This is Texas

Hueco sunset

Couldn't resist the self portait in this beautiful light - See spot run V6

Sierra Blanca - ghost town I passed through

Bored on the road...Texas is a big place. Especially when you're driving from end to end

Nobody here gets out alive V2

Quick one

Hello Hello

Just a quick post: I'm leaving Horse Pens 40 today in seach of warmer clim(e)(b)s.  Hueco Tanks seems to fit the bill.  Here are a couple pics from my last week or so.

Skywalker V9

Skywalker V9

Alex Bain sending The Flow V7

going boulderin'

Pictures from 'Bama

Leaving Marshal at the Greyhound

Slopers Slopers Slopers

Myself climbing Great White in Horse Pens 40, Alabama

Alex Bain on Law-dog, HP 40

Cold mornings

AQ

New Territory

After dropping Marshal off at the greyhound, I drove through Tennessee into Alabama.  Why Alabama you ask.  Well, let me tell you, Alabama is host to some of the best and most unique bouldering in North America. Horse Pens 40 is on top of a “mountain”, 45 mins north of Birmingham.  Huge rounded sandstone slopers the size of beach balls, and beautifully comfortable edges. It’s not only the style of climbing that makes HP40 what it is, but also the concentration of boulders.  From one end of the boulder field to the other is a 15 min walk, and the whole thing is packed with blocs. Corridors between boulders are lined with classic problems, and everywhere you turn is another line that begs to be climbed.

I arrived on a Wednesday, it was about 10:30 PM local time, and I was tired from driving all day.  I exited off the highway, and stopped at the gas station to fill up on gas and water (I didn’t know what amenities were available on the mountain).  This particular gas station seemed to be the local Wednesday night hangout for all the guys with big trucks.   I have never seen so much camo, or heard so many “Y’alls” in my life.  Leaving the gas station I had to squeeze between 2 Ford F-9000s meanwhile being glared at by their bucktoothed owners.  With a glimpse in to the local demographic, and a full tank of gas, I headed towards HP40.  Down Hwy 35, right on county road 42, and up the “mountain”.  As I made a couple switchbacks the air grew foggy and it became very difficult to see.  I slowed to a crawl, and kept on driving.  Ten minutes later I was at the HP40 gates.  It wasn’t raining, but everything was soaked.  Everything.  As soon as I stepped outside, the humid air cut its way through my layers, and sent a chill through me I will not soon forget.  I took a minute to glance around at my fellow campers in their nylon tents, and to thank my lucky stars that I wasn’t setting up a tent, but getting back in to a deliciously warm van.

The next morning, everything was still wet but a wind was doing its part to dry out the rock.  Not unlike Squamish, the boulders in HP40 are a short jaunt from the camping.  I spent an hour running around the forest touching holds here and there, scoping out the prime lines.  After a pot of coffee, and some breaky, it was boulder time.

Now, 7 climbing days and 3 rest days later, I am sore.  Holy crap am I sore.  Climbing in the Red for 8 weeks did not get me into boulder shape. It certainly did not get me ready for the squeezy slopery nature of the HP40 rock.

Ciao for now,

AQ

Goodbye KY

Okay, okay. I realize that it has been nearly three weeks since my last post, but that is no reasons to get all moody.  I’m back now; therefore, we should both just move on.

What have I been up to you ask?  Well! What haven’t I been up to!  Since we last conversed, we spent some time in Chattanooga: by day climbing at the local crags, and by night hanging out in Joe and Amy’s sweet apartment.  We saw what Chatt town had to offer and were very impressed.  For all you winter hating climbers out there make a note – Chattanooga = awesome winter climbing destination a la bouldering, sport climbing, and trad climbing.

