Gang Related

Lucho loved two types of music. “This shit is gangster,” Lucho claimed. We listened to Tupac Shakur. “This shit is also gangster,” he fiddled the knobs on the iPod. Phil Collins came on. Lucho was a true gangster. We were driving to down canyon Yosemite to climb on the sunny winter cliffs. Black ice coated the road. Phil Collins was signing about the air tonight. Lucho’s Toyota Tacoma hit the ice, skidded across the road to one side. Lucho over corrected and his pick-up hit the snow embank. Phil Collins sang about holding on. The truck flipped and we ended up sideways. Lucho’s shoulder pressed into the yellow line of the road. Glass covered the road from the broken driver’s side window. I hung sideways, supported by the passenger seat belt. Lucho told me to get out quick in case the truck exploded. An hour later, a California Highway Patrol officer flipped the rig onto its wheels with the winch from his suv. The truck ran fine. It didn’t explode- just a lot of dents and broken glass. Too bad about the explosion- that shit would have been gangster.


Lucho painting his house on York St.

Lucho ‘s lived on San Francisco Mission District’s York Street for thirty years. In fifth grade, he joined the Nortenos. They claimed red. Outside of a place they called the Dungeon, the basement in a crack house, a half dozen kids jumped him into the gang. They kicked him, punched him, and beat him for twenty-three seconds. The gang claimed 23rd street. When a group of wetbacks, claiming brown, showed up on 23rd street, the Nortenos grabbed pipes, bats, and chains to reclaim their territory. The smallest kid wearing brown pulled a hand gun out when the Nortenos were across the street. He emptied his pistol on them. Lucho and his gang dashed. A Norteno was shot. Another Norteno pulled a pickup around, Lucho and the others threw the shot kid in the back of the truck, and they dashed to the hospital. They left the shot kid at the emergency room. Lucho was 16. That shit is kind of gangster.


York St in the Mission

Lucho met Cedar Wright in the boulders behind Camp 4. Lucho had some chronic weed. Cedar had a strong desire to smoke it all. They hung out often. Imagine that. They climbed together too. Cedar needed a belayer on his numerous projects. He wanted to freeclimb Wild Apes, an aid route established on Higher Cathedral rock by three local climbers. Cedar convinced Lucho to come with him. Cedar attempted to free the Banana Chute, a difficult thin crack next to a chimney system. The climbing proved too difficult and he tried the next major feature, a huge roof. With Lucho hanging at a bolt next to a crack, Cedar freed the Gravity Ceiling, a 5.13- 30’ crack route. Gangster. Lucho learned a lot. They hiked to Higher Cathedral 8 times. He definitely learned how to hike. The weed supply dimished. Imagine that. Later, the pair headed up to the Turkey Chute on Liberty Cap to attempt another new free route. They climbed high onto the formation, came to some difficult climbing, and retreated. They pulled their ropes and granite blocks came down on their heads. A large baseball fell onto Lucho’s shoulder and broke his clavicle. Cedar and Lucho hiked down the hill together. There was nothing gangster about being hurt.

Zach Romero sat in Coiler’s shop in Chinese Camp. I’m not sure what year it was- sometime before the stripper pole went up and after the three dozen license plates got hung on the wall. A couple cute girls from Tahoe, friends of Coiler tossed back beers for us. They talked about Lucho, who was famous for his suave. “Platinum and I went to the gym the other day,” I told Romero. “Lucho showed up half an hour late. When he walks in, he gets right on our gym project. He’s half way up the route, throwing his limbs all over, screaming like Bruce Lee, and totally going for it. He sets up to throw, and launches himself into the plastic world.” The girls start listening when they hear of Lucho’s heroics in the plastic palace. A thousand pieces of paper exploded out of his pockets as he dynos across the wall. As he’s picking up stuff up, I realize he’s picking up condoms.” Romero cackles, and notices the ladies perking up. “Magnums,” he interjects. “Really!?”, said one of the girls, “Little Lucho?” “Yeah, he’s got a six inch dick- when he folds it in half,” I added. It’s good to make your friends sound like gangsters, even if it’s not necessarily true.


Lucho on Wapama Rock in Hetch Hetchy.

