Laura, Megan, Aaron, perhaps a couple others and I walked up a glass-walled stair shaft that looked out upon a dreary airport runway. What did Aaron do that pissed that lady off? Apparently there was a pissed off lady who wouldn’t relent with her updates on the ill-effects of Aaron’s action. I’m sure it couldn’t have been that bad. Oh? He hit her with a chunk of ice? He was horsing around, lobbed a chunk of ice into the air and hit an obnoxious lady in the rib! I see. What a strange interlude. But, getting back to the conversation at hand, of course it is going to be an amazing trip. Amazing trip! Amazing trip!
The past few months have been a groundhog day of this conversation. I talk about my coming trip and then the eyes of whomever I’m speaking with light up as if watching a movie of my trip on the inside of their eyeballs. Then they say, “You’re going to have such an amazing time! Such an amazing time!” I always want to know what they see on the inside of their eyeballs.
I awoke from this funk of sleep in the mangled position I’ve been growing accustomed to on the 6:05am Amtrak train from Philly on Monday morning. The train is perfectly timed so I can go from the depths of sleep to the guilt tainted horror of being groggy, red-eyed and half an hour late to work within the ten minutes it takes to walk from Union Station to Senate Square Towers. But this wasn’t any day back from a weekend visiting Laura and friends. It was my last day at work before THE trip—the day I would have to dump my loose ends—loose ends I was sure had been breeding in the corners of my pre-TRIP world—onto coworkers whom I genuinely liked…
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Friday, December 28, 2007
the patagonia trip: Purgatory
I have boarded the train to Philly to find myself in the “quiet car” towards the rear of the train. I didn’t even know there was a quiet car in the afternoon.
There is an African American man in the seat ahead of me, chatting in subdued tones. I wouldn’t have noticed him or that I am in the “quiet car” were it not for the display coming from the guy across the isle to our right.
With curly grey hair, wire rimmed glasses and a grey goatee the pudgy caucasian is glaring across the isle at the man in front while vehemently thumbing his newspaper. “Shhh!” he bursts with his finger to pursed lips, failing to attract the attention of the man ahead, from whom I’m beginning to smell alcohol.
He continues to glare and thumb his newspaper. Finally it is too much. He reaches across the isle and taps the man in conversion. “Shhh!” he says, again with the finger and pursed lips, “this is the quiet car, which means there is no talking!”
After a beat the fellow in front of me leans over, pokes his critic in the arm, who is still focused intently on him and says in forced politeness, “just because this is the quiet car doesn’t mean you can’t talk.”
“You’re supposed to be quiet, they announced it!”
Both are reasonable stances, I had to think. What’s right? Is something juicy about to happen? What is really bothering this uptight dude and what craziness is being uttered by the man ahead?
As if to respond to the unfolding drama, the conductor’s voice came across the intercom. “…the dining car is open and serving drinks and snack. And the last car is the quiet car, where a library-like atmosphere should be observed. That means no cell phones, music or loud talking.”
Well there we have it. I wouldn’t think his talking is loud.
Just then, the conductor walks up, takes my ticket and punches it with the smoothness of a well-practiced motion. He moves ahead and punches the ticket of the man ahead. “This is the quiet car. If you want to talk you’ll have to move to the main cabin.”
That’s that. End of drama. At least I got to distract myself from this purgatory I have been feeling lately. Over the past few months I have engrossed myself in the imaginary world of my two month expedition and endless possibilities. Warm granite towers beckoned me and prospects of stormy bivouacs heightened the anticipated thrill. Now that film is growing faint and I wait in silence for the lights to come on and the reality to begin.
HA! My buddy Jeb just called and the pudgy goatee guy Shhh’ed me! Freakin’ quiet police.
There is an African American man in the seat ahead of me, chatting in subdued tones. I wouldn’t have noticed him or that I am in the “quiet car” were it not for the display coming from the guy across the isle to our right.
With curly grey hair, wire rimmed glasses and a grey goatee the pudgy caucasian is glaring across the isle at the man in front while vehemently thumbing his newspaper. “Shhh!” he bursts with his finger to pursed lips, failing to attract the attention of the man ahead, from whom I’m beginning to smell alcohol.
He continues to glare and thumb his newspaper. Finally it is too much. He reaches across the isle and taps the man in conversion. “Shhh!” he says, again with the finger and pursed lips, “this is the quiet car, which means there is no talking!”