On our last day in Chattanooga, we got a tour of the local sport crag, Deep Creek, courtesy of Blake Cash.  Rad Rad Rad!  Steep climbing with a style reminiscent of Lake Louise (if Lake Louise were 30 degrees steeper). On our way out from the crag, Blake feel behind by 5 minutes talking to some buddies at the crag, and Marshal, Adam, Caren, Joe and I were left with three dogs to find our own way back to the cars.  An easy enough task one would think.  Down the valley, up the hill, left on to the trail, walk, walk, walk…or was it right on the trail? We were lost.  After much deliberation between the 5 of us we decided to turn around, and bushwhack further up the hill.  Mid-way up Adam gets the incredibly brilliant idea to call Blake and get him to honk the horn of the truck (Blake had long since reached the cars, and was waiting patiently for his gumby friends).  It was a good thing we got him to honk the horn because we were not headed in the right direction.  With our new audio compass, we headed in the direction of the intermittent beep beep.  We soon stumbled upon a clearing, and a road.  Salvation here we come!  It was a good thing too, because the sun had long since set, and it’s most persistent rays were barely enough to differentiate gravel from grass.  The tensioned mood was relaxed, and we joked about who to blame.  Only a few minutes back to the cars.  As we walked further along the road, we made out a light…in a car, or was it a house? Too dim to know for sure.  We got a little closer, it was house, scattered around were rusted out cars, and random parts for machines for who knows what.  We suddenly realized that we were approaching the house from the back.  We were on their property.  A dog started barking.  Non of our dogs make a sound.  The tension was back, and everyone is quiet.  We couldn’t go back the way we came, no one wanted to spend the night in the backwoods of Tennessee, the only option was to continue to the house.  We are all walking as if on broken glass, trying to make all but the most unavoidable sounds.  We approached a gate.  The dog was still barking.  From the house comes a noise nobody wanted to hear: the unmistakable creek of a screen door.  A silhouette appeared on the porch.  Not knowing what to do, I kept my mouth shut out of pure concern for the intentions of the shadowed figure.  Joe offers the stranger an explanation for our appearance on their property with notable apprehension in his voice: “ Sorry, we got lost hiking out from Deep Creek…”.  The figure grunted and retreated back into the house.  With hearts racing, our pace quickened, and we put distance between us and the uncertainty behind.  Breath, remember to breath.  Five anxious minutes later we were at the cars, greeted by Blake.  Freedom.

The next day, Marshal and I are on our way to Louiseville to pick my good friend Peter woods up from the airport.  Why Louiseville you ask?  Well, Pete confused Lexington and Louiseville when booking his ticket, and was unable to make the switch after it was purchased.  It’s ok Pete, not the worst thing that’s ever happened…except that the flight came in at 11PM, oh wait, 12:30AM with delays.  You’ll live it down one day.  But until that day, it’s double belay duty, and triple dishes duty for you.  Hahaha, we’re not actually that mean. 

With Pete in tow, we headed back to the Red for the next round of route climbing.  After a week away we were psyched again to test ourselves against some new routes.   We climbed, we avoided the rain, and we had an amazing time. 

The 10 days with Pete were great.  Somehow the bleak weather forecast turned for the better, and we got numerous sunny climbing days. We climbed at new crags everyday, giving Pete a complete taste of the Red.  A tour of Kentucky’s Reptile Museum was had, bowling pins were knocked down, a local auction was visited, and a spicy wing challenge was won (stay tuned for the upcoming post).

I am now sitting in a café in Lexington, after having dropped Pete off at the airport a couple days ago, and Marshal at the greyhound station a couple hours ago.   The Red was good to me.  On our last day I climbed my 200^th route 5.12 or harder, over 50 of which were at the Red. The same route was my 40^th all-time 5.13.  I look forward to coming back in the future; hopefully it won’t be too long. 

For now, I’m headed south.  I’ll be visiting a couple amazing bouldering destinations before meeting up with Josh and Regan in Vegas for Christmas.

Talk to ya soon,

AQ

Myself climbing 40 ounces of Justice

Pete trying to be friendly with a king cobra

Pete not so happy with bowling

Aftermath of AQ vs. very very Hot Wings.  

Crew at the auction

Marshal sending Table of Colours

Pete looking good on the warm up

Marshal throwing down some BBQ

Magnesium

I could bore you all with a rundown of what we've been up to lately, but Marshal did a fantastic job on his blog here it is: Magnesium.

Ciao,

AQ

Red Break

Climbing in the Red is unique.  It’s pumpy. It’s steep. It’s long.  Lately it got a bit tiring.  Marshal and I made the decision to take a weeklong break from the Red before Pete gets here on Thursday.  It was a miserable, rainy climbing day, followed by a miserable, rainy rest day that enticed this decision.  Anywhere is better than a chilly, wet camp.  So off we went to Atlanta. 

Why Atlanta you ask? Why not.  The weather was sunnier.  What better way to explore Southeastern USA than visiting one of its largest cities? Tall buildings and street rats would bear welcome respite from trees and chipmunks.  After an unplanned detour through the back wood roads of Kentucky we were headed south on the I-75.  Smooth sailing to Atlanta.  We arrived at 11:30PM on Thursday, and were greeted by a vacant down town core.  Rolling around the empty streets, we found ourselves in the down town campus area of Georgia state University.  Pulling of a few doors, we find an open one, and decide to explore a little bit.  Minutes later we are being escorted out the doors by a police officer threatening charges of trespassing.  We set our sights on a 24hr Waffle House and decide to re-nourish and regroup. 