Before the Tacoma exploded outside the park, Lucho and I were driving through Tuoulumne. It was late. The moon was high in the sky. It was cold. As we came into the meadow, Lucho’s headlights hit the body of a fawn laying on the shoulder of the road. He slowed, then stopped. He stepped out of the car, walked to the still warm body, and carried the dead fawn off into the woods. “It’s a better place for it to die,” he said. "I couldn't leave it there." He returned to the truck and we drove off. Lucho was a true gangster.

The Price Is Right

The 4th of 10 Kochajkis, Michael “DynoMike” Kochajki spent the first few of his 36 years in Los Angeles, where he somehow picked up a Boston accent. He's always been one to stand out in a crowd. Recently, out of an audience of five hundred, famous television personality Drew Carrey picked DynoMike to be the next contestant on the Price is Right. Though the show has changed a little since the days of Bob Barker, it is essentially the same. Big breasted gown wearing ladies still wave their hands in front of $19 automatic wine bottle openers and contestants still have to guess what the price is. It was very very exciting. Here was another opportunity for DynoMike to judge what was fair.

He appears at 18:58 in the show, which is conveniently online.

For the past thirteen years, Michael Kochajki’s head has protruded through the small window in between the grill and the store. Every summer, the Tuolumne Meadows Postmaster hands out packages to passing hikers, often staying open on weekends, holidays and after hours to deliver resupplies for Pacific Crest Trail hikers (The real deal hikers who “smell like shit and are gracious”)- and the shorter John Muir Trail hikers (The guys who “pack the kitchen sink”).


The Post Office Window

For half of Kochajki’s term as post-master, park visitation was down in the northern section of Yosemite National Park. The economic recession led many people towards stay-cations. Instead of traveling, people stayed at home. A 2010 Ken Burns documentaries on the national parks prompted thousands of people to head to Yosemite. Suddenly, Yosemite was a weekend choice for local Californians and a great place for people looking to save money. “The numbers are way up, there’s a huge impact on Tuolumne,” a long time supporter of the park environment, Kochajki voiced his concerns about a potential problem in the park. “Tuolumne isn’t set up for high level volume. There’s parking problems. They need to put a limit on visitation,” Kochajki said about the “Kens Burns Affect”. “It’s like inviting ants to a picnic.” Overrunning the park with visitors wasn’t fair to the park.


Dyno Mike helping a customer- probably his mom

One of Kochajki’s greatest fears is that the overall quality of park visitors diminishes with quantity. “We don’t want the Meadows turning into Santa Cruz,” Kochajki said about all the dirtbags who have shown up in the Meadows. “People think they’re Vietnam Vets.” Hundreds of climbers pass through the parking lot and the post office during the season. Many of them are the kinds of dirtbags that the postmaster detests. “They need to go to Bank of America and open a SAVE IT account,” said Kochajki.


Mike in the post office with his disco ball

Not all climbers hate Kochajki though. Many have a strong admiration for the guy. “We loved what you did with the shit box,” A pair of old climbers told Kochajki a few years ago.

Earlier that same summer, a ranger rode into the employee housing zone behind the Tuolumne Meadows store while a number of employees were eating breakfast. It was a cereal party. Everyone had different kinds of cereal- Lucky Charms, Granola, Raisin Bran. There was whole milk, almond milk and soy milk. It was a good time.

Then the ranger’s horse stopped right next to where everyone was eating. The horse took a massive shit next to the table. The locals were not happy.

“You’re gonna clean that up right?” Kochajki said to the ranger. The ranger muttered a response about a shovel and next time.


Tuolumne Meadows Store, Post Office and Grill

“Just like the shit, I was fuming,” said Kochajki. The rangers, known as the Green Gestapo for their green uniforms, had callous regard for all park users. They often acted without regard for their environment or the people around them. Kochajki and his fellow employees thought about what to do. They noted that government property should be returned and DynoMike was the guy who delivered packages. Kochajki took a box from the post office, scooped the poop into it and brought it to the ranger station. He knocked on the door, waited and then left when no one answered. As he pulled away, a ranger came out and stepped in the box. They were ankle deep in horse shit. The office ranger identified Kochajki’s car. An officer known locally as ODP “Officer Dumpy Pants” was waiting for him when he returned to the employee area. ODP wrote Kochajki a ticket for terrorist threats against the National Park Service. Kochajki was the Unabomber, a man who left dangerous unmarked packages on government property.


