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Oli
Trad climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Topic Author's Reply - Jun 1, 2007 - 02:39am PT
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I have no devious intentions in asking my questions, nor did I mean harm when many years ago I described the very young, defensive state I was in during my later teens. That was an off the cuff comment, really, to speak about inner torments in a competitive environment I found difficult to weave my way through at times... Thanks everyone for your thoughts.
Pat
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Tom
Big Wall climber
San Luis Obispo CA
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Pat, you're one of the Climbing Jewels.
Please don't take offense at anything you see here.
The majority of climbers, here and elsewhere, want to hear/read what you have to say.
Don't take offense.
Instead, post more of what you have to share.
Most of the McTopo readers (me) were not there, before it was easy.
We want to hear the stories of the days when it was harder.
It provides context.
And without context, what do we have?
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Oli
Trad climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Topic Author's Reply - Jun 1, 2007 - 03:33am PT
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Thank you very much, Tom, for your kindness.
Pat
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Tom
Big Wall climber
San Luis Obispo CA
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Pat, your previous writings on the subject of climbing put you in a rare company, and to have you share more of the same here would be highly appreciated by most readers.
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L
climber
A small kayak on a very big ocean
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Pat,
I'd supposed that with your longevity in the climbing world, you were cognizant of all the ST contretempts. In no way could this thread be preceived to be anything but humorous and entertaining...and I do think you gave the lurkers a better feel for what ST is about than the flamers have done.
Would love to see more of your writing posted here, too.
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pc
climber
East of Seattle
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Tom, It's easy now? *^&!! I knew I've been doing something wrong...
Pat, Yes please.
pc
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nick d
Trad climber
nm
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Hey Pat, the remark I referenced was not meant to be hurtful to you in any way. I will readily admit that it is one of the all time GREAT climbing lines! To me it summed up all the vim and vigor that made you one of my favorite climbing personas. I could readily identify with you and I always enjoyed the things you wrote. I have been working on writing more as I've gotten on in years and I would enjoy discussing the craft with you if you are so inclined. I was wondering if you feel well enough to ride a bicycle? I occasionally go to Fruita to ride and I would be happy to look you up if you were interested. Best wishes, Michael Smith
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Oli
Trad climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Topic Author's Reply - Jun 2, 2007 - 06:06pm PT
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I'm always here, it seems. I haven't done any bike riding, though. Don't have a good bike, just an old clunker for carting one or other of my daughters around the neighborhood at times. Stop by and say hello, though. The strange thing about writing, the better you get the less people notice your work, in part because you might not draw attention to yourself so much, and then people fall in love with the writing but not you, unable to make a connection, so something like that. In earlier days, as a beginning writer, I had lots of good work but it always was totally me, in form and letter, all the agitation and impressionableness. Now I slowly disappear. I have a poem that starts,
A world has to choose
its poets,
and it does so often
by allowing them
the loneliness that proves
to be the heart and beauty
of their art.
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nick d
Trad climber
nm
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That is really very nice. I have never been able to write poetry. I am a thoughtful writer, but not poetic. Thinking about poetry I remember reading about Muhammad Ali hanging around for an afternoon with a women, I can't remember who, but a poet laureate type. She coached him on writing poems and his best effort according to her was a two word poem.
"Me, Whee!'
Great stuff, that! I posted this story a while ago to see if I could get some writing critque out of it but it turned into people talking about Canyonlands. Nothing wrong with that! But here it is again for what its worth.
Solo on the White Rim 2/19/2006
I feel the need to prove myself. Prove what, I’m not really too sure. I know I’m lame compared to the real studs. I’m incredibly fragile physically. I have spent much of my 49 years getting over whatever had most recently gone wrong with me. I am also a loner. Even though I have many acquaintances and live in a big town, I spend most of my time alone. So these prove myself activities are solo’s. They are intended to be cathartic experiences, chosen to extend me a little. Sometimes a little more than I was counting on.
My normal riding goal is to go 10,000 miles a year. I don’t make it every year. Last year I didn’t even come close, partly because I got quite ill in the middle of the summer, but mostly because I just got lazy after that. I wasn’t too hurt or anything, I just wasn’t motivated. After a half a year straight of slacking off I knew I had to turn things around, so early this year I decided to see if I could still ride the White Rim trail in a day. I figured this would motivate me to train harder. That was the plan, anyway. I picked February 19th as my ride date, Presidents day weekend, since it was a three dayer for me. This gave me Saturday to drive to Moab and Monday to drive home. I live about 7 hours away, in Albuquerque. I have actually done this ride quite a few times, I think this year was my 14th or 15th time, but it’s never been a piece of cake. It’s also been 4 years since I’d done it. In the intervening time I had a knee surgery (my 13th), 2 hand surgeries and broke the radius bone in my right arm. My state of fitness had gotten to a pretty low ebb and my psyche was kinda shaky. Despite the pressure of my upcoming ride I had racked up less than 700 training miles by the appointed weekend, but I was counting on the strength of my experience to get me through.
