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ivan

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ivan last won the day on June 21

ivan had the most liked content!

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About ivan

  • Rank
    Sick Spray Bird
  • Birthday 10/12/2000

Converted

  • Homepage
    http://www.mountainspeedclimbing.org/
  • Occupation
    knowledge accentuation
  • Location
    Oceania
  1. Beacon

    makes sense if it's gonna be for hours - for a 30 minute hit-it-n-quit-it operation, overkill (those heater packs take forever to warm up anyway it seems...) - plus, the undignified maneuver of shoving my hands down my pants on occasion works just fine to keep shit at shoe level
  2. Beacon

    beacon day 66 - 60 solo laps in a climbing season, a badge of a honor, a black mark of shame - that's 59 times I could have done something totally different I reckon- still, as Cock-a-Doodle Dave might say, Beacon is our cathedral so let's bow-bow our heads n' braaay - took some mental lashing to get started - 38 degrees and strong winds in the parking lot, just 5 minutes from sunset, the car rocking in the howling breeze as i struggled into long-johns n' down micro-puff n' 3/4 gloves n' hats - the stumble down the half-frozen trail to a godawful lonely base, the parked train like time itself, unmoving in the hateful half-light - lord, how I resisted - this excuse and that, and twice I started to walk away only for the shame to overwhelm me, the tyranny of seconds and self-loathing in the impending darkness - finally it was fuck-all and fuck-this and we're off, toes soon numb and fingers unfeeling on the dry, frost-burnt stone - near total mind fuck on the 2nd pitch, out of sequence and out of sorts as i approached the wind-tunnel around the corner above the 2nd crux - gloves off for the lie-back and it's a true-true wing n' a prayer- only the penitent man will pass and then all was done and i was alive and rocking back and forth below tree ledge, the railing just a home run trot away - fun and games from there, the trail down in the dark, then union meetings and the sordid details of this little life - my goal for the year was 40 laps, so i'm sated w/ what i've wrought, even if'n you are naught
  3. Beacon

    beacon day 65 - solo corner lap 59 (and a reverse golden sombrero!) - a post-work, sullen, stormy, wind-wracked and dusky lap, the lines of "the wreck of the edmund fitzgerald" reverberating through my frost-blasted brain as I simultaneously freeze and sweat my way through each mortal move, swaying on my unsteady feet in the baffling breeze- the legend lives on, etc., etc. - the true black by the railing, the near full moon lording over everyone of us petty people no matter how we try, however audacious are our ambitions - in the final analysis we are all to be found wanting and suspect and with that we must make a frail peace
  4. Beacon

    meth flavored popcorn = double-plus something good nobody owns road corn - thought of this exact tonight actually as i pondered on an unmoving coal train - seems like if the damn thing ain't moving, anybody who wants to get an ikea bag full oughta be able to
  5. Beacon

    day 64 - lap 58 - heady november continues, a corner hat-trick in as many days, a rare, rare thing - d n' d w/ the fam n' friends in the morning after kahlua n' coffee w/ the parents - we kilt a dragon and it was cool - afterwards the couch called me dearly but the clear streaming sunlight through the southern windows was dissuasion enough against apathy n' day-drinking - the orbit out as dramatic a shift in scene as can be had this time of year as calm conditions deranged themselves relentlessly with every mile east, into the gullet of the columbia gorge, a full gale going by cape horn, which i couldn't see in any case as an r.v. appears to have barrelled into the forest near there and burnt to the waterline, closing the highway and clipping full-growth trees and i must imagine killing somebody or at least leaving them seriously mangled - beacon n' me intact alone at any rate soon thereafter and into the great gusts we leaned and stumbled down the trail, passing wind-battered climbers wending their way back home, full to the brim with cold and ready for casual beers in the calm not so very far away - yet another cluster-fuck on the slab pitch, but i crawled into my down jacket above the overhang and allowed it time to clear, sucking in the fall-flecked chilly scene and thinking deeply reverent thoughts - the 2nd 2nd crux always the same - the litany of fear - only the penitent man will pass, and so we do, only to sin again - had a huge head of steam to cruise down the trail and get a second slice to bring the record to 59, a solid prime # to hang a hat on, but got the text to tend to the daughter after closing up the macbeth production - already half way down the hiker's trail, i had half a thought to make her wait, but then pondered on the true-true lesson of that sad scotsman's lesson: beware ambition, and so i scuttled back...
  6. Beacon

