You wanted more TR's on this site. YOU GOT IT!
Saturday morning, I met my buddy Dwayner at the espresso bar in Federal Way where it was decided to sample not only the fancy Italian coffee beverages but also what amounts to Starbuck’s answer to McDonald’s Egg-a-Muffin. I inquired whether they were still offering the Swiss-Cheese/Bell-Pepper Starbuckian Breakfast Sammich. My climbin’ buddy publicly AND LOUDLY accused me of pretending to be vegetarian in order to impress and flirt with the progressive young gal cookin’ the drinks. “No sir. I just like the way the damn things taste.” As if I weren’t already embarrassed by the suggestion that I was flirtin’, I suddenly realized that this young girl WAS A FORMER STUDENT of mine. We had a pleasant exchange and she thanked me for “making a difference in her life” and insisted that algebra had completely changed her world view, thanks to me. (OK, I made that last part up.) As I walked out, Dwayner cynically asked me if I had scored her phone number.
After 90 minutes of driving, we decided to stop at Index for a stretch….and quick dump. I walked out into the woods to a private, secluded location where I new my mind and bowels could relax and focus on the task at hand. Just as I reached to unfasten my belt buckle, I was startled by a voice that demanded, “Take a number.” There, not ten yards away, a sport climber was in full squat, leaning up against a cottonwood. I didn’t know sport climbers knew how to crap in the woods! I proceeded a hundred extra yards through thick brush (and up-wind) before talk could turn to the fascinating subject of quick draws.
Now it just so happened that Dwayner had recently misplaced his chalk bag and so our first order of business in Leavenworth was to locate a climbing shop. First we checked out the shop “down town”. You had two choices: a cute little digit duster that would not accommodate a trad climber’s burly fists, or a hemp-corduroy jobber that was so damn big you could bivouac in it (sandwiched between two hairy girls). Dwayner was not satisfied with the selection. Before leaving, he noticed the gal behind the counter was studying some kind of text book, obviously collegiate material. “Where do you go to school?” he inquired. “Well, next year I’ll be transferring to CWU,” she replied. “That wasn’t the question. Where are you going now?” asked Dwayner. “Valley Community College.” Dwayner advised, “Listen: don’t be ashamed of attending a community college. One of the smartest guys I know spent a couple of years at one of those schools: Pope.”
At the new climbing shop (located at the old “Der Safeway”), a guy dressed in full climber’s garb emerged from a brand-spanking-new SUV. There he was, standing in the parking spot wearing harness, quick-draws, stretch pants and ice-climbing boots. We followed him into a little gear shop where a gal was helping him fit a new helmet (he was getting ready for an attempt on Classic Crack). Dwayner quickly located a chalk bag of suitable size and acceptable color, but alas there was one small problem. How would anybody know whether the chalk bag is really useful when you’re in the thick of it, on the wall and ready to “send”? There really is no way to know without just buying the damn thing and trying it out. It’s too bad that Jeff Smoot guy hasn’t written an update to his famous Chalk-Bag Review article (you know, the one where he introduced the “dipability scale”?).
Dwayner handed the clerk his bank card and asked to borrow a Sharpie. “I suppose you’d like to write your name on it,” she deduced. “On the contrary, I want to cross out the stupid label. I don’t feel like doing any free advertising for anybody and I don’t want to start some kind of trend with all of the kids at the gym,” replied Dwayner. “Well, they all come with some kind of label,” she reminded us. Before she handed Dwayner the Sharpie, she quickly swiped his bank card to make sure he could pay for the bag before he defaced it. Then she cleverly quipped, “Your card was rejected….JUST KIDDING!!”. Dwayner replied, “Don’t quit your day job. I’M NOT KIDDING!”
I then handed her my card in order to purchase some Power Bars. I got her to chuckle a bit when I snatched the Sharpie and began to cross out the logo on the wrapper. “Just kidding! Tee hee hee.”
Out in the canyon, a cursory survey suggested WE WERE THE ONLY ALL-MALE CLIMBING GROUP in Leavenworth. I can’t believe this was really the case, but maybe things have evolved in our sport to the point that only gay guys climb with other guys. Just wanted everybody to know that we're not gay...yet!
Mentioning gals, a cute-n-friendly female climber from Seattle briefly shared a belay ledge with us. Attempting small talk, I asked her what she thought of Leavenworth climbing. She replied that she didn’t know enough about Leavenworth to really evaluate the climbing offered therein. She explained that she was more of a “social climber”, that for her it was all about the “climbing beers”. We admired her honesty. Dwayner advised her that in case her partner had lured her up the wall with the promise of beers on top, she shouldn’t believe it. “We’ve already rifled through his pack and he ain’t got no booze for any of us!” We were ready to suggest that she'd have more fun climbing with us but her friends looked like they might get their feelings hurt.
When it was about time to go, we made a drive up the canyon to check snow conditions in some of the campgrounds (there is more snow around Leavenworth than at Steven’s Pass). Anyway, driving by the Cocaine Crack area, we saw a gathering of climbers huddled behind the tailgate of a truck, apparently cooling down after a big day on the wall. Due to Dwayner’s high-speed driving, it was difficult to tell, but these fellows appeared to be sitting on something like milk crates, only in the failing light, you couldn’t really see the crates. The effect to a casual observer driving by at the speed limit was this: these rock rats appeared to be PERFORMING SOME KIND OF ORCHESTRATED SQUAT on the shoulder of the road. Even more amusing is this: we think we recognized two of the climbers (AlpineK and CrazyJZ). So, if you were party to this, please contact me and explain just WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON THERE! I’d hate to think this is just the latest manifestation of the disturbing direction in which climbing culture is evolving.
