ivan

anything i find if it's remotely near my birthday => booty

they seem to like the climate of the pnw just fine - i see them all over the place in folk's yards - don't seem to jibe well w/ the whole feng shui thing, but they do look quite suessian

i imagine skiing into a chilean pine is an extra phuck-you as compared to yer typical, god-fearing non-spiny spruce

10/15 - day 47, laps 113-114 - limpid air, dull breeze, the gorge heavy with a big long soak coming in by midnight - an indifferent hour, this place don't give a fuck and never will, but sweet jeebus, they could at least keep the bathroom from seeping into the crick, right? the first pitch a lady-bug obstacle course these past 2 days - crazy bad karma if you squish one of those beeches, but the stink bugs on pitch 2 are more of a mind-fuck - blending in well w/ the grey stone, they do nothing till they sense you're near, then play dead, falling ballistically downwards from wherever they're perched softly upon you, potentially making a lesser man squeal like a baby despite their innocuousness and just let go out of simple stupidness - dave in the lot after the first lap but his mojo done took a downturn after a few too many nights flying close to that blackhole sun and he eschewed the invite to accompany me on the 2nd - contemplated a third but the long shadows and the promise of free coffee at the skamania mart if i hurried n' brought my own cup called me home, so westwards i turned, tuning into the inanity of libturds tearing into each other on the debate stage to keep me awake along the way

10/14 - day 46, laps 111-112 - 3 days at smiff for a mega-dose of nostalgia with big-name old cc.raytards out in the frosty coyote den of skull-fuck-me hollow - abraxas with ben and unholy hordes of sport-climbers and their babies, dogs, drones, etc at the base of the monument, us poised up the wall dumb-founded by just what a decade of progress has done to a place that used to be worth the long drive - i got the tombstone crack lead as evening loomed large and the clouds came in portending a late night downpour - a crowd by the fire n' a fire-sale on cut-rate pork, layton n' britne n' chief apparently deprived of power back home so pushing their once-frozen meats on everybody in sight - talk of bygone days and nostalgia it's been said is the thief of joy so enjoy it judiciously when you dabble - the full shit-show sunday and in the end all i really wanted was to see the place in the rearview mirror n' binge on burgundy n' bullshit w/ ben - a deadline for grade conferences bright and early monday morning meant a good bit of misery upon returning home but it got managed - the day dispensed, a pair of corner laps in the shade was my salvation before coffeeing up to make the long crawl back to catch the tail end of crew practice...

10/10 - day 45, lap 110 - the poo-dragon strikes back - i dearly detest a fecaphile, so say wave off if you're of the same sentiment and read no further - no time to spare, scooped up the boy-child at school and shot out west to lake vancouver n' then turned my head t'other direction, pounding down amber ale n' changing into my war-gear as the wind beat ever greater upon the windshield - not a second to spare w/o leaving my progeny in limbo, i hit the lot with clear purpose upon my mind, dressed and ready to set out - still, something weren't right on my southern-end, and with the bitter-memory of getting way-laid by the poop-demon on the trail down in the past, i sprinted privy-wise to dispense meself of that ignominious necessity - i'll spare ye the details, but 10 minutes later i was mostly naked and afraid and goddamned if i weren't gonna make the lap happen despite the worst a shit-devil might distress me with - in turgid winds and already desperately late, i surged skywards alone and don't remember a damn bit other than off-colored blood splotches all over the place come the top of pitch 2 - mostly went well from there on out, w/ a solid birthday snitzel to settle my belly on the other side

does this mean i can quit now?!?

10/9 - day 44, lap 108-9 - fall moves further and subdues the fervor of the season that preceded it - wicked work until the sun was perilously low in the western sky but undeterred shot east-wards w/o question once the querulousness of tomorrow was at least clearly defined - dave post dump n' prior to my own, once in sequence we shuffled down the still sodden trail and achieved the base in the brisk yet damp air - a first lamp by the long way we felt another in order, and soon enough it was 2, a couple copper-ales to cement it all - groceries on the gambol home n' soon enough it'll be tomorrow and the three day what-have-you

10/7 -day 43, laps 106-7 - 4 cbi's - an eerie evening, limp air, windless and quiet, the park almost entirely empty after the weekend crowds - clouds creep along the gorge walls - the trains slowly chug by the columbia's shores, the river this side of pierce island so low its reduced to a stagnant swamp - rain upon the way, thank dog, i'm sore n' whooped and could use a good lie down for a couple days...