DynoMike the Terrorist

Kochajki brought the matter to the original ranger, the one with the pooping horse. Kochajki told the officer there was no malicious intent in returning the package. It was simply a matter of karma. Additionally, lawyers would be involved and the officer would be held accountable. There were a number of employee witnesses. “Listen,” Kochajki said, “your name will be dragged through the shit.” The incident was expunged from his record.

The old climbers thanked Kochajki profusely. The relationship between climbers and rangers has always been a tense one with climbers often getting the short end of the stick. Since that summer, Kochajki has become a bit of a hero. DynoMike was the guy who shanked the bully.


Dynomike trying to hear his friend's shouting the right price on the Price is Right

On the Price is Right, DynoMike guessed the price of a 3g smart phone with a one year contract as $2000 dollars. The next lady guessed $750. The next guy guessed $1250. A dick headed army private guessed $1251, eliminating the guy before him. The actual retail price was $1930. The rules state that the prize goes to the person who guesses the closest without going over. DynoMike overshot the price by $70 and lost to the army private who was $680 under. I am not sure if that rule is really fair but life isn’t really fair. People get screwed all the time. The Tuolumne employees got screwed by the ranger and his negligent horse care. The park environment is getting screwed by the excess number of visitors. Unfairness is a sad sad thing. Luckily, there is still justice in life. When people give you shit, you can put it in a box and drop it on their doorstep.


Great Success!

Tears in the Desert

My knee twisted, crackled, and I crumpled onto the iron rock. The pain shot into my joint.

“Are you going to be ok?” Thomosina asked. The half dozen people around me stared in sympathy. None of them had spotted. It was my second day of a planned four week climbing trip in Hueco Tanks, Texas. It would be my last day climbing. I should have asked for a spot on See Spot Run (V6).

I was unsure how I should respond to Thomasina’s question. What was my long time friend looking for? Did she want an actual answer or was she looking for reassurance? In the future sense- yes- I would be ok. It’s not like I fell a hundred feet climbing without a rope, and even if I had, I would be “ok.” But did my knee hurt? Did I just drive 1200 miles to tear a ligament? Did I need surgery, insurance, or the money to afford both? Did I think I was ok?

“I’ll be ok.” I tried to reassure her but I didn’t know myself. I stood up gingerly, testing the uncertain strength of my knee. I could walk but it hurt. I wished I had something to support me. I hobbled around grabbing my climbing shoes. I walked slowly and painfully to the parking lot and Max’s van. I laid on his foam and plywood bed, propped my leg on a duffle bag of his camera gear, and swallowed some Vicodin. I would be ok- in the future sense. At the moment, there was no future sense; there was just pain in my knee. Max and Thomasina, my climbing partners, would be out bouldering the rest of the day. I wanted to fester in the desert.

I’m not sure why he came up to me. Perhaps, he saw a man unable to move, someone who couldn’t leave when he talked. He stood next to the open door of the Toyota Previa while I shifted, trying to find a comfortable place to rest my rapidly swelling knee. Chris would be 18 and “a real man” the next day. He wore a ribbed white tank top, a wife-beater, and a pair of jean shorts that barely hung above his crotch. That’s what real men wear in El Paso. I told him I hurt my knee and wasn’t climbing. Then he talked to my blank face.

“I don’t feel like climbing either,” he chained smoked three cigarettes. Smoking is a socially acceptable form of suicide and Chris wanted to speed up the process. Wrought with the clichés of an angst ridden 17 year old, the sterotype of the bad kid in the after school special, Chris talked about the three different juvenile detention centers he’d been to, about the bruises he got from foster care homes, and about how horrible his life was.

“I met a man with cancer the other day.” His cheeks ballooned like he was going to exhale more Marlboro Light smoke. Nothing significant escaped his lips. It was like he was faking a burp. “I told him I would trade lives with him in a moment. I don’t care if I die in two months. The only thing I live for is mi hermana.” All he wanted was to buy her a guitar and a pony. Growing up, his family didn’t love him. They never said, “Mijo we love you,” or “Chris, you are special.” There wasn’t much love in the Texas desert. He couldn’t let his little princess live the same way.