After a beat the fellow in front of me leans over, pokes his critic in the arm, who is still focused intently on him and says in forced politeness, “just because this is the quiet car doesn’t mean you can’t talk.”
“You’re supposed to be quiet, they announced it!”
Both are reasonable stances, I had to think. What’s right? Is something juicy about to happen? What is really bothering this uptight dude and what craziness is being uttered by the man ahead?
As if to respond to the unfolding drama, the conductor’s voice came across the intercom. “…the dining car is open and serving drinks and snack. And the last car is the quiet car, where a library-like atmosphere should be observed. That means no cell phones, music or loud talking.”
Well there we have it. I wouldn’t think his talking is loud.
Just then, the conductor walks up, takes my ticket and punches it with the smoothness of a well-practiced motion. He moves ahead and punches the ticket of the man ahead. “This is the quiet car. If you want to talk you’ll have to move to the main cabin.”
That’s that. End of drama. At least I got to distract myself from this purgatory I have been feeling lately. Over the past few months I have engrossed myself in the imaginary world of my two month expedition and endless possibilities. Warm granite towers beckoned me and prospects of stormy bivouacs heightened the anticipated thrill. Now that film is growing faint and I wait in silence for the lights to come on and the reality to begin.
HA! My buddy Jeb just called and the pudgy goatee guy Shhh’ed me! Freakin’ quiet police.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
DC Alpine Assault
To continue our training for Patagonia and fuel our alpine urge, Dave and I met after work last night to do a quick night ascent of Old Rag's Oh My God Diheral (5.10c). The grade was at our limit, but we'd climbed it before and thought it safe enough to try at night.
We pushed through rush hour on 66 and got to the base of the North Ridge Trail at 830pm. The sun had set hours ago.
We blasted the 4 miles of switchbacks and spooky scrambling to the summit of Old Rag carrying small packs, harnesses, a rope and 5 cams. Mist curled through the beams of our headlamps and heightened the atmosphere.
We bushwhacked down the flank and arrived at the base of the climb just after 10pm.
I led it, then Dave.
We rappelled, reversed the bushwhack and ran down the mountain. All we could see was what the bouncing circle of our headlamps showed, which gave us the strange feeling of being in a first person shooter game. Who knew what bad guys lurked in the darkness? Hopefully just deer.
We reached the car around 12:30am, then home just after 2am to get a few hours of sleep before work in the morning.
We pushed through rush hour on 66 and got to the base of the North Ridge Trail at 830pm. The sun had set hours ago.
We blasted the 4 miles of switchbacks and spooky scrambling to the summit of Old Rag carrying small packs, harnesses, a rope and 5 cams. Mist curled through the beams of our headlamps and heightened the atmosphere.
We bushwhacked down the flank and arrived at the base of the climb just after 10pm.
I led it, then Dave.
We rappelled, reversed the bushwhack and ran down the mountain. All we could see was what the bouncing circle of our headlamps showed, which gave us the strange feeling of being in a first person shooter game. Who knew what bad guys lurked in the darkness? Hopefully just deer.
We reached the car around 12:30am, then home just after 2am to get a few hours of sleep before work in the morning.
 |
| Climbing Oh My God Dihedral by daylight on the 4th of July '07. I hadn't tried anything harder than 5.9 at this time and thought this attempt would be a hangdog affair. Instead, I got the onsight. I will always remember this as one of my proudest sends. |
Monday, November 5, 2007
Wallface: P-Town Approach
Our goal was to climb "hang ten (5.10)", a free variation of an aid route called Gourmet, at Wallface, in the Dacks. We knew it'd be cold, but it'd be good preparation for our coming trip to Patagonia.
The Mellor "guidebible" acknowledges that the first few pitches are somewhat unknown, so we proceeded to find our own route to the prominent "Gourmet" dihedral.
It took us the whole first day, after completing the 5 mile approach, to do those first few pitches.
Dave started us out with a short pitch around a bulge in his mountaineering boots. I followed, wearing the entirely overkill 70L Naos pack (to see how climbing in it felt...it didn't feel good), which put us under a blank, overhanging bulge.
Following a crumbly horizontal crack, I led left under the bulge, looking for a weakness. 100' feet later, with killer rope drag and sketchy microcams for pro, I found a hanging belay below a promising crack, which broke through the bulge.
