September

I woke up on Wednesday and looked at my phone. Technology continues to rule the roost, because apparently I was incapable of realizing that September had passed by without Verizon's help. Immediately, two things jumped to mind.
First, that it was time to send my boss my monthly invoice. Getting a paycheck doesn't suck. It's a bit dicey, though, getting paid just once a month. For about 24 hours, you feel like Bill Gates, but twelve times a year, the realization hits. That money has to last twice as long.
The second thing I realized was that I was halfway through the best two climbing months of the year. September and October bless the northern hemisphere with cool temps, but its rarely too cold. Most of us have spent the summer climbing and enduring the heat, so now we might be strong enough to do the routes we've been dreaming about. These two months still have reasonably long days, there isn't the rain associated with the spring, and there is a bit of urgency knowing those skis are in the garage, waiting for weight. Time to get it done.
September was the time, and Rifle has been the backdrop. I've been trying to climb out there as much as possible, and I feel like I did a great job of it this year. My sister Reilly made it out for a trip, and Kate and I were there for several weekends. My work left me on the west slope fairly often, so I was already in the neighborhood. This worked to my advantage. There are the usual road warrior stalwarts basically living out there, so even when I made it out there solo, I could find partners.
Sometimes, pickin's are slim and the mind starts churning: "This sucks. I'm out here alone, the canyon is almost deserted even though its prime time, and the only guy I can find to climb with is some bozo dirtbag who talks tons of smack about how he's gonna get sponsored. Then you see him climb and it's just hanging from bolt to bolt. Christ, I wanna go home."
Fortunately, I met a guy named Derek recently who has been out in the canyon for the past month. He's been a steady partner the last couple of days I've been out, and I like to climb with him for a couple of reasons. Most importantly, he seems safe. I sure don't like hitting the ground. But also, he really reminds me of my buddy Ethan. Derek is a doctor, as is Ethan. They have similar mannerisms, are well spoken, and can talk about topics that go beyond climbing. It should be said, though, that the one first time I met Ethan's dad, I understood about 13% of the words that came out of his mouth. That's what a West Virginian accent does to my ears. Or, more precisely, doesn't do.
Derek and I get along because it's more interesting than just climbing. Don't get me wrong, it's the matrix we can work around. But I like to be able to carry on a conversation about topics outside crimps, slopers, and dynos. Lingo bombs, damaging their unintended audeince. Collateral damage.
After Rifle, I think Derek is headed to the Red. Ironically, where I climbed with Ethan for an extended period in college. Hey, it's October. I might fly into Lexington and meet him. Afterall, we only have one really good month left.