Me Be Like Me

Sunset on the Disappointment Cliffs
Me on a disappointing climb - but I learned a lot!
One of the many faces at Arches.

Now on to the good stuff...

OMG I am starving, like I’ve been for the last few days, the last two weeks. I wonder when this willy-nillly consumption of whatever I can get my hands on will stop? I’ve not been nearly as active as I’d like to be the last couple of days – driving home does that to you. To be honest, my body needed the break – waking up my last morning, I felt like I’d been beaten with Camalots in choice spots, (thighs, triceps, ankles, lower back) and watched my fantasy of climbing my last morning in the Creek vaporize like a bag of Kettle chips in the hands of climbers. Prisoner in my own body, won’t do what I tell it to…

Oh, rack it, I’m back. Back to the gray (weather, clouds, landscape). Everything has a pallor over it, a not-as-bright look to it, because of course I’m comparing everything to Indian Creek.

The other thing I’m missing here is Jeff. He was a constant topic as E and I returned whence we came, watching the rolling sagebrush give way to grassy rock outcrops and a barren beauty unique to Eastern Oregon. We analyzed his presence, the way he sparkled and lit up conversations, and I marveled at my lack of attraction to this perfect-on-paper climber. Shall I list the pros? One, he’s a psyched climber looking to push his limits, who doesn’t let injury or near-death falls (more on that later) modify his climbing style. Two, he helps people. He teaches 8^th-grade ESL in SanDiego to at-risk kids and loves it. Three, he appreciates good cooking and lets you know, every single time. You could say it’s his soft spot. He kept E and I in beers when we ran out; all we had to do was set out another plate for him at dinner. Four, he’s into books, stories, good authors, literary references and sharp wit. Five, he’s knowledgeable about what interests him. For example, he’s a surfer and I learned how waves work on our marathon 7-mile hike thru the Devil’s Garden in Arches. Six, he’s funny in a raunchy way but not in a way that makes me uncomfortable. Plus, he does great Borat impressions. Seven, he’s psyched on music and sharing his favorite bands with a know-nothing like myself. He will be missed – I feel like I’m writing an epitaph.

The cons to Jefe are that he lives in San Diego and there was no mutual spark, not even when we spent two days in town, wanting to climb a tower and unable to on account of the rain, which transforms sandstone towers into sandcastles. We followed a lightning storm and camped illegally at Ken’s lake, enjoyed a greasy diner breakfast and marveled at the sheer number of arches in Arches. Maybe I’m just not ready to be in a relationship and I refused to see him as anything but a dirtbag adventure partner. This is without any consideration for how he feels about me – I have no idea what he thought of me. In any case, it was wonderful to have such a surprising and fun presence mix up the trip.

On the way home E hatched plans to create an anthology of climbers on the road, collecting their stories, fact and fiction and maybe some poetry, photos and art, mix it up into a paperback dirtbag version and a color coffee-table version and it’s going to be called No Permanent Address. It’s E’s idea, but I helped brainstorm and I’ll contribute a story.

It’s so good to be encased in the road bubble where nothing else affects you except your immediate surroundings of the road, of the people you meet, the places you are that make you feel whole or highlight what you’re lacking. I imagine being on a roadtrip is like living in a portable bubble that floats across the landscape, touching down only to bounce farther along, getting stuck on a bush or trapped in a hand before rotating free to continue. Sure, you can get stuck for good and the bubble can burst, especially from a trip to town where you talk to real life, get the news good or bad from the last week or so and wish you hadn’t, find yourself back in the worry groove, the very one you tried to postpone with a road trip.

But there it is, The Future, surrounding my peaceful bubble, closing in on all sides.

I worked through it, worked really hard to put it away until I came home, but the Creek didn’t feel the same and my body was all give-out, tired and unreliable for the last week.

I wanted to do more, be more, climb more, socialize past my ability of conversation or coherence, party hard at night then wake before the rest for my walking meditation and coffee beneath the Bridger Jacks.

Possibly one of the coolest things about my trip was waking to light on the Bridger Jacks, watching it slide down the columns like a broken yolk, hit the talus slope all the walls balance on, and continue like an avalanche to the bottom. When this golden column loomed over camp, I knew it was time for everyone else to be up and I wandered through campsites, looking for early grunts and signs of life.

I wrote a lot in the early mornings, mostly advice to myself, lessons to reiterate until they stick (Assume and it'll make an Ass out of U and Me), ideas and encouragements, things like...

Trust myself

Believe in myself

Climb hard

Be persistent

Make an idea box to drop idea cards into.

Write a lot to get good

Don’t take it personally

Do it right the first time, put your all into the first go. Focus, be calm, let the rest of the world drop away. Love life. Live life.

Dare to follow your passions. Dare to invest the time in your passions. Dare to believe your dreams.

Believe in your own power, in your own compelling story, in your own ability to accomplish what needs to get done, and do it.

Be open and honest.

All good reminders for myself. Now that I'm home I want to maintain the momentum of being on the road.