Return to Mountain Time

I drove back to Colorado after spending the Thanksgiving holiday at the family farm in central Missouri. Drinking Miller Lite and stuffing myself with turkey and, appropriately, stuffing, was a fine way to draw an end to the time in Kentucky. I'd spent a month climbing my ass off, concerned almost exclusively with the weather (perfect), climbs (sublime), food (plentiful, simple, flavorful) and sleep (as many hours as I wanted). Over the holiday, I had the chance to turn my attention to family and a gradual reintegration to the responsibilities of home.

Hanging out inside with my large extended family was fun, but the expansive farm allowed me plenty of time to reflect on what had just passed as I hiked around the woods. The month at The Highlander was, in all honesty, one of the best times of my life. I like to think of myself as fair and balanced, much like Fox News, though without the right-wing demagoguery and implied racist vitriol. As such, it's hard for me to think I'm being entirely fair, totally balanced, when I say that the whole month was basically picture perfect. If I have to nitpick, I suppose I could be bummed that I never was able to send Table of Colors. Sure, it would have been cool to do a 13a on the trip, and I put enough burns into that climb to have reasonably been expecting such an outcome. Getting grumpy about it feels too petulant and ridiculous, though. Besides, I've got one hell of a reason to get back.

If you're wondering, I wrote down the beta move by move and hold by hold. Hopefully I won't have too much remembering to do when I get back on it. Here's a couple of pics that demonstrate how I like to visualize myself climbing it, and what I actually looked like each and every time I was at the crux on point.

My climbing trip really broke down into two distinct sections. I spent the first two and a half weeks trying to do as many awesome 5.12's as possible, the intent being that I'd do them in three goes or less. I managed to climb plenty of really classic routes of the grade. In addition to the ones mentioned in "Best Day Yet," I did Twinkie, Belly of the Beast, Abiyoyo, Far From God, and Mercy the Huff.

The last week or so, I largely turned my attention to Table, and even though I never managed to do it without falling, it was still fun to juxtapose the "carpet bombing, send as much as possible" strategy with the "Roman siege mode" I have to implement when trying something that's really hard for me.

I had insanely good weather, and couldn't have expected temps to occasionally be too hot. The rains never really came, and I was climbing in shorts as much as pants. My friends who came to The Highlander were phenomenal - smart and interesting people who are hugely passionate about climbing but have interests outside of the sport. We'd have a great time climbing during the day, and have plenty of thought provoking conversations once we were back at the cabin. And The Highlander will remain THE standard for plush living. After a day of trying as hard as possible and wrecking myself on the rocks, the act of coming home to a kitchen, plumbing, a bed, and beers in the fridge made the cabin the perfect place to spend evenings. The internet kept me connected to work, and able to post for all you Voyeurs.

Just look how psyched the team was...
Hey Dan, could you look any creepier? Solid gold.

Thinking about the cabin a little more, I am pretty amazed at the contrast to the article I just read in the New York Times. The Highlander was located in the heart of Wolfe County, and was the home to a whole crew of Subaru driving out-of-towners, dining on organic produce and hoping for Sarah Palin to get the GOP nomination in a few years, thereby ensuring another term for our man Obama.

Wolfe County, on the other hand, is largely home to poor men and women on food stamps, hoping Sarah Palin gets the nod because she carries their hopes of a White House ruled by a rifle toting Christian mother. I just found it kind of interesting.

Anyway, it's back to work for me. I've got the Berkeley application due this week, as well as a pile of work to tidy up after my month away. Even so, I went to the gym yesterday to climb and catch up with some of the people who didn't make it out to The Red. Even though I seriously miss the climbing out in Kentucky, it's good to be home.

Perhaps the Best Day Yet

Friday was, perhaps, my best day yet here in Kentucky. Dan and I headed down to Drive By crag and had our sights set on the dozen or so 5 star routes at the wall. Doing each and every one of them was probably out of the picture, but we'd at least give our best to put a dent into the dozen. I'd been there before, one day last fall with my buddy Derek Lyle, and remembered a fantastic 12a called Check Your Grip that had bouted me at the crux. I fell off, not from being unable to do the hardest moves, but instead from a pump in my forearms that left my motor skills so inebriated that to hold any jug, regardless of size, would have been impossible, even to save my own life were it in danger.

My hope was that I'd be able to get back on CYG and feel more accustomed to the steep, unrelenting climbing. After Dan and I warmed up on two great 5.11's, we moved our rope bag under that first objective. Dan went first, and with whatever hazy beta I could provide, tied into the cord and sauntered skyward. He's only been in the gorge for 36 hours, but after a summer of crushing, he is apparently in fine shape. There was minimal thrutching, and he flashed the route in fine style. Now the pressure was on me.