10/6 - the douglas adams' day and a reverse golden-sombrero sunday-sunday-sunday takes it to 105 (24 cbi's or something in that neighborhood if my nattered senses were shot) - thai the night before n' walmart after 9 to get well and truly centered w/ the meth-heads all around-us - aslumber at midnight atop the couch and after 6 slinked upstairs for the top-shelf sleep, man it was sweet on both ends - a day of laps n' laffs n' being nutty all alone - dave drove it along on the back end n' we traded wine bottles n' rainier beers to seal the deal - ben n' asher n' geoff on the warrior in the blistering wind - the world can't end soon enough

10/5 - day 41 - a reverse titanium sombrero encompassing laps 97-101 (the scott bedford, thomas jefferson and unpronounceable symbol's memorial laps respectively, plus the BEN FRANKLIN and SCREAMING EAGLE laps to carry us into 3-digit country, ladies and very bored gentlemen) - last night was a mind-bender deluxe and so i awoke at dawn with the stink of derangement heavy on my heathen senses - bacon n' hateful coffee - the streets still soaked by the dregs of last night great deluge, but promising enough given the gracious forecast for the next few days - beacon-ways we crawl, my mind chewing on the words of "rope on fire" over and endlessly over to the point i thought i might have to pull over and do SOMETHING to make it All Go Away - adam's and its still plenty wet out with plenty of clouds - steve then his buddy stan - coffee and collusion - the trail to the base the most consistently sketchy part of the whole - lap upon lap and the day just grew and grew more fulsome, the crowds endlessly flittering by (33 cbi's, 38 runs) - flat light goes to long shadows and meaning creeps into the season as the sinews tire and flesh slowly tears upon the textured stone - dave joins up on the last one and the circle is closed then broken to the tune of "cuntry boner" thanks to the long-ago received wisdom of lost-cam-kenny

10/4 - day 40 - the bill gates n' scott fischer memorial laps push us to 96 on the season - startled on a stormy friday, i set one foot out my trailer n' suddenly realized there was only one place for a sleazeball like meself, n' that was eerily out east - the great nick boam by the door of the dirty-dirty n' me too shit-gripped to make decent conversation - sorry i was oughta sorts old-boy, steve says the sweet-home boulders just a few miles east are better for you? the first lap was silly enough, but then it was dave n' conversational delights n' steve n' i were back for lap 2, expecting him to come along - lap 2 and it grew dark and rainy and suddenly it was uprising or death, the rain pounding and its intentions clear - dave by the trail, under the overhangs we handled the storm, steve sidling off in the end - then it was daves n' me nearly getting fucking shot at doug's, me dangerously deranged and disoriented in the fog and storm - disco at the no-bo, morphine mo'like, but there's no putting a name to delights like that - bounding back in the dark all cock-eyed to fetch the boy in camas, then the friday-friday fantasy

the snozberries still taste like...snozberries i still have no fucking clue who the nodder was (is?)

10/2 - on day 39 the phil collins' triptych takes us to 94 laps on the season - a gunmetal sky settles cold upon the stone, but somehow it was still a good deal warmer than that brisk monday when a jacket and a hat were true necessities - 8 climbers batted in - the barges now freed from behind their concrete pens, down the columbia they go barrelling with the produce of our bursting hinterlands - a deep funk and gloom pervaded the zeitgeist, but then dave put in an appearance in the parking lot to wax philosophic and demonstrate his award-winning dance movies, with soon to be in zoot-suits too was the rumor, all good indeed when gestated over a can of gratis beer - 10 laps in 5 days, the augurs are grand for blazing past the century mark this coming weekend when the wedder forecast portends we'll be able to give the pillars of heaven a hella-good shake

10/1 - day 38, lap 91- infernal busy day, dilemmas w/o end - i'm afraid i may have spit the professional bit already and awful early in the season - it's also always just possible its fucking tuesday; when i'm dictator, it will be one of several things taken out and shot w/o discussion on day one - another breezy and shady afternoon, but nicer than yday -- steve n' dave becoming a rather regular crew - some older fellow in the parking lot talking about soloing the corner after not climbing anything in 8 years, and in his street shoes no less - didn't amount to nothing though

9/30 - day 37, laps 88-90 (the pvt ryan's ruination, fight the power, and winston churchill memorial laps respectively) - the last day of september much like the first day of december - 50 degrees in the sun and a searching, probing, penetrating breeze rendering needless small-talk improbable - steve n' dave dithering at the base, disinterested in embracing the full energy of a late-fall feeling ascent -the first lap of the year in pants and hoodie, but no socks nor hobo-gloves necessary yet, so it's still the kinda casual season - the second lap improved by the addition of the thickest hat the floorboards of the government mule could procure - dave managed to muster his mojo after stepping out to fetch beers at skamania mart n' launched up his own lap as i nattered w/ steve in the parking lot, eventually parting ways to wobble my way up number three and the promise of cerveza in the cruel wind on ivan's ledge - the long shadows of fall laid all the way to bonneville, the beacon-wand gone ripe with age and the lazy sun - home in the dark, monday mostly debunked and september too...

