a beautiful day. I started the morning at quarter to seven with an egg and lox on bakery bread. Delicious. Then, I drove out to Sopris Mountain Ranch to start my new job: landscaping.
Spent the morning swinging a pickax, digging irrigation trenches. Enjoyed the sun and the music and seeing my burly image in the enormous mirrored windows of this multi-million dollar house. I went inside to drop a deuce and discovered it's the most beautiful house I've ever been in. With sweeping views of Sopris Mountain from just about anywhere inside. Left some nice streak marks in the new toilet too.
I enjoy the work (so far), but I can really understand, Erik G, why you returned to AA after sophomore summer with rippling muscles and an attitude to match. It's labor-intensive. My hands are still a bit shaky every time I pause my frantic typing.
Music: Disturbed and Avenged Sevenfold
Pay: $60 for four hours.
I can live with that.

Wow. I'm lucky to be alive. I mean, I guess we all are kind of lucky to be alive just from a philosophical point of view. But I just tempted fate in a major way (as if I don't regularly while hanging off 1/4 inch bolts stuck in a wall 60 feet off the cold, hard ground). I biked over to my friend's house, and about 2 blocks from my home, I realized I hadn't yet fixed my light onto my bike. Fuck it, I thought, I've come too far.
Turns out, my friend lives on a country road about 3 miles from where I stay. It was bright evening daylight when I left. A few hours, three beers, and a large glass of scotch later, it was nearly pitch-black.
I turned on my red rear light, hoping cars on my side of the road would see me with enough time to veer away into the ditch, sparing my selfish, foolish life, and took off into the dark night. Scorpio beckoned me home. I should, at this point, also mention I had taken my right contact out in the morning because it was irritating me. So I'm squinting along the road, trying to follow the faded or nonexistent white line indicating the shoulder. I'm glancing back every so often to check for approaching headlights. The alcohol is making me swerve ever so slightly. Plus, I can barely see the pavement. I turn off the country drive onto a sort-of main road and cross the bridge. Even the reflectors are invisible because I don't have a forward-facing light.
I thought for the briefest moment: Maybe I can hold my cell phone aloft and get some light that way, before realizing that would be stupidly pointless and would cause me to take one of my much-needed hands off the slightly misaligned handlebars (I'd forgotten I hadn't yet adjusted my bike handlebars and gears after getting new grips), so I abandoned the phone idea.
Every so often, I'd have to pull off the road to let a car zip past. They slowed down about two feet from me when they saw me. Did I mention I was wearing a black fleece jacket and no helmet? (Good lord, could I ask Death any more directly to sweep me away?)
Finally up ahead, I saw soft, orange illumination. But lo, it was only one street light before a lengthy stretch of curvy, shoulder-less road. The light served only to whisk away my precious night-vision, cultivated through decayards of perilous pedaling.
After a grim while, I got to the main road which was, thankfully, lighted well enough that I could see the road surface. I was also visible to cars from a good pace back. I finally felt safe. Sort of.

Fascism: my antidrug

Just got back from a weekend in Rifle. Well, no. That's a lie. Just got back from pizza and beers after showering after getting back from a weekend in Rifle. Rifle's a great canyon 1 hour away of limestone walls and greasy, over-used holds. But it's great. And Daniel, I realized much after the fact that when you asked if I wrote about my climbing experience you meant in the mag, not in my blog. Well, no, I don't write about my own climbing experiences in the mag. I'm not good enough. Yet.
I went there with an editor (Andrew) and his girlfriend (Jen). They climb 5.13. I was a bit intimidated at first by all the regulars there who all know each other. At some point Sunday afternoon, a couple of those regulars were leaving (in an Audi S8--sick car), the passenger jumped out, noticing Andrew was holding a Pabst Blue Ribbon (the original energy drink) and said, "Hey, you guys want some real beers?" Turns out, his friend driving the Audi is Adam Avery who owns Avery Brewing Company in Boulder. Delicious IPA.
We camped out there, and I got to use my new tent which is phenomenal. Except I was cold cuz it's a bit too big for one person alone. The stars were spectacular.
After a while, I was able to get comfortable in the canyon. I'm not used to the type of rock, nor am I at the level of the other people who chill there, but I had a great time nonetheless. They're psyched to see new people out there, and very encouraging. Got on some scary climbs a bit above me (ha) but I was able to struggle up.
Someone said I sound like Keanu Reeves. Good Lord.
The same phenomenon that causes the limestone to get polished also makes it pretty soft on the hands, unlike sandstone. Despite that, I climbed enough to tear hell out of my fingertips. I wonder if that will change my fingerprints? I really don't like having my prints in the system. Goddamn Big Brother.
Anyway, I'm not sure whether I like the Frying Pan (where there are lots of unique routes and plenty of potential first ascents (where I get to name them!) and a much nicer view and much closer to town and breakfast and dinner at Jefe's house with his 1 y/o baby) or Rifle (where there are lots of chill people and challenging routes and camping). For now, I'm going to go with the Pan. We shall see. Stay tuned.

