Oh, Those Leftists

There are a few places, I'm sure, as interesting as the WalMart in Rifle, CO. I just haven't stepped foot into many of them. My buddy Arnold, a blogger for the website Pimpin'&Crimpin', actually works at the superstore along the frontage road here in Western CO, and I'm sure he could tell better stories than I can. I've only stopped in to capitalism's logical progression twice; once a few weeks ago when I forgot a pillow for a camping trip, and once today. I needed duct tape for my knee pads. I'm trying a route called Apocalypse, and it's not going to work without duct tape.

The knee bars on Apocalypse aren't secure, but you have to jack your legs into these tight, slippery spaces to have any chance of doing the route. I'm sure somebody can do it without this trickery, but I'm certainly not strong enough at this point to entertain that kind of challenge. So, as it were, I've got to slide neoprene sleeves covered in sticky rubber over the tops of my knees/bottoms of my thighs, lever my legs against protruding rock faces, and hope for the best. Taking some of the weight off my feet and hands makes the moves possible, but still entirely desperate. If my pads slipped even a little, I was airborne. This led me to WalMart.

I decided to get some duct tape and strap on the pads extra tight, a trick employed by a bunch of climbers out there. I'm hoping this is the difference maker. Otherwise, I'll just have to get stronger. But the moral of the story is that the best place I could think of to get the tape in Rifle was just down the road from my hotel, and it attracts all of the town's finest like a bug zapper gets mosquitoes.

Walking into the store, I overheard a quick, angry little exchange between a young cowboy and his lady friend. He was getting out of his gigantic pickup, and she told him "not to take too friggin' long." Apparently, there's plenty to distract a man in his mid twenties, dressed in a cowboy hat, boots, and plaid short sleeve shirt tucked into tight Wrangler jeans and sporting a telltale circle in his back pocket at this mega store. Hustle back, Jethro.

Watching this guy saunter, and that's really the only word to describe his forward motion, into the store got me thinking. I created this long and intricate back story for him. One filled with stereotypes, NASCAR, the Republican ticket, and ultimate sadness. All of it based upon a quick glance and one sentence from his significant other. Now the mirror in action: what do people think when they see ME walking around? I'm sure I look like some emaciated sissy to most of the folks out here. This might be true, but I wonder if they can pin my true history on me at a glance. Do any of them assume I'm going to buy duct tape to tighten rubber pads on my legs so I can crawl up rocks? Would any of them believe me if I told them?

Judging from some of the looks we get when they drive their trucks into the canyon for a family picnic, I'll say that we appear about as alien as Democrats. Ironically, most of us climbers actually are.