Listening to the Wind

It is hard to divorce the ugly realities of my life at that time from the joy of living in my truck. In some ways, I was happier in the back of that truck than I have ever been in any bedroom. I would open a sliding window and feel the breeze, or huddle under every piece of clothing I could find, depending on the season.
I listened to the wind. Most nights, I found myself smiling before I fell asleep.
Feeling the weather in this way is something that everyone should experience. The first time I experienced this was when I was 20 and I had dropped out of college. I was sleeping in the desert in west Texas. I slept in the same spot outside for several weeks, and got used to the landscape. Something was different, one night. After lying there for an hour, I realized that I could not sleep. I got up out of my bag, stepped out of my tent, and looked around. What I saw felt like a smack in the face - it was a full moon. I could see the desert for miles; it felt supernatural. I had been there for so long without even thinking about the idea that the phases of the moon could have any influence, however small, on my life.
Another night, a dust storm blew through, and I woke up in the middle of the night because the tent was being flattened so hard by the wind that its ceiling touched my face. Over the course of the next few hours, three poles snapped. I had a few pieces of duct tape, and some twist ties from tortilla bags. Wind and sand ripped at my face for the hours that I spent keeping the tent together. I wrapped the twist ties around the overlapped poles, and duct taped around that. One by one the poles snapped, but the pegs never came out of the ground, and the thing was still standing in the morning. The wind died down by dawn, and I was even able to get a little sleep in it.
These things filled me with an energy that I had never experienced. For the first time, I had a sense that I was part of a world that changed, that was indifferent to me. That, if I put myself in the right places, I would be forced to adapt to it. It was a taste of a world that was much bigger than me, that I could not control. The touch of the natural world was thrilling.
Living in the truck often gave me the same feelings. I have spent five or ten stretches in the truck, usually traveling, on climbing trips, or between schools, so that I rarely spent more than one night in the same place. There was one time, however, when I was in the same place for quite a while, and it forever changed the way that I looked at living in the truck.
I was at North Hennepin Community College, taking Organic Chemistry, Chem 2, and Genetics, trying to get As in some prereqs. It was the only place in the cities that I could find openings in these classes. I started attending classes during the day, and sleeping in the truck at night.
My power steering started leaking one day, and after some investigation in the truck and online, I found that I had to replace a part. I drove over to a gas station, and pulled out my tool box and the part ($60 at Napa). I started working on it, when someone walked over to me and said that If I made a mess she would personally make my life a living hell. Before I could say anything, she was walking away. I still do not fully understand this. Maybe it was about status, and my obvious lack of it. I looked down at myself. I had on a dirty shirt, a rag in one greasy hand, and a wrench in the other. It could have been more than my appearance. My position in society was in full view when I pulled my truck up to do some repairs: I did not have a driveway, and did not know anyone with a driveway that I could use.
In the second week of the term, I realized that taking three lab classes, and two chemistry courses concurrently (especially since Chem 2 was a prereq for Organic), was not going to work. All of my teachers that term were challenging people to work with, but the Chem 2 guy was the worst. He had set up a profoundly inefficient and ineffective class, and I was spending hours each day struggling with required assignments on an online program that constantly failed. I was learning nothing, and spending a hell of a lot of time doing it. I realized, after a couple of conversations, that battling with that asshole was not going to work, and I decided to cut my losses, and just do the best I could in the other two classes. It gave me pause to choose Organic, not having had Chem 2, yet, but I decided to just go ahead and give it a shot. To my surprise, I was good at it, and it ended up being an intellectual love affair for years. I finished my Organic in central Oregon about a year later, and was a classroom assistant and tutor in it the next.
I got in my paperwork to drop Chem 2 the Monday after the Friday when I could get out without a W showing up on my transcript. I was devastated. They told me there was no chance of an exception being made, which I understood and accepted. I would have a W on my transcript from a community college, and I was trying to get into med school. I felt that that was it: I would never get in. I was a 24 year old sleeping in parking lots. The delusions had finally come to an end; I realized that I had no chance of achieving this dream, and the realization washed over me like a cold shower. I wondered how I possibly could have been so stupid as to think that it would work all the time before. It started raining, and did not stop for a week.
I found out that my grandfather was in the hospital, two thousand miles away. The last time I talked to him, it was raining outside the community college, and I was standing under a concrete eave, my truck parked a hundred feet away. It was a Saturday, and I was the only one in the lot. He was extremely tired, and barely spoke, but he recognized me, and sounded happy to talk to me. When I asked him how he was, he told me that he was good, but thirsty. It meant everything to me to speak with him.
He told me that I needed to stay where I was; that what I was doing was important. It was cold, and I shuffled my wet sneakers back and forth, leaving little half shoe-shaped wet spots on the concrete. I was ashamed that I had achieved so little, and that someone who had given me so much respected me and loved me still. He died soon after. I was standing under the same eave when I heard.
I walked back to the truck. I was having trouble keeping the truck sealed, and when I got back, I found that this blanket that I had used since boarding school in seventh grade was completely soaked. I pulled it out of the back of the truck, and I guess because it was so worn and heavy with water, it ripped almost in half. Now I would not call this a security blanket, but even as an adult, you get attached to your bedding. When you live in your truck, things like this have even more value. I sunk my head down a little further, and carried the two pieces of blanket over to a trash can at the corner of the parking lot, and stuffed this meaningful possession through the anonymous little slot.
At the time, I could not afford to have a membership at the gym, so I was not climbing. I was, unfortunately, eating the same amount of food that I had been when I was working out all the time, and if anything, I started eating more. Before the term was over, I had gained thirty pounds. It would take me almost two years to lose that weight.
Going back to the truck on those nights, after being put down in my classes by instructors, was difficult. When I lived in it and traveled, it symbolized freedom, a connection to weather and nature. It was different now. I was not climbing, I was gaining weight, and I would not achieve my dreams. I was surrounded by concrete, and it was getting colder by the day.
Still, at night, when I was falling asleep, I would listen to the wind, and sometimes, I would find myself smiling.