I had a dream this morning about teaching young kids--maybe fifth grade--about representative democracy. I was some sort of student teacher (because the real teacher was sitting against the wall on the side). Apparently my teaching style is to gather the kids close and have an open discussion trying to get them to tell me their understanding of the different words I use to describe political positions. A little girl plopped herself down right in front of me and started using a piece of chalk to color a blackboard eraser. I asked her, "Is there something wrong that you're trying to get my attention like that?" That's when I noticed some brown substance on the floor. Oh damn. This girl just shat her pants. I beckoned the real teacher over, and she took the little girl out of the classroom.
The kids were really getting into the discussion, and I think I made some headway in teaching them about the balance between necessity and screwage in our democratic system.
Overall, the dream was pretty damn sweet, and I kind of want to be a teacher now.

Woke up at 4:30 AM feeling disgusting. Crept to the kitchen for a bite to eat and slunk to the bathroom to take a shower. Felt much better after.
Stopped by the used book sale at the library again today. Picked up another five books--totaling fifteen. Also totaling three dollars.
I had a crazy dream last night. Some sort of dystopian situation. Andrea was there as a major player. I woke up thinking I should write it down, but my lazy ass decided not to.
So sore all day after three consecutives of climbing. Smoked a J in the bathtub like the Dude, and finished Disclosure by Michael Crichton. Great book. All about people abusing positions of power. Great perspectives--based on a true story, like many of his.

It's weird to think of the same full moon rising over in MI as it does here. Today we were out at the crag--one of the best days of climbing yet--and the moon just popped out of a pocket of clouds, top half first. That was about when we decided to head down.
Rack of lamb for dinner. Goddamn.
Great sunday tradition we've got going: breakfast early, crags all day (watch out--if you eat only protein bars all day you'll get the shits like whoa) martinis and dinner at 10pm. It's gorgeous out here.
Jefe brought his 1 y/o son out to the crag this morning. Cutest little guy. I fed him 2 jars of baby food--which isn't very tasty, by the way.
Too tired to shower but apparently not too tired to blog. Strenuous weekend. Loved it.

As I walked home from work today, I saw a quaking old man struggling out of the driver's seat of his car leaning on a cane. Normally, this wouldn't bother me too much--but then I saw he wore an eyepatch over one eye. Honestly. Driver's seat. Eyepatch.
Look, I love old people: they have great stories. But I'm wondering why there isn't a driver's license reevaluation at a certain age. Not to be age-ist, but there comes a point where someone is just too old to be driving a 3,000-pound Cadillac on the streets. If only our politicians weren't of such an age where a reevaluation would be required, perhaps it would be implemented.
Eyepatch. Driver's seat. Come on.

When I was climbing yesterday with the boss, an editor named Jefe, we had just finished clearing a path to the new route he'd just put up.
This guy has been climbing more than 30 years. Long hair, aquiline nose, one-year-old kid--funny guy. I'm sitting there having just scrambled down a 80 degree slope with the help of a rope, and he turns to me and says, "Care for some pot?"
So polite, so no-nonsense. Cracked me up. Guess you had to be there.
Going to his house for breakfast tomorrow before heading back up to the crag. I'm not excited for the approach. Loose scree and lots of potential break-neck falls, not to mention the fact that it's 60 degrees uphill for a good half hour or more of constant slogging and my muscles won't fire properly because of the altitude. Not so bad when I'm just standing still though.
You should be here.

The commercials with the turtles talking about how nice and slow DSL internet is--are so true! I hate to admit it, but Comcast is right. DSL sucks. Don't ever get it.

Yesterday I went climbing for the first time out here! We drove about 30 mins and hiked up a near-vertical scree hill to get to the cliff. I was only able to do two climbs (one on lead and one on toprope) but it felt great to get back into it. I also learned this lesson: always bring warm layers and always bring a raincoat.
I don't have a raincoat.
Afterwards I smoked a doob with one of the guys I climbed with. At the end of the month he's taking off for Alaska for three months to be the cook on a fishing boat. Goddamn.
Now that I'm finally meeting some dudes my age, I'm beginning to feel more comfortable in this place. Much to be said for chillin' with people just as broke as you are.
In other news, I just finished 1984, and I finally have a word for the growing illiteracy of our culture! Newspeak! Everyone should read the book before it's too late. Uncommonly brilliant and perceptive, and its message is perhaps more pertinent today than it was even when Orwell wrote it. (And by the way, for anyone who thinks it's about the USSR and China--you're dead wrong. It's about the U.S.A.)
Much love.

Well, I'm out here in Colorado. The drive was good. Lots of time to think. And only two cop scares! Funny how seeing a cop still sparks that awful feeling in your gut even if you're locked into the exact speed limit with cruise-control.
There was a crazy blizzard in Nebraska and Eastern Colorado with 50 mph winds. I passed at least three wrecked semis. two were jackknifed and one was on its side looking like a beached whale. Scary as hell and strange. I found myself checking the date to make sure it was May.
The town is nestled at the base of Sopris Mountain. Pretty cool. Once I'm acclimated and in good shape I'll hike it.
My landlady, Laurie, is an aging hippie who lived in Aspen when Hunter S. Thompson ran for sheriff on the Freak Power ticket. Everyone out here is pretty cool, but a lot of them are obsessed by "ORGANIC" foods. Why would you pay $30 more for a piece of lettuce just because some savvy businessman stuck the word "organic" on the label? Jesus.
The other night, Laurie had a friend and his date over for dinner. While setting the table, she brought out a vaporizer. The lack of oxygen and a huge hit went straight to my head and I had to duck out for a bit to get a hold of myself.
Work is pretty sweet. Mostly I just cruise the web for climbing news and write it up online. Sometimes I get to edit writers' stories, which is my favorite.
More to come...