    day 63 - lap 57 - these heady halcyon days continue, tempered now by the crushing hurricane winds of november - eyes watering without end, streams of snot coursing down my breeze-battered nose n' shooting out into the cosmos, my skullie perpetually in peril of being snatched away and flung into the vortex that's setting west without delay - strangers upon the route, threatening to muck up my perfectly laid plan, but soon enough we were through and through and the ten-minute terror was over and i tumbled back to town...
  7. Beacon

    day 62 - lap 56 - so slap my ass n' call me sally, the autumnal season, so long a sad sigh-sigh n' slow shuffle on towards fuck-all 'till summer, has persisted in a vernal fashion, and proudly so - thick, slobbering mist n' 40 degrees this mid-november morning, yet by afternoon it was go-go-go n' so i went galloping on down the glowing highway in my gleaming piece of japanese steel, crawling out of my civies into me war-gear at 70 mph to capitalize on every sodding second of this sad wounded time of year - the sun perilously low in the parking lot n' me having to pee like the proverbial race horse, i heaved out in 2 minutes flat n' pounded on up the rock in the 10 minutes i had before the shadows moved in n' precluded all of my petty fantasies - afterwards it was deja vu all over again n' kicking up bob's-a-dying at dear old adams w/ dave n' mason n' the man hisself, then fetching the daughter even as the evening died n' macbeth descended into his nightly grave anon
  8. Beacon

    day 61 - a day w/ the devushka in the big, big breeze - we stuck to the west side as the boisterous breath of the bilious earth came blowing over from the east - a riot out on the columbia, the waves confused as they rebound from the close shore n' blast back through their angling brothers, resulting in a churning chop and a scene of pure marine delight - labyrinth n' many others too many for my un-nimble mind to remember - a bit of a bonfire at adams after, then home n' british baking shows
  9. Beacon

    day 60 - laps 54-55 - high times in november continues w/ no notion of what's proper - adam's at ten after a good belly-sleep - i do 2 laps while geoff n' adam wrangle their way up cruising n' the corner - we wrestle w/ the west side soon thereafter - ain't got no record of me doing more corner laps never, so i'm gonna say it's the world record - still, no need for hubris, i figure the fella who really, really wants it could grab 400
  10. Beacon

    day 59 - lap 53 - just 1 what-have-you between me n' my personal record and several days of clear weather to go so it's mine for the having unless i suddenly decide i don't give a shit - i'd be beside meself were it not for the fact that i'm by nature bemused by indifference - summit!....or....sleazy cheese?
  11. Beacon

    day 58 - lap 52 - winter blew its wet horn for a few weeks but then took a hike w/o warning - the sun suddenly returned, cheer flooded into my sick soul through the school-house windows, but daylight savings ending left me No Time for Fucking Around when that last bell sounded - to beacon i bounded, arriving in an already shade besotted parking lot - more clothes upon than the last 51 laps for certain, but soon it was frantically rushing down the leaf-littered trail in the breezy impending darkness - dampness on the stone for sure, oozing weeps upon the rock in the bad spots, but enough for a hero to take comfort (this is, indeed, the payoff for all those vernal ambulations) - up, up n' up, never a thought of death through sudden falls - the joy of the route reset by nature, an assurance of the curious fact that the things of man are in fact only quite temporary - the gravel surging down the 4th class spots, the recently snapped branches all ahoo, the sense of a scene of nature prepared to in short order grow totally alone - the quaint glow that does indeed soothe and salve the soul...
  12. CC.com Traffic Decrease?

    titties. lots n' lots of titties
  13. CC.com Traffic Decrease?

    was reminiscing just today on how, 15 years ago today, i was preparing for a north face of hood ascent w/ you n' a gang of fools despite the fact the wife was pregnant and it was 20 degrees out in portland
  14. CC.com Traffic Decrease?

    it probably helped that i could well and truly give a shit about bolting debates
  15. CC.com Traffic Decrease?

    The Dude sees no reason to get all aggro - the trick to poking the bear is to do it w/ style, and to occasionally allow the fucker to have a suck on the liquor to See Beyond the Bullshit
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