First of all, thanks to everyone that has been so helpful and supportive in my first couple years of this journey I'm on right now. Secondly, the next six months will be unusually challenging. In the past, I have gotten freaked out enough during test times to write long, elaborate emails to people aout why I dislike them. I do not want this to happen this time, or anyihing like it, but if it does, pleaase realize that it is mainly the stress overreacting to stuff. I f you can tolerate me for the next six months, I think you can tolerate me under any circumstances.

Bad Dreams, and An Idea Boulders List

I'm not normally up this late, but I went to bed at eleven, and woke up what felt like ages later from horrific dreams. I'm totally disturbed, and drinking lots of tea to try to recover. Details are hard for me to deal with as a med student. For anyone else, they would be much more uncool. It will have to suffice to say that a medical school education should never be used by your subconscious to develop horrific dreams. They are way too painful, scary, and realistic.
I studied for an hour, and I thought I'd write a short post.

Dream boulders:

Rocktown, GA: Golden Harvest, v10

Stuff at Joe's: Wind Below, probably a bunch of other awesome stuff there. Eh. I've heard that it sucks to hang out there. We'll see if I care to make the trip. It's not at the top, even if it does have some of the coolest looking rock anywhere.

Hell Belly, hard v11. Beautiful problem! This is totally my style, and if I'm ever climbing this hard, you will find me set up beneath this problem come January.

Stuff at Stone Fort, Tennessee (Little Rock City) - I've got a guidebook coming that should be here any day now. I'll have to mentally update the list when it shows up.

Midnight Lightning, v8/v9 and Thriller v10, Yosemite - I've never made a concerted effort to boulder in Yosemite. When I've run around with pads, I've found it extremely sandbagged and slick. But I heard that it's only this way in Camp 4. Didn't Wilder write a book about this? I'll have to check that out.