The plan is to find a public park where we can park the van for the night and catch a few hours of sleep before the morning.  North Atlanta is home the city’s wealthy neighborhoods.  American suburbia complete with tennis clubs, private drives and home surveillance.   We park the van in an empty parking lot adjacent a public park.  As Marshal sets up his sleeping gear outside, I push aside the cluster of gear in the back of the van for a space to rest my eyes.  Not but 30 minutes later, just as my eyelids are feeling heavy, 2 sets of blinding lights are shone through the windows of the van and we are informed by our 2^nd, 3^rd and 4^th officers of the night that the park closed at 11, three hours earlier.  Groggily, we concede.  Wal-Mart Supercenter gets plugged in to the GPS, and a half hour later I set my head on my oh-so-comfortable pillow.  Marshal is laid out in the space between my van and the parking garage wall, kept company by the faint buzzing of the ever-present overhead lights.  These are not your typical parking garage lights, but a hybrid between coast guard searchlights and the light fixed atop the Luxor in Vegas.  To say the least, they interrupt Marshal’s beauty sleep.  Early the following morning, we wake up and are introduced to a bustling Atlanta. The empty streets have made way for countless suites driving new Beemers and Mercs.

Good eats. photo credit: Marshal German

Not wanting to spend another night bumming it in a Wal-Mart lot, we spring for a hotel, and spend the day exploring the urban crag Boat Rock (don’t bother), downtown Atlanta, and eat dinner at Chicken and Waffles.  Satisfied with our Atlanta experience, the next day we head off to Rocktown 90 minutes north of the city for some bouldering.  Camping, climbing, and chillin’. 

Marshal making quick work of The Orb

That’s all for now,

AQ

Changing seasons

Before I left Calgary there were more leaves on the ground than in the trees.  We are now at the same point in the Red.  With the changing seasons has come a change in population around the campground.  The October crew, complete with it's many weekend warriors, has left behind a stubborn group of people who are patiently waiting for cooler climbing temps.  The down jackets are coming out, and long johns may make an appearance any day now.  We each have our own ways of dealing with the cold: Marshal went the old man pajama route, while I opted for the ever-so comfortable electric blanket.  Sleeping in the van has never been so fantastic.  Occasionally I feel sorry for Marshal in his cold tent, sleeping on lumpy ground, but that thought quickly fades as I explore all eleven setting of my greatest purchase ever.

Here are a few random pics:

The one, the only Ale 8 1

Marshal on the Kentucky diet

Morning fog at Linda's

Myself on No Redemption.  Photo Credit: Jason Halladay

Ciao,

AQ

Cave Dwelling

What can I say.  Those who know the character that is Levente Pinter understand the craziness that inevitably follows when he is around. 

Lev had planned on driving down to the Red at the same time as Marshal and I at the beginning of October.  Delayed by some of his odd jobs, he finally showed up this past weekend.  His main objective this time around was to get a bunch of stuff that he brought down from Calgary in to his “storage location”.  A couple years ago, Lev bought some property in the Red River Gorge.  Most of the property in the area either backs up on to a cliff, or is on top of one.  His piece of property is the exception and has land above and below a cliff band.   Near one end of the cliff approximately 15 meters from the ground is a cave that is well protected by a 5-meter overhang.  Most people would ignore the cave and focus their attention on the other tracts of land.  Lev is not most people.

After climbing a couple routes Monday morning Marshal decided that, as a measure of injury prevention, he was going to take a couple days off.  On Tuesday, while I left for the crag with Kevin, Ally and Laurence (friends form camp), Marshal stayed behind to chill at camp and avoid the temptation that cliff-side rest days provide.  The typical cloudless warm weather let way for wind and thunder clouds around three o’clock.  The climbers who stayed at the cliff huddled under their climbs to avoid the rain, and moved apprehensively up the rock as with upward movement came more rain.  

Upon returning to camp at 5:30, I expected to find Marshal sheltered in the van watching an episode or two of HBO’s the Wire (fantastic show by the way), but he was no where to be found.  An hour passed, and hunger pangs were grabbing my attention.  I figured that Marshal had most likely hooked up with Adam and Karen (who were also on a rest day) and had gone into town for dinner.   Quick and easy, I ate some ramen spiced up with whatever I could scrounge from the numerous half empty condiment containers that liter our picnic table and a couple eggs for protein.  Sheltered in the van, eating my ramen, I see Adam’s truck pull into his campsite.  No Marshal. 