I lowered him back down to the ground, psyched for my buddy, but nervous that, even armed with nearly three weeks of climbing here, I wouldn't be able to do the route. My main goal was to repeat the 4x4 mantra, keep breathing, and give myself a good shot at sending. Dan gave me a few tips on how to go at the holds he'd just grabbed, and I pulled onto the wall.

The good news is that after dedicating a large portion of this otherwise meager life to climbing, I'm getting stronger. As we laughed at the dinner table after we'd driven home and found our friends Nick and Robin now occupying The Highlander, "I should freaking hope so!" It's really fun to get onto a climb you'd been on just a year earlier, one that felt impossible for one reason or another, and pretty well waltz to the chains.

After doing Check Your Grip, Dan and I got on Hakuna Matata. This is another 12a, one that wanders up a vertical wall painted in striking orange and gray streaks. Hakuna offers incipient cracks and little chalk for the 90 feet between the ground and anchors. Fortunately, it had the draws hanging on the bolts, which made for a slightly easier time on the climb. I managed the onsight, and for the entire 25 minutes or so that I was climbing, my mind was nowhere else.

Everyone's got an onsight limit, a grade they feel they've got a chance to do first try, without beta or preemptive know-how, whether it's 5.9 or 5.14. I love the test of slowly working through unfamiliar sequences, managing my body's fatigue and mind's wanderings. Only once, while I was resting on a jug at about mid height, did I emerge from my trance, yelling down to the ground to say hello to a friend who'd arrived. Beyond this quick conversation, I only saw the holds in front of me, only worried about the next few feet of rock instead of the coming days/months/years of life. I love the meditation that this type of climbing gives. Doing Hakuna Matata first try, onsight was exactly that moment of focus that makes climbing so magnetic for me.

After Hakuna, Dan and I went over to a climb called Primus Noctum, a route I'd heard about and watched another climber attempt. The crux, a defined bouldery section after a long run of easy but slightly pumpy climbing, was the main worry. Again, I tied in and tried to do another 5.12 route first try. Quickly, I found myself at the rest just before the boulder problem, and I felt so relaxed, so confident in my ability to do the coming hard moves. I rested as long as I felt I needed, and then calmly, smoothly pulled through the small crimps to the large horns above, clipping the chains and claiming another send. Beyond just a few minutes of focus when I was on an individual route, I realized that nearly the entire day was spent in that zone. I happily lowered down as the sun began its slow melt into the Earth, but was hoping for one last climb before darkness.

I rested a few minutes, and then hopped onto an 11D that I'd never done, nor heard anything about. I was relaxed for the climb, talking to people on the ground while at a rest and enjoying the perfect knee bars and sinker hand jams that I found along the way. I've spent enough days at the Creek and at Rifle that when I'm lucky enough to find myself fused to the rock in either of those two positions, it's like cheating. I clipped the chains and lowered back as the dark set in, really happy that my day ended with so many good sends. For me, that's a banner day.

When I got back to the cabin, the good luck continued. Nick had done Table of Colors, and when we started talking about my progress (or lack thereof) on the route, he gave me a crucial suggestion of where to put my right foot when I'm embroiled in the crux's hardest moves. I'm really excited to go back, armed with the new sequence, to try to send the route before I have to take off.

Today, Dan and I are resting at The Highlander while the rest of the crew, now swollen with good friends Dave, Brie, Nick and Robin, are out climbing. Two more friends get here tonight, and the homey needlepoint on the wall will ring true: "May our house always be too small to hold all of our friends." I'm excited to kick back with a beer this evening after they return home, listening to stories about their day at The Red. I hope they find a tranquility and presence of mind like I managed upon yesterday.

Abaluba! Life is good!

Slight Doubts (Warning: Lingo Bombs)

Dan arrived safely yesterday, and we've been having a blast ever since. Sadly, he's not an avid follower of Abaluba. You remember that scene from Indiana Jones where the freaky Indian King rips the dude's heart out and shows it to him as he's dying? Well, that's basically what I felt like when Dan told me that he had every episode of Mad Men at home on his computer back in Boulder. I should have called him/worn a metal vest instead of relying on blog power.

Right after we met at the airport, we headed to the store and loaded up on food/booze supplies, The beer/wine/bourbon should come in handy. Besides the two of us, there are another 6 people slated to arrive at various points over the next 48 hours, and every one of them is fun. I figure that even with our recent stock-up, we'll need to make at least one more obligatory run to the beer trailer, the local, well, trailer, that sells booze. Yeah, it's about as bad as it sounds. You walk in through a cloud of smoke, and survey the scene. The sign outside advertises "Budweiser, Bud Light, Busch, Natural Light and other beers".