9/28 - day 36, a slippery, sodden saturday hat-trick takes us to 87 laps on the season - the most disturbing of pre-dawn derangements, me awakening to a dream within a dream, a serpent-tongued seraph square above my head, trident in hand, threatening death - in horror i screamed "i'm julius caesar, goddammit!" and, seizing his hay-fork from his childish hands, i stabbed him bodily through and through, again and again, but die he would not, despite his demented and cruel cries to the contrary - mostly assured it was a dream, i set his bloody corpse in a car-seat and retired into the overlook hotel to boulder around the lobby, dimly aware of his mother's sudden intrusion, oddly aware this delusion insisted it must persist and just-maybe holy-jeebus it was for real? opening my eyes i felt a shower was down-right in order and was strongly afeared it would bathe me in blood at the twist of the handle - that done with, i dispatched the school chores with coffee and kombucha by noon as the beacon-stone sizzled off the damp of days gone by - after 2 i sidled out east as a huge storm-cell to the south knocked the hell out of town in my absence - the street soaked with rain and a vast greyness to the north, beacon seemed a complete waste of time, a sense doubly-reinforced as i entered the parking lot to pregnant drops of sky -dew going pitter-patter upon the window - nearly ate shit on the trail to the base, passing steve-o running right-quick back up - alone, despite all signs to the contrary, the way seemed clear, so into the cloud-murk i ascended - 1 lap, then 2, then, with a storm assured in seconds, i raced up the third as wind and water began to wrack the wall with me still well below the railing - hell didn't want me and heaven was full, so with that firmly in mind i walked back down n' boogied n' boondoggled my way to adam's to jam with him n' dave n' steve n' suss over the awful options still ahead of us in the damp days to come

9/25 - day 35, lap 84 - back to school night beyotch - with little leeway for screwing around, sizzled out east at sub-sonic speeds just as soon as the life could be mercilessly squeezed out of the final meeting of the afternoon - jim's old beater in the parking lot and i was crazy-bummed to realize i had exactly zero time for small talk w/ that scion of scoundrels n' sleazebags - him n' steve halfway down the trail n' a micro-holy-hell-and-howz-it-hanging-gold-olde-bullshit and then it was go-go-go - the stone alone i soared along like i had a social disease and soon enough began my dizzying descent - back in time for pizza and the dog-n-pony show for my wonderous patrons - 16 laps to immortality, it may just materialize?

don't they have some giant buildings you can climb? might want to do it after dark...

9/24 - day 34, lap 83 - the century mark heaves increasingly into view even as fell fall hies upon the land with its long shadows and its hint of impending death - a frustrating season what with ever accumulating meetings for this that and the other thing, our tps reports all ahoo it would appear - rain for days after the elizabeth hurley what-have-you on saturday, the trail down a sodden mess, me skating on the smooth soles of my crocs, clutching at brush n' carving the mud to keep upright - the rock just dry enough to allay concerns as i cast off in the half-dark of dusk after whiling away the late afternoon in fruitless house-hunting w/ the fam - all alone, not a soul on either side of the stone, just a cursed will tempered by the wind and whimper of the ebb-tide out on the dank columbia

the mountain and the route that convinced me to move my crazy scene way more west

9/21 - the Elizabeth Hurley sequence - 33rd outing since i sauntered back from carefree-cali a short-summer ago - laps 73-82 (hoooooleeeee shiiiite-muslims batman, the century-mark ain't inconceivable) - my most laps in a day (n' seasonal record for sure), but still 2 shy of pink's legendary send in the by-gone days of yore (plus we hear-tell from jimbo at a remove of some feller named george back in the eon of lbj n' nixon doing more than that firfuksake) - 11:00:26 car to final top-out, a fine clip i feel - did the Farmer's Daughter all alone, then steve lashed me along for the final 4 (through the el cap, sheelob's sugar-titties, nirvana of nazgul n' aforementioned ms. hurley laps respectively) - early to bed after still plenty of wine the night before, still a hunk of hang-over at 4:30 when the siren called - snooze-tag until 5 then up soon thereafter to make the bacon n' eggs n' tea n' coffee n' avocado toast n' berry bowl to see us through most of the what-have-you - a 99% ying n' just 1% yang day but that fatal percent of darkness came early on when at 7:25 a.m., a few feet shy of the railing of uprising, i felt an electric pain permeating my dawn-addled senses n' looked down n' saw the yellow jacket furiously pumping his poison packet into the tender meat of my poor perspiring calf - nonplussed, i accepted ma-nature's censure at having eschewed the original finish n' proceeded well-advised thereafter - at least 2 laps left in my tank afterwards n' the daylight too but i left-them unaccomplished, the alexandra daddario fo'shiz plus the as-yet unnamed #12 - adams n' some fire-side chats w/ dave but then slunk back west for chicken n' wine n' devil-sunday - the most-appropriate conclusion, morphine's "do not go quietly" to quell my swole-tide sense of manliness

dunno, but based on the past 3 weeks, i'm gonna go w/ "wet"

hmm...yet somehow they didn't meet the swedish bikini team along the way?

nostalgia is the deadliest of sins