My lap starts at the ranger station on the Island in the Sky. I park my truck for the day. It’s 5:00 am, 20°, pitch dark and snowing sideways as I launch myself into oblivion. I would only get a couple of hundred yards before nearly expiring from a heart attack. I had to backtrack a short distance on the highway from the ranger station to the start of the Schafer Trail. As I rode along in the small circle of light afforded by my headlight I passed a post next to the road. On this post sat a large Great Horned owl, which I didn’t really see until he flew from the post, swooping into my light and clearing my head by about a foot. He looked as big as an airplane coming right at me. He flew in complete silence, as opposed to my scream of terror. I felt sheepish after he was gone, fortunate to have seen him so well and thankful that no one had witnessed my craven cry. Well, I was wide awake now! Moments later my tires touch dirt.
Descending the Schafer Trail is made more sporting by occasional patches of ice spanning the road and the snow swirling in my headlight. I am careful, mindful of my solo status and the yawning abyss at the side of the road. It’s slow going to the bottom but 45 minutes later I arrive at the junction marking the start of the White Rim Trail. I stop briefly to adjust my clothing layers and set off with a sense of urgency. As I chugged along in the darkness I felt the pressure of all the miles yet to come and it was a hard to relax.
I’d gone about 6 or 7 miles south along the Colorado River before I saw the first sign of dawn. The world was just beginning to change from black to gray and I was making my way around one of the countless canyons that cut deep into the White Rim. Even though you are going south the road often runs due east or west as you contour the canyons. I had the rising sun at my back when as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown the tops of the cliffs high above seemingly burst into flame. The snow clinging in the hollows looked like molten lava running over the rock. As swiftly as it came, the effect was gone, as ethereal as a dream.
The riding is hard because of the conditions and my lack of fitness. Much of the time I am riding in swirling snowstorms but it is so windy that no snow is accumulating anywhere. I press on until reaching Gooseberry camp, taking my first break shortly thereafter. It has taken almost 5 hours to get here, and it is less than a third of the way around. I console myself with the idea that I have been riding into the wind so much that surely it has to change. After a good bite to eat (gorp, heavy on the chocolate and salty nuts) and 45 minutes resting I am a lot better off. I set off again with renewed enthusiasm.
As I approach the White Crack camp turnoff I have another great wildlife encounter. The road crests a small ridge, sort of switch backing right at the crest. On the other side of the ridge, caught in a hollow surrounded by cliffs on three sides and me on the fourth are 3 desert bighorns. They were big guys with full curl horns and my presence made them quite nervous. The problem for them was they had to come towards me in order to make their escape. I had stopped on the left side of the road, closest to them, so I moved to the right side, which encouraged them enough to slowly approach me so they could drop over the other side of the ridge to make their getaway. It was really fun to see them up so close. Desert bighorns are by far the hardest kind to see, rare and very shy.
I reach the next big milestone by topping out on Murphy’s Hogback, a 500 foot tall ridge. It’s about 60 miles to the top, enough miles gone that I start to think about getting to the end. The problem is it’s really only about halfway.
I have my third great animal encounter in the next stretch. The road was cut into a little bench near the summit of a sharp ridge. As I gained the bench I started herding a large (four or five hundred!) flock of birds. You know how when you encounter cows on the trail, and they wont let you just go by? Instead they start herding along in front of you, and that is just what these birds were doing. The wind was whistling over the top of the ridge and they just wanted to stay sheltered in the lee side, but as I rode through they windmilled around me until the end of the ridge. It was like being in a bird tornado for a couple of hundred yards.
Although much of the distance from the top of Murphy’s to Horsethief Bottom is downhill or rolling terrain practically all of the “too sandy to ride” stuff is also in this stretch. So is Hardscrabble Hill, the steepest hill you have to climb riding the loop in a clockwise direction. The only good thing about Hardscrabble is its short, probably only gaining about 300 feet. Of course, that’s 30 flights of stairs with my 32 pound bicycle and the 30 pounds of clothes, food and water on my back. I ride as far as I can on the seemingly vertical slope and then start pushing. As I struggle to the top I encounter the only people I have seen all day. I had seen an unoccupied camp at Potato Bottom, wall tents, a lot of stuff sitting around, but no vehicles or people. I’d guess they had taken a drive to Taylor Canyon to see Zeus and Moses, two spectacular spires. They waved as they passed me, two vehicles with Colorado plates driven by older people. I considered what a rarity it was to travel a whole day in a very popular national park and basically see no one. I finally slogged to the top and gratefully remounted my trusty Ritchey. As hard as riding it seemed, pushing it was harder. I wasn’t done pushing yet though.