The good news is that as likely as you are to find a fine American pilsner, you have an equal chance of seeing some nOOb in his harness, quickdraws dangling, excitedly picking up a case of PBR to take back to the fire. "BroBrah, I crushed it today. I got the top rope onsight flash of Defy the Laws, third try!"

Sounds like some lame-ass 8a card. For the record, you can't repeat-flash something. This needs to be its own constitutional amendment.

____________

So Dan and I climbed today, and we went back to Left Flank. I wanted to get him on Mercy, as it's the best climb of the grade in the country. And, not so secretly, I wanted to give Table another few tries. Sadly, I didn't manage the onsight flash, top rope or otherwise. That crux is, bluntly, fucking hard. I didn't want to believe that I really had to use the nasty little crimps I kept pulling on, so much so that I called my buddy Rick from Knoxville, a guy who'd been working on the climb as well. Hoping for local knowledge, I asked about the crux sequence, and in his gentle southern accent, he assured me that, "yeaaah, dos hols just ain't vury guud." Reality reaffirmed, courtesy of Rick Bost. I guess I'll just have to go back there and try the super secret beta: bear down and try. HARD. I'm worried that even armed with that insider knowledge, I might not have enough days left on the trip to get things done. We'll see.

I've heard a little flak about not posting any updates with Miguel's pizza or Mountain Mark's BBQ as the background. First off, Mark's went out of business, so as much as I'd love a pile of pulled pork, it ain't an option. And Miguel's? That's largely due to the fact that I've avoided the place as best I could, only sneaking in to say hello to friends who were staying there on two occasions. On this trip, I've consumed exactly zero pieces of his famed pizza, and it's not for a lack of quality amongst the pies. I've just been much more content to finish the climbing day and head back to The Highlander, crack a beer, slump down on the couch, and wonder at the difference between this month's trip and the two weeks I spent here in the Spring.

I don't really want to go back to Miguel's because, frankly, it was the backdrop for two of the worst weeks in recent memory. When I was there in the Spring, I spent nearly every day huddled in a tent as the rain pelted the roof and eventually began to inundate the rain fly. Droplets would rain down on my head as I held my cell phone to my ear and alternately talked to Kate, my mom, and Neil. I knew things were code red between Kate and me, but instead of being able to fix it, I had run off to climb. Instead of being able to climb, I was huddled in a suffocating nylon hut. I talked to Kate daily, and the best I can describe it is like being on the phone while the ER doctor narrates the death of your close friend. We weren't going to get things figured out and we were making each other crazy, but we loved each other and didn't know what the hell to do. It might be better to have loved and lost, but the losing part, again, is the Indian King ripping your heart out.

Thank God that I've got such a good buddy in Neil, because he finally snapped and just told me that he was going to drive up from his house in Tennessee, pick me up, and do his best to nurse me back to health. We went back to his place and ate food, drank beer, talked about life, and got things back on track for me to the point that I was no longer despondent. When my three day vacation from my "vacation" ended and I had to return to The Red, the last thing I wanted to see was that big rainbow painting on Miguel's front door. It wasn't that poor Portuguese man's fault, our timing was just bad. And now that things are going better, that I've got a cabin, a clearer head, and better weather, I just want to indulge in that. I've got little interest in picking open scabs that are threatening to heal.

I'll get a pizza before I'm done, and even kick back with an Ale 81 for old times sake. I just want to be putting The Farm and my family in my sights before I do. I've got, at most, four climbing days remaining. If I think it will give me a better chance on Table, only three. I'm trying to make the final memories of this trip entirely positive, and I'm on the right track.

Rest Through the Rain

The weather finally soured, but at the perfect time. I spent yesterday and today resting in Louisville, comfortably sleeping, writing, and relaxing at the Parrish household while the rain came down in buckets. I've been stalking climbingweather.com like any possessed sport wanker, hoping for the timely return of low humidity and prime sending temps. It looks like after today, we'll be back to just that, my planned two day hiatus coming at the perfect time.

The partner swap continues, as well. Dan is flying into Lexington in a few hours, and I'll be there to greet him at Blue Grass Airport. I'm really looking forward to riding around rural Kentucky with him as we search out some dream climbs. The partner situation has worked out really well over the entire course of the trip. First, I got to climb with Mike, and just as he was leaving town, Brian showed up. I had one climbing day between his departure and my rest days, but had a blast climbing with the cabin-mates, Anne and Reed. Reed was generous enough to get up early and head back to Left Flank with me so I could give another recon burn on Table. I think I got the beta fully figured out, and am feeling pretty confident that I can get it finished before I have to head out in a week.