It’s 8 o’clock when Lev’s rusty tercel pulls into the campsite and a soaked, scraped and dazed Marshal stumbles out of the car.  Horrible spiky green vines have eaten Marshal’s leg.  Marshal and Lev had spent the last useable hours of daylight hauling Lev’s junk through overgrown Kentucky jungle from his car to a staging area just above the cliff.  I was informed that we are going to drop the odds and ends over the precipice in to Lev’s cave the following morning.  What better way to get to know these here hills?  We agree to meet up at 10. 

Marshal's leg

Marshal and I show up at quarter to 11, and predictably Lev is almost ready to go.   We harness up and bushwhack down to a tarp that is covering the stuff.  My first thought upon seeing the collecting of seemingly random building supplies is “How the hell did Lev manage to get all this stuff in his Tercel?”  Before me is a cast iron wood burning stove including 30 feet of insulated chimney, a large bundle of shed siding materials, 2-no joking-TWO kitchen sinks (with adequate copper pipes of course), a thule full of stereo equipment, a basketball hoop, and a fluorescent light.

The plan is to get Lev down in to the cave to pull the materials in while Marshal and I bundle up each item and send them down.  The first bundle gets down with no problems.  Encouraged by our progress we quickly tie up 3 sections of chimney and send them into the abyss. 

“Stop, Stop, Stop!” we hear form below.

Slack in our tie-job has left the bundle hanging several feet below the lip of the cave.  The heavy sections of chimney are giving Lev quite a bit of trouble as they hang out in space.

“ARRRRRGGGGGHHHH!!!!!” Lev lets out a torturous scream as he tries to haul the bundle up onto the ledge.

Marshal and I are beside ourselves laughing at the thought of Lev below and the unique predicament that three of us have gotten ourselves into.  Each groan we hear only adds to the hilarity of the situation.  5 minutes later, with swollen vocal chords and sore muscles Lev wrangles the bundle into his cave.  On the rest of the lowers, we ensure that all the slack in the system is accounted for to avoid another fiasco.

With the junk in place on the shelf, the three of us drive down the hill to gain the lower access trail to Lev’s property.  The quality of the road quickly deteriorates as we cross Lev’s property line.  Years of inoccupation have deepened potholes and left serious gaps on the cliff-side road.  We ditch the cars and start hiking towards the rope we intend to ascend into the cave.  We all ponder whether or not the road is passable.  Lev wants to store his car at the base of cliff as he is flying back to Calgary the following day.

The base of the cliff is a short five minutes from the cars and before we know it we are in the cave admiring our handy-work.  The roof is quite a bit bigger than I anticipated.  I can’t believe that we managed to get all that crap on to a ledge in the middle of nowhere.  The kicker is that Lev is planning to build a little living space for himself on the cliff.  The stove is staying in place, and the 30 feet of chimney will allow the smoke to clear the top of the cliff band.   We hang out for a while and imagine all the possibilities:  Zip-line access, bolt-on balcony, free hanging hammocks, in cliff tube slide decent, so many ways this abode could go.  What climber wouldn’t want to live on a cliff?

View from below the cave

Marshal Jumaring up to the shelf

View from the cave

Back at the cars, Lev is set on attempting the sketchiest section of road.  Slick sandstone on one side and a deep trench on the other separated by what could be a width of road equivalent to the Tercel wheelbase.  Slowly the car creeps forward, Marshal is behind and I’m in front directing Lev past the seemingly impassable road.  Midway through Lev can no longer see road and decides to gun it!  His strategy works, and miraculously the Tercel is unscathed.  Whoo Hooo, it got across!  Now what?  How is he planning on getting it back out?  A slightly larger patch of road ahead daunts the potential for a U-turn.  After a half assed attempt at a 100-point turn, the idea is scraped.  The only option is to back-up across the same disheveled piece of overgrown trail.  With us as his eyes from behind, Lev moves cautiously towards the pinch-point.  Through some bit of insane luck he makes it through a second time.  We are out of the woods.  After a few laughs we climb a few easy pitches at the Solar Collector crag.  We finish the day off with some of the famous Miguel’s pizza. 

The road

What a day.