After Hardscrabble the quality of the road improves some. Parts of this stretch were destroyed by landslides last year, and when they rebuilt it some parts of the road got substantially better. The weather also improved in this stretch, it warmed up a lot, soaring into the 40s. The wind was still bad; it had just been one of those 360° headwind days. Still though, I managed to get to Horsethief Bottom just as it got really dark. The sun had been down for a while, but I had still been able to ride without firing up my headlight. I took another substantial break here, hanging out and eating for almost an hour.
I finally started up the climb, something over 1200 feet in just a couple of miles. I ride till my legs give out, but instead of resting till I’m strong enough to remount and ride some more I just start walking. I had to walk up the last third of the climb and it took all I had. I was staggering, too tired to be joyful when I finally topped out.
As I started off riding again I was facing about 20 miles of rolling dirt road followed by 10 miles of highway. The dirt part kind of angles north and my headwind was coming out of the north full force. Even though the road is pretty level all I could manage was my middle chainring. I rode along in an absolute haze, too stupefied to do anything but turn the cranks. I almost fell several times as a result of nearly falling asleep as I rode. Some interminable period of time later I reached the highway.
As I hit the pave I turned to the south and the wind was finally, blessedly behind me, and though I was no less tired, I finally really was close to finishing. I don’t really remember anything else till I got back to the truck. It was 11:00 pm, 18 hours after my start. All I could think was that I had to get to a campsite really quick, because if I had to drive the truck very far I would crash it for sure.
A few minutes of driving took me to the top of Long Canyon where I pulled off the road into a semi flat spot. Preparing my camp consisted of unrolling 2 foam pads and throwing my sleeping bag down. The spot I chose was not comfortable, but it was underneath me and that was all that counted. I burrowed into my bag, immediately unconscious. Some time later I wake to hear something pelting the outside of my bag. I peer out of the bag to find it has snowed several inches since I fell asleep and my bag is rapidly disappearing into a snowdrift. I just don’t care.
In the morning it is a sublime and yet dazzling spectacle. The landscape is entirely snow covered and all the basins spread out below me are filled with fog. In some places the serene pools of fog are pierced by needles of sandstone. I walk about shooting photos and contemplating the previous day.
If I had something to prove, did I? I guess since I don’t know what I’m trying to prove it would be pretty hard to claim success. Maybe it’s a proof of life thing. Proving that I’m still at least a little bit alive, maybe? Or at least that I definitely want to keep living, anyway. Maybe that’s what it’s all about, I don’t really know. I only know I have to keep struggling or I might as well already be dead.
Michael Smith
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Oli
Trad climber
Fruita, Colorado
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Topic Author's Reply - Jun 2, 2007 - 09:45pm PT
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Do you want me to respond? To critique it? Or are you just sharing it?
When I was editor of the Climbing Art I would get things people wrote, and I'd suggest improvements, edits here and there, and some would be thrilled to have any help. Others would not change a word of their precious writing, however mediocre it was. I've grown a bit wary of editing the work of others, or trying to help, unless I know them and they have the basic integrity and self-confidence to welcome suggestions and not let it attack their ego. Good writers, those I know, love input. Some live on it.
Mind you, my opinion wouldn't be the final one. Ultimately one has to decide what s/he wants to say and write and how...
Pat
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couchmaster
climber
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Hey Novice: (snickering cause it sounds ...so....so...wrong)
Pat, I just want to say that you will find some people online who will not reveal their identity and will not speak from their heart. I suspect it's because they want to avoid the ass-kicking they would invariably recieve if it was known who their identities really are.
Point is: when one of these turds shows up and flings sh#t your direction, and it comes for all of us at some point. Just don't worry about some anonomys sh*thead or their worthless opinion when they are only trying to start an arguement for no particular reason.
If they won't identify themselves, ie, who they really are, IMO (In My Opnion) they don't deserve an answer to a flame tossed my (or your) direction.
Often, people's words will sound ruder when typed, than when said, because you often do not see the smirk or the laugh (I tried that at the top of the page), maybe it came off bad?
I speak for 99.4555% of the folks here saying that it's good to have you on the site. Welcome aboard.
Bill
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nick d
Trad climber
nm
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Hey Pat, I would not mind a critique at all. Just like anything else involving a learned skill, I believe that outside opinions are invaluable. I am confident enough to accept criticism for what it is worth. As someone who has a long professional writing background I believe that you have a lot to offer anyone seeking improvement. If I get really raked over the coals, well I guess I can make the analogy to the physical activities we have all loved so much over our lives. It takes a lot of courage to launch into the unknown and regardless of the results just putting yourself out there was the real accomplishment. Everyone here can relate to standing underneath some huge blank wall and the trepidation of whats to come. This is the same thing, different arena.
feelin the fear, Michael Smith
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Jingy
Social climber
Flatland, Ca
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Jun 15, 2007 - 02:42pm PT
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Nature - Thanks for keeping this spectacular fall in my publics eye. It keeps my ratings up and sweeps week is coming soon!
Thanks again.
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