Dave took the thin crack to a short head wall below a ledge, pulling committing ~5.9 moves on PG13 gear with a shit-eating grin on his face the whole time.
It appeared that it was a simple low angle, scrambly pitch that separated us from the massive ledge at the base of the "hang ten" dihedral. I set off, executing a hard boulder move to link blocky sections, then continued on a mossy, wet and dirty, low angle section on wishful pro. A brief slip on wet moss, twenty feet up from a muddy cam, had my heart leap from my chest. Slinging a demoralized clump of brush, I got my heart under control and finished the pitch.
By the time Dave joined me on the ledge, it was dark. Bundled up in our belay jackets, we fixed our two ropes and rapped by headlamp.
Pasta, sausage and a bit of whiskey warmed us up back at the cave, and we got a good night sleep, with only a couple interruptions from the mice sharing our camp.
The morning sun warmed us, as well as the clifftop ice, which would periodically break off, whiz through the air like incoming artillery and explode off rocks around us as we jugged our fixed lines.
I picked up where we left off and headed up the impressive, overhanging dihedral that is the "hang ten" pitch. Dirty hand jams and crumbly face holds for feet got me up the first half, and also through my larger cams. Thinking I would need them for the rest of the way, I built an anchor and back-cleaned.
It turns out that "hang ten" follows a thin seam out to left, from my mid-way anchor, which would have used smaller gear that I had plenty of... (Apparently the last moves of this exit have you hanging by all ten fingers, with no feet...hence, "hang ten.")
Anyhow, at the time, I wasn't sure that the left exit was the way to go. Having retrieved my #2 and #3s and my #4, I went to work on the dirty, licheny, offwidthy, jammy continuation of the crack I had been following thus far. I thrutched up into the crux of the off-route off-width to find myself hanging on a solid, but nauseatingly stressful arm jam. Plugging a tenuous #4, I had myself a little rest on the rope, then finished the last few moves.
I was glad to be at the top, but felt unsatisfied by my inefficiency and hang on the pitch.
Dave came up, then led through a short low angle section with one very hard boulder move to gain a ledge. I followed, employing a stout bush to pull through the crux.
Route finding uncertainty necessitated a short rap and traverse to the beginning the final dihedral/face.
Dave started up just as it was getting dark. The moves were thin and it was eating up gear, with no good prospects for a belay stance.
Finally, route uncertainty, complete darkness and freezing temperatures compelled us to bail.
We rapped through the night and returned to our cave around 1030pm.
A closer look at the guide book revealed that the first ascent party for "hang ten" tried to free that last section, but were turned back by rain (explaining the fixed hex we found).
The next morning we lazed around in our sleeping bags as it snowed for a few hours. Then packed up and hiked out in glorious sunlight.
All in all we thought the trip was quite a success. We climbed at our limits on poor gear with difficult route finding, in freezing temps and in the dark. We can't wait to return.
Epilogue:
-Dave and I corresponded with the authors of the new Dacks guide and our first four pitches are now in the new guide book as "P-Town Approach 5.10b PG-13 350'." Much thanks to Jim Lawyer and Jeremy Haas for the opportunity to contribute. We're ecstatic to have our first first ascent.
The Mellor "guidebible" acknowledges that the first few pitches are somewhat unknown, so we proceeded to find our own route to the prominent "Gourmet" dihedral. It took us the whole first day, after completing the 5 mile approach, to do those first few pitches.
Dave started us out with a short pitch around a bulge in his mountaineering boots. I followed, wearing the entirely overkill 70L Naos pack (to see how climbing in it felt...it didn't feel good), which put us under a blank, overhanging bulge.
Following a crumbly horizontal crack, I led left under the bulge, looking for a weakness. 100' feet later, with killer rope drag and sketchy microcams for pro, I found a hanging belay below a promising crack, which broke through the bulge.
Dave took the thin crack to a short head wall below a ledge, pulling committing ~5.9 moves on PG13 gear with a shit-eating grin on his face the whole time.
It appeared that it was a simple low angle, scrambly pitch that separated us from the massive ledge at the base of the "hang ten" dihedral. I set off, executing a hard boulder move to link blocky sections, then continued on a mossy, wet and dirty, low angle section on wishful pro. A brief slip on wet moss, twenty feet up from a muddy cam, had my heart leap from my chest. Slinging a demoralized clump of brush, I got my heart under control and finished the pitch.