It seems like Anne and Reed are going to start their massive drive back to Utah on Friday. This will leave another bedroom open at The Highlander, which is a good thing given the crowd that seems set to arrive. It's been great to have the cabin, and I boasted about it sufficiently that another half dozen friends have threatened to come in for the Thanksgiving week and crash for a while. It's going to be a party. I'm sure it will be a blast, but as I told Kathy last night, I might need a little bit of a break after that much commotion. Nothing a solo drive back to the farm can't fix. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, though. I'm ready to get the posse settled into The Red and start showing off some of my favorite cliffs.

Happy Mother's Day

Wait. Isn't Mother's Day in May? I believe, in fact, that this year it was the 10th. Ironically, I was in The Red then, too. But today happens to be Mama Sus' BDay, and given that she's been one of the most loyal, supportive readers of Abaluba, I believe she deserves special acknowledgment. Plus, she's my mom, for goodness sake. As many of you out there can attest, she's basically THE reigning badass mother, fully capable of thoughtfulness-sans-mawkishness. I've never met a more conscious, caring person. Thanks, and I love you, Ma. Left to my own devices and without your guidance, patience, and influence, I'd probably end up like one of these meth-heads living in rural Kentucky.

I was bummed, for sure, that I couldn't be there to celebrate when she and my sisters went out to dinner on Friday night. I did my best by having flowers delivered to the restaurant, but otherwise failed on the gift responsibility. I'll have to come through with my own party as soon as I see the Matriarch again.

While we're on the subject of gifts, new music is one of the very best things I can think to give anyone with similar tastes. I'm assuming, of course, that many of you Voyeurs have similar taste. If I'm correct, you're in for a serious treat. This trip has certainly been centered around climbing, but there's been plenty of down time to sit with friends and exchange tunes. (And, of course, to watch Mad Men and grow a fierce conquistador).

Dan, my good buddy who arrives on Wednesday, made sure I left CO with a large portion of his library. As I've plowed through the thousands of songs he passed along, I've been blown away. Our exchange started poorly when we connected our computers and his Mac immediately made a weird noise, short circuited, and then refused to boot up. Fortunately for me, he had an external hard drive already loaded with all of his music. Fortunately for him, Apple replaced his machine. Win-win. If I had to narrow it down to my favorite two new bands that he turned me onto, I'd have to say Ratatat and French Dub Connection.

Making her first appearance on Abaluba, allow me to introduce Kathy Wise. This sweetheart climbing minx also gave me some great music for my road trip and ipod listening pleasure. For the last couple of days, I've only been listening to a mix CD she made me, and to songs by a bad called The Antlers. These guys were one of her absolute best suggestions. Holy Christ.

Kettering is one beautiful, haunting song that I've been playing largely on repeat, and another one of The Antlers' greats is a song called Two. This song is not only a little more upbeat, but also really attention grabbing. I love the video, as well. While I was checking it out for about the 15th time yesterday, I noticed that it was directed by a guy named Albert Thrower. Oddly, I happen to know a guy named Al Thrower, and when I went on Facebook to sleuth things for a bit, I found someone by the name. Facebook allows you to send messages to pretty much anyone, and I asked him if he was either a friend of Will Swayne (and subsequently the guy I know), or if not, was he the Albert Thrower who directed this fantastic music video. I wager $100 that I never hear back from him, but if I do, that it's in the form of a restraining order.

The musical copy write infringement wasn't limited to people in my home state. Mikey P, the master of Johnny Utah and rock climbs requiring 4 wheel drive, also happens to have an all-star command of iTunes. On a rest day recently, he and I managed a similar music swap, though without the computer fatalities. I came away with some absolutely clutch bands. From the number of views that this youtube video has received, I imagine everyone has already heard of Boards of Canada. I hadn't, but thankfully Mike hooked me up with four of their cd's. Additionally, he turned me onto a band called The Dodos. More incredible stuff.

A lot of Mike's music overlaps with suggestions that Nuno has given me. It seems like I'll always get a great song suggestion here or there from Nuno, but we haven't been hanging out in the same place about a year. He and I haven't managed to get our felonious libraries synchronized. That may change, however.

Nuno just got accepted into Teach For America, and this should give him a lifeline out of DC. His first choice of venues was the San Fran area, and he'll be somewhere in the vicinity. Given that he's one of my best buddies and he'll already be there, I've got extra motivation to get accepted into Berkeley's grad program. The Energy and Resources Group application deadline is December 3, and it looks like I'll have no problem getting my essays finished before then. He and I could be back to our old mischief, initiated in Boulder when he was a grad student and I was a lowly undergrad.