RMNP. God. I have no idea what I want to do there. I have no idea what I can do there. When I've been to Colorado for climbing (flatirons and eldorado canyon), I've found it good, but never amazing. And for the record, I thought Eldo was ugly stupid choss. Although I did randomly climb a really cool 10d R there, which I think I would have onsighted if this guy hadn't walked up beforehand and told me all about the ways to die climbing it. It really wasn't that bad. A shaky pin that you could back up with a good piece five feet below. And the crux was like 11a.
So I have the Emerson guidebook now, and am thinking of maybe heading back to CO for RMNP bouldering at some point. I like climbing southern sandstone in the winter, so I think that'll be my big thing this year again. At some point, I'll go for summer alpine bouldering in RMNP.
I'd want to check out Whispers of Wisdom v10, Autobot v5?, and The Kind v5?. Second on the list would be Full Chaos v10, and Veritas v11. The other stuff on the veritas boulder looks cool, too.
There's just way too much there to know beyond that. I'd probably show up and be completely sucked into a single area and not want to leave until I do all the best and hardest problems there. The whole area has this mystique about it that's totally intimidating. Honestly, it is going to take some serious guts (for me) to even put myself in a position of trying some of those classic, impossible looking lines. It's an intimidating proposition, and, I feel that, to keep growing as a climber, I'll need to face this area at some point.
I feel like I'm kind of done with Ozarks bouldering at this point (until I can climb v9, v10, v11 in a couple of tries, there isn't much left). Maybe RMNP will be my next two year obsession?

Leavenworth: On reflection, doing The Coffee Cup was like completing a lifetime dream project for me. I didn't leave feeling like I had to climb anything else there to be satisfied. I think, however, it would be totally possible to go back and find another beautiful, impossible project like The Coffee Cup, and be completely overwhelmed with the joy of working on it. Some ideas for now: WAS, v8 (almost did it last time!); The Sail, v9; Equinox, v10 at Gold Bar; Span Man, v10.


Non-bouldering projects:

Badman, 14a. Although I worked it for five or six months, I never did this 14a at Smith. In the December before I would come to medical school, and back to midwest, I started working the route, not able to do any of the cruxes. I got so that I could do all the moves on command, and could link any two sections. But there are like eight cruxes or something, and the best I ever managed on this was five falls.
I think working this project was hugely important for my development. I learned that power endurance is a big deal for me. Power, I am best at, endurance, eh a little, but power endurance is where I am just weak. I also learned that climbing outdoors is just not a great way for me to train. I don't get enough mileage when I have to coordinate with others, tie in, rap off, etc. I don't get enough variety of movement, and Smith didn't have enough steep stuff to keep strong on. My abs went to crap while I lived there.
I've been much more successful since I started spending more time climbing in the gym for training at night, and climbing outside when I can get out.
I know this route was hard like 20 years ago or something for pro climbers, but it is truly hard for me. Again, going back to Smith would be like stepping back into a much more challenging, almost darker, time in my life (no offense to those of you that were there - it's not you). Working Badman would be, in effect, facing where I was at that point in my life, as well as working what is, for me, an extremely challenging climb. I don't think I'm ready to do that, yet. Maybe someday.

Mango Tango, 14a. This has been a dream climb for me since I saw the Climb X Media video in, jeez, maybe 2002? Can't remember. As I get closer to the point where I have a shot on it, I realize more and more that it totally fits my style and aesthetics for climbing. It's powerful and short. It's got huge moves off marginal holds. Perfect rock. Relaxed environment. I don't give a damn if I do anything else in the New River Gorge for now - maybe I'll change my mind when I get there. Right now, I know I want to climb Mango Tango. And I'd like to do it, soon.

The Rostrum, 11c. What to say? Classic hard Yosemite trad with an offwidth, and other goodies. Because of falcon closures until the fall, and the fact that all school schedules always book you in the F*G fall (the best time to climb in the US), I have never been able to get out there. I have no idea when I will try to do this. As I get further along, however, it's feeling more and more possible.