By the time Dave joined me on the ledge, it was dark. Bundled up in our belay jackets, we fixed our two ropes and rapped by headlamp.
Pasta, sausage and a bit of whiskey warmed us up back at the cave, and we got a good night sleep, with only a couple interruptions from the mice sharing our camp.
The morning sun warmed us, as well as the clifftop ice, which would periodically break off, whiz through the air like incoming artillery and explode off rocks around us as we jugged our fixed lines.
I picked up where we left off and headed up the impressive, overhanging dihedral that is the "hang ten" pitch. Dirty hand jams and crumbly face holds for feet got me up the first half, and also through my larger cams. Thinking I would need them for the rest of the way, I built an anchor and back-cleaned.
It turns out that "hang ten" follows a thin seam out to left, from my mid-way anchor, which would have used smaller gear that I had plenty of... (Apparently the last moves of this exit have you hanging by all ten fingers, with no feet...hence, "hang ten.")
Anyhow, at the time, I wasn't sure that the left exit was the way to go. Having retrieved my #2 and #3s and my #4, I went to work on the dirty, licheny, offwidthy, jammy continuation of the crack I had been following thus far. I thrutched up into the crux of the off-route off-width to find myself hanging on a solid, but nauseatingly stressful arm jam. Plugging a tenuous #4, I had myself a little rest on the rope, then finished the last few moves.
I was glad to be at the top, but felt unsatisfied by my inefficiency and hang on the pitch.
Dave came up, then led through a short low angle section with one very hard boulder move to gain a ledge. I followed, employing a stout bush to pull through the crux.
Route finding uncertainty necessitated a short rap and traverse to the beginning the final dihedral/face.
Dave started up just as it was getting dark. The moves were thin and it was eating up gear, with no good prospects for a belay stance.
Finally, route uncertainty, complete darkness and freezing temperatures compelled us to bail.
We rapped through the night and returned to our cave around 1030pm.
A closer look at the guide book revealed that the first ascent party for "hang ten" tried to free that last section, but were turned back by rain (explaining the fixed hex we found).
The next morning we lazed around in our sleeping bags as it snowed for a few hours. Then packed up and hiked out in glorious sunlight.
All in all we thought the trip was quite a success. We climbed at our limits on poor gear with difficult route finding, in freezing temps and in the dark. We can't wait to return.
Epilogue:
-Dave and I corresponded with the authors of the new Dacks guide and our first four pitches are now in the new guide book as "P-Town Approach 5.10b PG-13 350'." Much thanks to Jim Lawyer and Jeremy Haas for the opportunity to contribute. We're ecstatic to have our first first ascent.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
how we operate
Big thanks to Risa for this video and for being there to foster my climbing ground zero.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Finding my trad legs
Gunks, 2007. I was thrust into the lead position for the whole weekend, a first for me, and learned a thing or two about 5.6 stress on High E and Moonlight. Thanks to Trevor for the production and a very memorable trip!
Monday, June 18, 2007
The GF "Test"
The following is a trip report I posted on RC.com long ago. So much has changed. For one, the GF and I will be married this coming Saturday 5/28/2011.
First off, I regret the superficial implication that this was a "test." It was meant to be cheeky. That being said, isn't pretty much everything in dating a test? :)
Second, to fill in a little background: she had been toproping once and to a rock gym a couple times, spread over the past year, so there was a very base level of familiarity.
TR:
With a long drive from Philly to the Gunks, I had hoped to get an early start. 600am was the plan. We left at 630.
"30 mins late," my mind nagged, "time...effeciency is essencential!" This was the part of my brain that wants to go alpine--the part that wants every minutia of a trip to make an elegant contribution the whole. "This is a different kind of trip," I resolved, "I HAVE to go with the flow."
A quick stop to pay homage at Rock and Snow, then the Bistro Mountain Store and we were parked and headed up the Stairmaster.
My intent was to climb Betty (5.3) as the highlight of our day, following a TR tutorial on P1 of Finger Locks (5.5). Of course, the guide wall was thronged. I consulted the guide book and spotted Easy V (5.3) over by Arrow.
We took our time getting the gear ready and went over the concepts.
Teachers make bad students.
By invoking this generalization I don't mean to say my that gf, a teacher of inner-city kids with behavioral problems, didn't listen to me. It was just hard to tell.