I imagine the program, centered on sustainable energy and resource conservation, to be the most interesting thing I could possibly study. I'm not sure I really want to leave Boulder, but I think having this particular option, one that will allow me to open a lot of doors, is a great idea.

Getting in is no guarantee. Berkeley prides themselves on being remarkably exclusive. The recommendation forms asks, assuming a teacher/student relationship, whether the prospective California Bear was the "best student of: the semester, the year, the decade, the history of the institution". Well, all right, then. What if I'm the best student named Patrick Pharo, a funny climber who generally wishes well to his friends and family? Where's that box to check? I'm the best one of those in the history of modern fuckin' man.

Speaking of rock climbing, let's not forget I'm on a climbing trip, here. And with climbing trips come climbs. I'm struck by one in particular: Table of Colors. It was the first 13 to go up in The Red, and this stunning line ascends a painted, sculpted wall at an area called Left Flank. Sending this route is my primary goal for the remainder of the trip. I'm going to get someone to hang from the chains of Mercy, The Huff, the next climb over, and take pictures. Mercy happens to be the best 12b in the country, and I was lucky enough to do it a few days ago. Aside from climbing at Left Flank, I'm going to cruise around and explore some more areas with the next batch of people who arrive in the coming days.

My immediate plans include a climbing day tomorrow, and then I'm going to give myself a quick break on Tuesday and Wednesday. The weather for these two days looks a little dodgy, and I'm going back to Louisville to finalize Cal essays, and bill some hours. The rest should do me good, and hopefully I'll be fresh for a Table ascent quickly thereafter.

I'll try to get a good post up from Louisville. Have a great weekend. Stay warm, CO.

Friday the 13th

I can't believe I've already been here two weeks. I've had some insanely good weather, I'm nervous to talk about it for fear of nature's repercussion. If the sun keeps shining, I'll take it.

First and foremost, my mom's birthday is this weekend. I'm bummed I'll miss the dinner she is going to have this evening with my sisters, but Mama Sus is headed down to Phoenix this weekend and she'll have plenty of fun without me.

Today, I was out with my buddy Brian while he climbed. I needed a day of rest after thrashing myself over the previous few days at the crag. I got to hang out and just chill while Brian pulled down. Out at the wall, we ended up running into Erin and her boyfriend Keenan. Erin and Brian were peas in a pod while she was living out in Boulder over the past few years, and the reunion was great. She decided that the pull of the eternal climbing road trip was too much to resist, and left CO for Kentucky. The timing was fortuitous for me, as it was just then that I was looking for a room and moved in with Brian.

While we were all climbing together, we managed to get some pretty good pics of her climbing. There's been a clamor for more photos, so here are a bunch that should suffice for a bit.

I'll try to get a more in depth post in the next day or two, but I'm pretty ready to demolish the brownies that are about to pop out of the over here at Highlander. I hope everyone has a great start to the weekend.

A Mad (and furry) Man

The biggest development of the last few days has been my fast and furious (and now, sadly, finished) love affair with Mad Men. I could tell you about the climbing I've been doing, but I'll be realistic. After a certain point, the general public can only stand so much banality regarding crimps, high-steps, off-the-chart pump factor, and Metro Mark managing to epic while literally seated inside of a hueco. If anyone's truly interested in the climbing tales at this point, let me know. I'll do a post exclusively dedicated to tales from the crag. We'll call it "As The Cliff Turns".

Mikey "4x4" Personick had season 1 of Mad Men on DVD, but I realized it all too late. I managed to get through three of the four disks, but this left four full episodes from season 1 still to be viewed. That speaks nothing for season 2, and from amctv.com, it looks like they just finished season 3. I'm perpetually behind the curve of anything popular, so it shouldn't come as a shock that I've discovered hipness far too late in the game.

The very fact that I managed to get so far into season 1 is a testament to God's will and the power of caffeine. With the aid of several cups of coffee, I plowed through nine 48 minute episodes in two days. That's a shameful way to spend a life. It's like one of those benders where the last thing you remember was the Del Taco drive through, and then you wake up in a dumpster in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Ever have one of those? You just get up, dust yourself off, and hope no one saw you at your lowest. That's too much time to spend in front of a TV (or in the bottom of a trashcan, for that matter).

I'm hoping I can manage the remaining 30 0dd episodes at a more reasonable pace. Perhaps anyone coming out to The Red (ahem, DAN RICHELSON!!!) can manage to track down some of those missing shows.

