On the Road

So I wrote you guys a page and a half about climbing this weekend at Smith instead of leaving and Esther injuring her right shoulder on the first route and getting on the road right away and the smile that won’t leave my face despite chapped lips, but I figure I’ll just give you the short of it.

We’re in Moab, about to embark on a climbing journey into Indian Creek, where Esther is dreading the first-day pain and I’m blissfully unaware of it all, only happy to finally be climbing after three days rest and driving. Admittedly, the scenery has been beautiful, breathtaking, startling in its creativity, but I’m ready to settle down for a bit. My mind is numb from the wind rushing by at 65 mph (top speed for the van) and the hours of inactivity. Let’s move! I’m ready for a run, the one I committed to do every day for half an hour. E’s sold on it too, so we’re running buds, and we push each other to actually do it.

We’ll get to Indian Creek tonight (after a late start on Friday, three bags of chips, a six-pack of beer, close to 1000 miles, a detour to Springdale so I can check out jobs – there are lots it looks like – one run, three apples each, and mounting excitement to get to the creek so the adventure can begin) and we decided to start at the wall in between Supercrack and Battle of the Bulge. I forget the name, but it’s got moderates, E’s injured, so I’ll be leading tomorrow and I hear it’s hard.

What am I supposed to expect? Seriously…Indian Creek is supposed to be the crack climbing capitol of the world, should I take it for granted that I’ll get spanked? I want to think I’m at least a little prepared, that this will be fun for me, although today E did make me promise that I wouldn’t say I hated it after two days – “if you still hate it after a week, then you can say it.”

We’re off, me into the unknown, E back to fairyland, which she hopes will be as good as last year. Me, I know about those darn expectations, and I’m trying not to aim too high.