I climbed the first pitch, which was long and slightly slabby, with soloing in mind, set up a TR achor and rapped down, leaving the gear for her to clean.
She climbed it without pause, leaving a tricky cam for me to clean.
Seeing that she was completely unphased upon returning her to terra firma, I went over the plan for completing the second pitch. She would belay me to the top of P1, this time on TR, I'd bring her up, then we'd have to traverse the GT ledge about 40', then complete the last short section, which contained the crux.
After bringing her up to the GT ledge I asked her how she felt about walking unroped across the ledge to the beginning of the next pitch. The ledge is a good ten feet wide and is perfectly flat. Nonetheless, I still get a little freaked walking it, naked of the systems of protection I'm used to having in exposed placed. She shrugged, "yeah, that's fine," and untied her knot.
Following me across the ledge, coming out of the corner of the first pitch, we attained full-view of the landscape. Gorgeous.
"Woah, I didn't realize how high we are," she said. I smiled internally. "We're not really going up there?" she asked, pointing at a V-notch in a typical Gunks roof, which comprises the crux of the route.
"You're going to rock it," I told her, trying her off to a large tree. She put me on belay and I set off.
"Okay, but don't fall."
I climbed the pitch, taking note of the key moves I used, in case I'd need to offer beta. I put her on belay and she proceeded up.
I heard my name drift in the breeze as she approached the crux. "You got it hon!" I offerred.
I saw her head appear through the notch. "I don't like you right now," she said, showing her uncertainty of the situation.
"I know you can do this."
"I know I can do it too, but I don't want to," she stated.
"Had I pushed too far?" I wondered for a split second, as she pulled through the crux with hardly an issue.
I brought her up and we relaxed, both of us happy.
To this point I hadn't made up my mind whether it would be best to walk-off or I should lower her, or just teach her to rappel. Everything having gone so smoothly and having noted a nest of webbing on a tree set back from the ledge about chest-height--an ideal placement--I decided to go with the rappel.
I showed her the setup and showed her how she could weight test everything while still being attached to the anchor.
I then rapped down to be in place to give her a fire-man's belay. On the way down I noted a short free hanging section that made me wonder how she would handle it.
She set herself up and slowly proceeded down. Coming to the free hanging section, "what do I do now?!"
"Continue on babe."
And she did.
We traversed to some chains near the top of the first pitch and repeated the process.
"That was way better than the first one," she commented, having enjoyed that she could keep her feet on the wall.
To cap off the day we headed back over to the guide wall to find Finger Locks open for business. I quickly racked up, climbed and setup a TR.
My gf enjoyed watching a husband and wife couple climbing a thin slabby section to our left. "She was so happy to have made it through the hard part...and they had a little celebration on top," she told me once I got down.
Then she started up the slabby hand to finger crack that is Finger Locks or Cedar Box (5.5)
I've seen the crux, a short vertical section with a thank-god tree on top, shut several of my newbie friends down. But not my gf. She pulled right through it, comitting to the moves right off the bat.
"That was a fun one! Not scary at all," she said.
I climbed it once more to clean our anchor. At the tope I met the couple who had been on the route to our left. I mentioned how I was bringing my gf out for the first time.
"Well, did you see that thread on RC.com?" the gentleman asked me.
"Yup, that was me," I chuckled.
We chatted about some of your replies, the Shockley's incident, in particular, which I hadn't yet read.
The couple let me rap down on their rope, ending an excellent day at the Gunks.
I just got a text from my gf that she's been bragging to her friends at work about our Sunday, and has been receiving some props! She also said that the "craving is set."
In retrospect, I may have pushed her a little hard. Her work makes her exceptionally good at handling stressful situations without showing signs. Not seeing signs of stress, I kept on pushing.
On the other hand, she owned it.
First off, I regret the superficial implication that this was a "test." It was meant to be cheeky. That being said, isn't pretty much everything in dating a test? :)
Second, to fill in a little background: she had been toproping once and to a rock gym a couple times, spread over the past year, so there was a very base level of familiarity.
TR:
With a long drive from Philly to the Gunks, I had hoped to get an early start. 600am was the plan. We left at 630.
"30 mins late," my mind nagged, "time...effeciency is essencential!" This was the part of my brain that wants to go alpine--the part that wants every minutia of a trip to make an elegant contribution the whole. "This is a different kind of trip," I resolved, "I HAVE to go with the flow."