AQ

Wooly Worms

 Known in my part of the world as a caterpillar, this humble creature has had made quite the impression on the residents of Beattyville, KY.  Every year, on the forth weekend in October, people gather from surrounding counties for the infamous Wooly Worm Festival.

To give you a little background, our first foray into the cultural hotbed that is Beattyville was to get a classic Kentucky breakfast from the Purple Cow diner.  Rubber eggs, plus deep-fried frozen potatoes, plus stale biscuits, plus half a liter of gravy, plus 4 strips of bacon plus toothless, hallow-cheeked, malnourished, over-all’d, obese patrons, plus rundown, reused MacDonald’s booths, plus 300 cow figurines, plus a waitress with a heavy, barely comprehendible accent equals a very interesting experience.  More than half the population of Beattyville is under the poverty line.  Evidence of this is visible throughout town, with abandoned storefronts, rundown vehicles, and unfinished construction projects. 

Luncheon meat selection at the IGA...scary to say the least.

Not knowing what to expect by way of the wooly worm, Marshal and I stop by on opening night.  We park behind the IGA and make our ways down to the festivities.   Booths selling deep-fried everything, toy guns, religion, and merchandise emblazoned with the confederate flag line main street. People of all ages are walking around the grounds taking in the sights, sounds and tastes.  Hankering for some down home cooking I grab a pulled-pork sandwich from the Hillbilly Grill.  Although tasty, it only provokes my hunger.  One of the deep-fry booths advertises deep fried pickles.  How can I say no? Five minutes later I’m handed a basket full of golden brown deliciousness with tartar sauce on the side.  They were tasty, but not something that you need to eat twice.  I finish the meal off with some onion rings the size of a Frisbee, a nut encrusted cinnamon roll, and surprisingly good cappuccino. 

Sated, we walk around a bit more and run into our campground neighbors Adam, Karen, and Joe.  Together, we make our way down to the stage where a high school cover-band is destroying Nirvana.  A quickly vanishing seated audience responds with forced applause.  In an attempt to rouse the crowd, inspire the band, and have a little fun, Marshal and Karen start moshing on the otherwise empty dance floor.  This debauchery lasts a couple songs, leaving the scene much the same as they entered it.  Who knew the residents of Beattyville wouldn’t appreciate a good mosh. 

With the chill of the evening setting in we headed back to camp, satisfied that we took part in the exciting event that is the Wooly Worm Festival.


AQ

In the Groove

First of all, I would like to apologize for the gapping hole in my blog posts.  I started writing a couple of times but was quickly distracted by guidebooks, hammocks, snack food, making delicious breakfasts and the TV show “Curb your enthusiasm”.  Now that I have watched the first 4 seasons of that show, I can move on to more productive things.

One of my delicious breakfasts

For those of you who haven’t been to the Red…I’m sorry.  This place is a dream world (for climbers that is).   So many beautiful lines, amazing features, and perfect holds.   We’ve been climbing 2 days on, one day off.  By the end of the second climbing day, a rest day is much needed.  The Red doesn’t so much strain muscles the way climbing in the Bow Valley does; it’s more akin to running with your arms.  You get to a point where no matter how big the next hold is, or how long you stay in the no hands rest, your arms just can’t recover.  It’s a unique combination of steep angles, massive holds, and indefinite cruxes that makes the climbing so enjoyable. 

After having climbed 11 days here, I am finally starting to feel as though I’m getting some fitness for this place.  Those who know my climbing style, know that generally speaking I tend to crimp more than the average climber (crimping is when you are holding on to a small edge and bring your thumb onto your forefinger for some added leverage).  Somehow, this has changed here.  Whenever I bring my thumb up to crimp, I can almost instantaneously feel the lactic acid rushing into my forearms.  It’s all about relaxing on the holds and keeping your arms straight.  Bringing it back to the basics. 

I don’t mean to boast; however, a couple days ago I achieved a career-climbing goal of mine.  I flashed/onsighted a 5.13a.  To flash a route means that you climb it first try with prior knowledge of the climb. To onsight means that you climb it first try without prior knowledge.  I had belayed Marshal on the route, and therefore knew that the top gets pumpy…as does every other route in the Red.  In fact by reading the guidebook description you learn more about the route than may be considered acceptable for “flash” status.  I can’t really decide whether to call this a flash or an onsight.  But, whatever, it’s all just semantics.  What I do know is that I felt great climbing the route. As soon as I got through the crux I knew I had it.  I knew that I could rely on the fitness that I had gained through the previous 10 days of climbing to get me to the top, and I knew as long as I kept my composure, that I would clip the chains.  That’s the funny thing about the climbing here.  The hardest moves on the routes are never really the hardest moves.  Sure, they require a heightened level of attention, and physical ability, but it’s the moves afterward that are always the kicker.  The inconspicuous “good” holds that catch you when you’re already pumped; those are the most trying moves on the route.