From watching those episodes, I can't help but come to several conclusions. The first is that I should continue to wear a tie to work. Playing the suit card wouldn't go over particularly well, given that many of the folks I work with typically wear jeans. That said, I really should rock the slacks/tie/sweater combo, and wouldn't look entirely out of place. It doesn't necessarily replicate the "Camelot" look from 1960 corporate New York, but it's my best Western Cow Town impersonation of a fetching Don Draper.

The second realization: I've been enormously lucky to have had the opportunity to do exactly what I want for the month of November. Instead of being forced by society into an unrewarding role, as many of the characters of the show appear to have been, I'm actively pursuing one of my great passions. There are times, certainly, where it get's a bit strained. That's just the opportunity cost of life. At the end of it, though, this month is a chance to delve deeply into an activity that typically only comes in the short bursts of a weekend or afternoon. I'm breathing deeply the autumn air, trying to enjoy each present moment for what it is. The looming worry that sits intertwined with my insecurities for the future (love, career, health) are put aside as I focus only on the day at hand. What a beautiful way to live.

And less beautiful? My face. Sure, rest days out here are spent recovering from the climbing while working on my laptop. There's no dress code here at The Highlander Cabin, so I've taken the opportunity to sit in on conference calls while wearing a bathrobe, and write emails to the BLM from my bed. Since there's no face to face contact (though we're in a high tech world, my clients don't use video conferencing at this point, thank god), I'm taking the opportunity to put off the Colorado version of the Camelot appearance, and look effectively homeless.

To get the full effect, I had to increase the megapixel allowance and focus the light overhead precisely so, but now the question has been answered: What do I look like with a two week old crappy mustache/goatee combo?

As of now, I'm planning on running straight through until Thanksgiving before scraping it off. That should give the whole family a laugh when we gather at the farm to feast. I'll let it grow for another week or so, and then update the pic again. If it doesn't fill in, maybe I'll grab some Touch of Gray and fill in the wispy peach fuzz.

I'm off to write some more emails to hapless government employees back in CO, and work on my graduate school application.

A quick Happy Birthday to Tom Hare, my old roommate from Madrid. It was back then, while marauding around the Spanish streets, that we coined the term Abaluba. Life certainly is good, my friend.

A Quick Sunday Night Post Announcing the Arrival of a New Team Member

Hi, Voyeurs. I'm going to have to make this pretty quick, because I'm pretty tired after another great day of climbing here in Kentucky. Brian flew in on Saturday, and after a quick errand run in Lexington, I grabbed him from the airport and we headed down to the crags.

As you can imagine, he hopped off the plane and was really excited to get out and climb. We headed to Left Flank, a wall that is quickly off the Bert T. Combs Mountain Parkway and has a short approach. I got on basically the best 12b in the world, a long, stunningly pretty route called Mercy, The Huff. Brian worked on a 12d called Stunning the Hog, and stunningly didn't do it. I'm blaming the fact that it was late in the afternoon, he'd been on a plane all day, and he was trying to finish the route in the dark. He's still pissed about it, though, so I bet we'll be back there.

Today, he and I climbed down at the Solar Collector/Dark Side, two crags that couldn't be more different in terms of sun/shade aspect. I'll let you make the distinction. I'm still working to get miles on easier routes, but am getting a little frustrated that 12a here is still feeling down right hard. Oh well, I'll have to be patient.

Mike left this morning, which was a bit of a drag. It's always easier to climb with two people instead of three, so from that standpoint things are perhaps a bit more convenient for Brian and me, but I will admit that I enjoyed Mike's company. He was a fresh perspective, and I'm hoping we'll cross paths again soon. Blaming him for departing would be far from fair, though. He's climbed here, he said, 21 of the previous 28 days, and has some people he needs to get back to in DC. Family and a lady-friend are powerful magnets.

I'm off to Midnight Surf tomorrow for some more climbing. The forecast continues to look great, and I'm hoping that those weathermen are spot on. I'm planning a big rest day on Tuesday, and I'll try to get a better post then.

The one other thing of note is that I'm growing what can unarguably be considered the worst beard in the world. I like the idea of not shaving for a couple of weeks just to see what things would look like. After about 14 days, I'll honestly report that they are, in fact, bad. Whatever, though. I don't have to see clients, I'm not trying to impress any girls out here, and I like the fact that any time I look in a mirror, I laugh. (You guys probably thought that was already the case.)

Ok, I'm going to bed. Hope you all had a nice weekend.

Four Wheel Drive

After two more consecutive days of climbing, I've earned another rest day. On Friday, I'm going to sleep in, drink plenty of coffee, stretch and work. But first, I'm reporting on ass kicking. I kicked a few, but not to worry. I got mine whipped, too.