Finally, because I never listed what I wished I had done while I was there, and would like to do if I ever go back:

An Ozarks list of dream projects undone:
Cloud of Stars, v9
Moondye, v9
Daily Planet, v9 !!!!
Fred's Roof v10/v11 !!!
Typhoon v10/v11
The Full Package v-Impossible for Sean


I'll have some more tea, and study more, and then please wish me luck for not dreaming about nerve pathway specific vivisection.

Book Nine

Well, that's it. I finished a Lee Child book last night, right before Steve showed up. I stood outside of the taxi that Steve was in, and the taxi driver said, repeatedly, to Steve, that you should not get out of the car, that there is a scary man outside waiting for you, scowling at you. He looks dangerous. I enjoyed the Lee Child book, as I enjoy them all. The title isn't important. I don't think there's much of a difference between any of the four or five that I've read.

___

For my last day in Arkansas, I decided to go to Fountaine Red and Fred's Cave. I did five or ten problems in Fountaine Red that I hadn't done before, in the range of v0 to v4 or so. Great stuff. Almost all of the climbs in that area get two stars in the book, which, I think, is strange. I mean, the ones that I did were every bit as good as many of the three star easies at HCR. Anyway, I had a good time doing that. Fountaine Red is remarkable for its ability to make me feel like a competent climber even when I'm climbing very easy things. It's a great place.
Then Fred's. I felt pretty good, and thought I had a good shot at Fred's Roof, a v10 that I worked for an hour or two a couple of days before. The problem is just three big moves, from good edges to good edges, and then a huge throw to a jug at the end. I managed all three moves on the first day, but did not link any of them.
On the 2nd day, I worked on it for a while before I was able to stick anything. Then, suddenly, I managed the 2nd move (the hardest), and decided to keep going, and stuck the last throw! So I had linked the last two moves at that point. Then I started working it from the start, and, after a couple of tries, linked through the 2nd crux. I found myself bewildered to have managed the crux of the problem, and set up to make the last throw. I went for it, my feet in precisely the right spots, the body position just as I needed, and my right hand blew before I even set off, so I ended up inches short of the last jug. I had never missed that move before.
After that, I took a long break, went back to FR, and did a couple more problems there, flashed a v7 called Unassisted Helicopter (showed to me by Katie and Jonathan, and couple of locals that I've gotten to know), and went back to the Roof.
This is when I started making big mistakes in strategy.
Instead of trying to do it from the start repeatedly, I tried to link the last two moves again. After several tries, I linked the last two moves, again. Then I felt mentally ready to do it, and, physically, completely unable to do it. I tried it twenty more times from the start, and never managed to stick the second crux again. I found that, even though I had maybe enough power to do the moves, my fingers hurt so much that I didn't even want to stick the second throw. I mentally guarded myself from holding that 2nd throw. This was surprising to me. I had been filing down my skin every week or two for months, and didn't have any problems at all with wearing down my tips, although I climbed most days in two and a half weeks. Despite having tough skin from repeated self-inflicted trauma for months, my fingers got sensitized by grabbing holds so hard, so many times. I don't know how to train my skin to not feel pain. I guess the best I can do is just to keep filing the skin down every week, and keep the callouses strong. Don't know what to about the pain.
I left defeated. It remains a struggle to remind myself that it was never a sure thing that I would climb Fred's. v10 is still hard for me. But this bothered me because I felt like I could do it, and, despite a hell of a lot of effort, just didn't.
On the way out, I did another couple of climbs at Fountaine Red so that I left with the feeling of having done something.

__


Now I'm back in school. Five hours of lecture today, and a traumatic venipuncture lab that left me and my partner reeling, trying to console eachother that the other person did a good job, and that we were both really sorry. I think we both did pretty well, but there were definitely some tough moments. Ah, med school. I can't imagine being happier doing anything else. I can't wait to be a third year, a fourth year, a resident, and a doctor. And I'm looking forward to training my ass off in the gyms. I'm the luckiest guy in the world.