Home sweet home

That's all for now.  

AQ 

Livin' the Dream

We left Marshal's Uncle's place, ate breakfast with Mashal's Grandpa, and hit the road.  The last stretch.  One quick stop for gas, a few necessities from one of a million Walmart super centers, and we were there!  Past Miguel's pizzeria, we headed straight for the Motherlode parking lot.  It was 2:30 by the time we had our packs on and started hiking.  I followed Marshal down a path that looked familiar to him. Excited by the prospect of fresh sandstone, we started running.  A quick right turn, and a cliff was within sights.  Vertical, and less featured than the pictures I had seen, I figured that we cut right too soon, and would regain the main trail as long as we followed the cliff band.  Just around the bend,  it must be there... 5...10...15...30 minutes past.  Where was it? We took out the guidebook to see if we could figure out where we had gone wrong.  Non of the rock looked familiar.  A ways back we saw a well worn trail at the bottom of the valley.  After 5 minutes of bushwhacking we found the trail.  With hung heads we walked to what we thought would be our parking lot.  What we did find was a parking lot, but no van of mine was to be found.  A group of climbers stood around exchanging beta on the routes they climbed that day.  "Where are we?" we abashedly asked.  The wrong turn put us in the Sore Heels parking lot, 20 minutes down the road from where we parked.

Half an hour later we arrived at our destination.  I am by no mean religious, but viewing the sculpted beauty of the Motherlode is the closest I have ever come to believing in a higher power.  Words cannot do justice to this extraordinary piece of rock.  We spent that afternoon climbing routes, and loving life.  This was why we tormented ourselves in a car for four days.  This was what we had come for.

Marshal retro-onsighting 8-ball 5.12d

Jay Audenart on Flux Capacitor 5.12d

Driving, driving, driving

What a day.  After spending the night in Regina with my Aunt Heather, we spent all of 24 hours in the car, switching up driving shifts, consuming far too many bags of sugary goodies,  and drinking gas station swamp-water java from nowheresville USA.  Amongst all junk our bodies were subjected to we did have some amazing cupcakes, quesadillas, and pasta salad thanks to Meghan, who put together some delicious road food for us.

5 mins before departure

We arrived in Ann Arbour at 10 AM, and immediately passed out for well deserved 4 hour nap at Marshal's uncle's place.  After recuperating today, we're going to hit the road early tomorrow morning, and try to get some climbing in tomorrow afternoon.  The psyche level between the two of us is teetering between suppressed exhilaration, and out of control adrenaline fulled ranting.  Can't wait to get on the rock! Unfortunately, the forecast doesn't look amazing for the next couple day, but we'll quickly get over it, and torture our forearms regardless of humidity or precipitation.   

Driving through Saskatchestan

Well, that's it for now, time to eat some dinner, read my book and rest up for CLIMBING AT THE RED!!!! Whoot Whoot!!! 

later,

AQ

4 days and counting

Hello Blogosphere!

I never thought I'd see the day where I hooked in to the wild world of blogs, but here it is.  I've finished one chapter in my life, and I'm about to start another one.  School life was good, I got through it alive, and came out with a piece of paper with my name on it (they tell me it's in the mail), but this is what I've been waiting for!  Untold adventures on good 'ol North American tarmac.  Livin' life on a shoestring, making my way through countless crags, cliffs, and boulders in search of what's around the next corner.

The journey starts this Thursday.  My good friend Marshal is driving down from Edmonton and it set to arrive around 2:00 PM.  With any luck we'll be out of Cow-town, in my trusty van Mona, by 3.  3,241 kilometers ahead lies the sumptuous sandstone of the Red River Gorge in Slade, Kentucky.  We are hoping to make it there with enough time to climb on Sunday afternoon.

Right now I'm counting down the seconds until departure while I finish painting my parent's house.  I've spent the last couple weeks pressure washing, scraping, priming, mixing, and painting.  It's time to get some climbing in.

I've got a few errands to run before I head out.  Tomorrow I'm running up to Planet X ( a climbing area near Canmore) to retrieve some quickdraws that are hung on a route that I have far too little endurance to complete.  While I'm at the crag, Mona is getting a once over, and a deep-cycle battery.

That's all for now.

AQ