Wednesday morning's weather was the worst we've seen so far on my trip. Mike and I walked out to the car, his whippet Johnny Utah in tow, and all three of us looked up at the sky in disgust. The clouds, threatening rain, and chilly breeze gave us all pause. Mike wrapped Johnny in his faux-giraffe-pelt puppy snuggly (when's the last time you read those words in unison?) just as the hail started coming down.

(I guess it's called a Sunggy, not snuggly. How the hell am I supposed to know?)

We drove to the cliff, nervously sipping coffee and hoping for a change to come in the 20 or so minutes between "The Highlander" cabin and our destination climbing area, Sore Heel. When we parked the car and all hopped out to pee, the clouds shifted a bit and the sun broke through. But just as we started walking, the precip returned, along with some profanity.

The warmups at Bronaugh wall are good, steep, juggy 5.11's, but Mike and I both suffered from hand freeze at about mid height. We broke out the hand warmers and excuses, and I took things to an extreme when I stole the snuggly. I'll be damned if some mutt is gonna stay warm while my paws go numb.

But then, as though God were a feline and pleased with my treachery, a miracle occurred. The winds changed, the air temperature got much more comfortable, and the sun hit the wall. Mike and I both got excited, and figured we'd crush our projects. I wanted to do a 12c called Belly of the Beast, and he was still trying to polish off Dracula, a super stout 13b, at a cliff just around the corner.

We might have let the weather psyche us up a little too much, because each of our next two burns produced only punting. A foot slip here, a missed hold there, and we each spent our attempts dangling from the end of the rope, wondering just how Felix the CatGod could have forsaken us. After we had a little powwow and made a pact to "just finish these routes, already!", we sent on successive burns. It had taken the whole day, but at least we could check off the routes we wanted to do. We called it a little early and headed back to the car. There was talk of doing a couple of burns at Shady Grove, but we decided to save some juice for today.

When I woke up this morning, my left hamstring was throbbing. There was a rest on Belly that involved me cranking my leg up near my head and hooking my heel and toe behind some flakes. Though it took the weight off my hands, I felt like it also succeeded in nearly pulling my yoga-starved hammy. I stretched for a while, and it finally began to loosen up. After a leisurely morning, Mike and I loaded up and headed out to Shady Grove.

The air was much warmer, the sun was out, and it seemed like we were back on track for great weather all day. I warmed up on a cool route called Girls Gone Wild...Whoooo!, and then tried to do an 11c. Instead of waltzing right up to the chains, I fell a couple of times and assumed that my day would suck. No bother, as Mike wanted to do the second ascent of a brand new route at the crag. We walked down to this towering behemoth, a route Mike had been on once before. He figured that it checked in at around 13a/b. Mike had warmed up by hanging the draws on a steep, long 12b called Far From God, which doubled as my objective for the day.

Mike used this warm up to prep for his pending vision quest, and managed to pull off the send of the new route. It was only his third route of the day, but he decided to call it and conserve a little juice for the weekend. Watching Mike do the route, I couldn't help but think that he climbs in four wheel drive. He uses his feet perfectly; hooking and pulling his way up the wall with all four appendages instead of using his arms to excess. He looks so comfortable using his feet like hands, and it's a great lesson. I took it to heart, and after lowering him off after his send, booted up under Far From God.

I really wanted to flash this route. It looked like I could get plenty of rests along the way, and Mike had done it several times before. This let him guide me through the difficult sections while we were still on the ground, giving me all the beta (essentially step-by-step advice for how to do the moves) that I could ask for. All I had to do was climb the thing. I threw on the knee pads, assuming I'd find places to jam my knees and take the weight off my hands. Also, I told myself to "be like Mike" and use my feet. With that, I started climbing.

I managed to finagle two double knee bar, no hands rests, along with several other knee scums. The beta was perfect, and I found myself a bolt from the top, still on redpoint, listening to Mike yell up that if I could make it through the final crux, just above me, then there was no way I'd fall on the final run to the anchors. I was camped out at a ridiculously good rest, and when I felt 100% recovered and at full strength, I danced to the chains and claimed my first flash of a 12b. Thanks for all the help, Mikey P!

Getting a little big for my britches, I moved the rope under the next route over. False Idol is a 12c that Mike assured me was not much harder than Far From God. After I rested for a while, I loaded my harness with quickdraws and pulled onto the wall. Mike had only done this one once (hence, could provide only minimal beta), and since he was done for the day, I'd have to hang the draws on the bolts myself. I figured that I'd just crushed its neighbor...why worry?