A quick stop to pay homage at Rock and Snow, then the Bistro Mountain Store and we were parked and headed up the Stairmaster.
My intent was to climb Betty (5.3) as the highlight of our day, following a TR tutorial on P1 of Finger Locks (5.5). Of course, the guide wall was thronged. I consulted the guide book and spotted Easy V (5.3) over by Arrow.
We took our time getting the gear ready and went over the concepts.
Teachers make bad students.
By invoking this generalization I don't mean to say my that gf, a teacher of inner-city kids with behavioral problems, didn't listen to me. It was just hard to tell.
I climbed the first pitch, which was long and slightly slabby, with soloing in mind, set up a TR achor and rapped down, leaving the gear for her to clean.
She climbed it without pause, leaving a tricky cam for me to clean.
Seeing that she was completely unphased upon returning her to terra firma, I went over the plan for completing the second pitch. She would belay me to the top of P1, this time on TR, I'd bring her up, then we'd have to traverse the GT ledge about 40', then complete the last short section, which contained the crux.
After bringing her up to the GT ledge I asked her how she felt about walking unroped across the ledge to the beginning of the next pitch. The ledge is a good ten feet wide and is perfectly flat. Nonetheless, I still get a little freaked walking it, naked of the systems of protection I'm used to having in exposed placed. She shrugged, "yeah, that's fine," and untied her knot.
Following me across the ledge, coming out of the corner of the first pitch, we attained full-view of the landscape. Gorgeous.
"Woah, I didn't realize how high we are," she said. I smiled internally. "We're not really going up there?" she asked, pointing at a V-notch in a typical Gunks roof, which comprises the crux of the route.
"You're going to rock it," I told her, trying her off to a large tree. She put me on belay and I set off.
"Okay, but don't fall."
I climbed the pitch, taking note of the key moves I used, in case I'd need to offer beta. I put her on belay and she proceeded up.
I heard my name drift in the breeze as she approached the crux. "You got it hon!" I offerred.
I saw her head appear through the notch. "I don't like you right now," she said, showing her uncertainty of the situation.
"I know you can do this."
"I know I can do it too, but I don't want to," she stated.
"Had I pushed too far?" I wondered for a split second, as she pulled through the crux with hardly an issue.
I brought her up and we relaxed, both of us happy.
To this point I hadn't made up my mind whether it would be best to walk-off or I should lower her, or just teach her to rappel. Everything having gone so smoothly and having noted a nest of webbing on a tree set back from the ledge about chest-height--an ideal placement--I decided to go with the rappel.
I showed her the setup and showed her how she could weight test everything while still being attached to the anchor.
I then rapped down to be in place to give her a fire-man's belay. On the way down I noted a short free hanging section that made me wonder how she would handle it.
She set herself up and slowly proceeded down. Coming to the free hanging section, "what do I do now?!"
"Continue on babe."
And she did.
We traversed to some chains near the top of the first pitch and repeated the process.
"That was way better than the first one," she commented, having enjoyed that she could keep her feet on the wall.
To cap off the day we headed back over to the guide wall to find Finger Locks open for business. I quickly racked up, climbed and setup a TR.
My gf enjoyed watching a husband and wife couple climbing a thin slabby section to our left. "She was so happy to have made it through the hard part...and they had a little celebration on top," she told me once I got down.
Then she started up the slabby hand to finger crack that is Finger Locks or Cedar Box (5.5)
I've seen the crux, a short vertical section with a thank-god tree on top, shut several of my newbie friends down. But not my gf. She pulled right through it, comitting to the moves right off the bat.
"That was a fun one! Not scary at all," she said.
I climbed it once more to clean our anchor. At the tope I met the couple who had been on the route to our left. I mentioned how I was bringing my gf out for the first time.
"Well, did you see that thread on RC.com?" the gentleman asked me.
"Yup, that was me," I chuckled.
We chatted about some of your replies, the Shockley's incident, in particular, which I hadn't yet read.
The couple let me rap down on their rope, ending an excellent day at the Gunks.
I just got a text from my gf that she's been bragging to her friends at work about our Sunday, and has been receiving some props! She also said that the "craving is set."
In retrospect, I may have pushed her a little hard. Her work makes her exceptionally good at handling stressful situations without showing signs. Not seeing signs of stress, I kept on pushing.
On the other hand, she owned it.
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