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.
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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.
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