I'll spare you many of the details, because this post is getting pretty long. False Idol is widely considered an inferior route, and sees much less traffic than the slightly easier model to the left. As such, there is way less chalk, and way more dirt, on all the holds. By bolt three, I had wandered only about 3 feet from the grips I was supposed to be pulling on, and quickly managed to rain gravel down into my gaping mouth. Shit. The plan was out the window. I shifted out of 4-high, and started straining on my arms. My heart started racing, my breathing fell apart. Hypoxia, my old friend, had returned. As had gravity's strong call. Airborn. Ass kicked. I yarded up the rope and then wallowed to the chains, seemingly 1,000 feet away. Tail between my legs, I lowered off and cleaned my draws off the route.

How about we just focus on the positive and move on? All in all, it was a great day and a lesson learned. You gotta keep rock climbing, and just 'cause you did one thing doesn't mean they're giving anything else away. By the way, Mike sent an email to the guy who bolted the route he did today. We're trying to get it called 4 wheel drive. And, from here on out, that's how I'm trying to climb.

Recharging the Batteries

In homage, unintentional I'm sure, to the homes along the Pacific in Carmel, CA, the cabins in this part of Kentucky all seem to have names. While in California, the monikers elude to whispering pines or ocean breezes. The rustic buildings here in the East are a bit more colloquial. Just up from "City Slickers" and "The Barn," our cabin is known as "The Highlander Loft." Because, you know, there can be only one.

And it's from The Highlander that I'm reporting to you on my rest day. I'm taking a very necessary respite from the rigors of climbing. After two days on the rock, the skin on my fingers felt like it had been caressing the business end of a cheese grater. My back felt like it had seen one too many kicks from steel toed boots, and my forearms were Popeye sized; not from muscle, but lactic acid buildup.

Aside from working on Abaluba, I was working for a large part of the day to catch up with clients back in Denver. What better activity, since I've got to sit idle anyway, than to make a little money? Let's all take a minute to thank the benefactors that gave us cell phones, the internet, and Adobe Acrobat. Without their hard work and tireless pursuit of Rupees, I'd be stranded out here in the wilds of Kentucky with only the sale of my plasma, organs and semen as viable means of income. As it stands, I've kept all of them to myself, thank you very much, all the while scratching up some billable hours from the comfort of the cabin and my pajama pants.

Tomorrow, though, and there will be no such relaxation. Mike and I are headed back to our nemeses; each of us with renewed energy and fresh skin on our fingers. I'm hoping to see some of the work from the first two days pay quick returns in the form of boosted endurance. If I can manage to get all of 4 bolts off the ground on any 5.12 without my eyes crossing, I'll consider it a success. I'm going to try to send Belly of the Beast over at Bronaugh, and Mike is going to hike Dracula at a crag called Purgatory.

(A stranger on Belly of the Beast)

I'm hoping to meet up with another friend, Christopher Lawrence, tomorrow out at the crag. He and I met basically a year ago to the day out here in The Red. He's a pro photographer who is looking to take a few shots, and with some luck, I'll have something other than the hand held images from my small point and shoot camera.

Here is a shot from the back deck of The Highlander. Not a bad view. I've charged my camera battery, so even if Christopher doesn't take pics, I'll have some photos to upload on the next blog. Until then, this will have to suffice.

Day 1

If my first day in The Red was any indication, this trip is going to be amazing. God, I hope I don't jinx it, but the weather was perfect today for climbing. Upper 50's with great sun, no clouds, and minimal wind. I wound up at Purgatory and Bronaugh (however the hell you spell it,) and had a great day with my buddy Mike.

My fitness was pretty good, considering that I'd been unable to climb or train much over the past two weeks because of a really sore shoulder and back. Physically, all is well after the time off, and I think the respite renewed my excitement. I got on an incredible 12C called Belly of the Beast, as well as put some mileage in on an easier 12 called Little Teapot, and a couple of really fun, juggy 5.11's.

The cabin setup is really comfortable, especially given the juxtaposition against my spring trip. Back then, my tent was getting soaked in daily rainstorms, I was crippled from a really sore finger, and was in the middle of the angst with Kate. I'm feeling a lot better all around, and if it stays sunny, I'll have absolutely nothing to complain about.

The Man, The Myth, The Legend, the roommate, Brian Lichtenheld, is coming next weekend, so the plan is to continue the positive vibes right through the week until he gets here and brings more Colorado psyche to replenish the coffers.

Highlight of the day? Cupcakes that Kitsy Parrish sent with me as I was leaving Louisville this morning. There's not much as good as pulling down all day with a smile on your face, and then getting home to a chocolate bomb. Yes!