That’s when he started crying. That’s when I started texting. I asked a friend in town if she would grab me a knee brace on her way back from El Paso. I punched the keys into my phone and stared over the Verizon wireless “sending” signal. A tear drop flowed from his right eye and down his chin. He didn’t wipe it. Another stream of water fell down the left side of his face. He didn’t wipe that off either. The reception was poor; I couldn’t receive any signals. The tears reminded me that I needed ice for my knee. I texted my friend again. Sitting around crying about my problems wouldn’t fix them. I needed to be active about my healing, get some help, and get things going. The messages were starting to go through.

At 4pm, an hour and a half after he began talking, he said, “Now, I am going to go climbing.” He faked burped again. He seemed to feel better. I was jealous- I wanted to go climbing. My knee hurt worse than when he had shown up. It would be awhile before I could climb. I did what I could to help the healing- I let go of the feelings I had, I relaxed my mind, and I waited. Healing is a slow process.

The Handsome Cover Model

I baked a vegan apple pie, a regular apple pie, a sweet potato pie, a ham, and then helped with the turkey, the food prep, and the cleanup of a meal for 17-20 rock climbers in Bishop. Well, Kim did half the work. I can't take credit for all of it.

Between the truffles and the pie, Eric said, "So, you're on the cover of the new Rock & Ice and you haven't even sent the route that you were on."



"Nope," I replied. I tried Bob Jensen's Easter Island 5.12c/d on Phobos Deimos Cliff in Toulumne three times but quit when I tore a huge flapper in my finger. "But I can always go back to the route and send it. And if I don't," I looked at Eric, "I'll still be on the cover."

I figured Eric was a little jealous. Everyone wants to be on the cover of a magazine. The reality is that your friends will give you shit and the only people in your fan club will be 30 year old dudes. Climbers are an insecure lot. Yesterday, Kim and I went to Rio's Crack to try the v6 boulder problem. I thought it would climb like a crack with finger locks. I thought I would crush it. I thought wrong. Whatever. An Asian girl from the bay, started spraying as soon as we got there.

"Well, I've been working on 9s and 10s for the past few months but haven't done this one because it's really hard," she tossed her hair back. "I've done Flyboy sit (I was supposed to know that was V8), and High Plains Drifter (I was supposed to know that was V7) and this thing is really hard. I'm just trying to wrap up the lower grade problems that I haven't done."

She reeked of insecurity. I had an immediate desire, not to offer encouragement or support, to start posturing. "These moves are totally harder than the ones on Big Baby (a 5.11 offwidth in Inidian Creek Utah), and the Westie Face of Leaning Tower (a 5.13 bigwall in Yosemite)." I didn't say that though because she wouldn't understand whatI was talking about. A more appropriate response would have been, "I've been on the cover of Martha Stewart's Home living, and I totally won the chess tournament the US government sponsored in Russia last year, I don't know why I can't do this problem!" Instead I didn't say anything.

Let people deal with their own insecurities and I'll deal with my own.

Tales from the Lodge

"Sit here, ok?" The younger woman took her mother and sat her down next to Fidelman, who was twirling his ankle and tapping on his computer at the Yosemite Lodge. "I'm gonna go look for Charles mom. I don't know where him and the kids went. You're gonna stay here okay?"

"Ok Kelsey," the old woman croaked.

"So just stay here mom." Kelsey looked around the room. "I'll find them and then be back in just a minute. Don't go anywhere ok?"

"Ok," the old woman shifted in her seat.

"I'll be right back. Stay here. Do not leave. You might get lost in the woods." Kelsey headed out the back door of the Lodge.

"There you are mom!" A man walked in through the front door of the Lodge. "We've been looking all over for you. Where's Kelsey?"

"Charles, she told me to stay here," she whispered. "She'll be right back. She's looking for you."

"Well, come out and get in the car." Charles helped the old woman out of her seat. "We'll find Kelsey."

"But she said to stay here.” The old woman shuffled as Charles ushered her towards the door. “She said she'd be right back."

Fidelman, a long time Yosemite local, twirled his ankle and tapped at his computer. He paid enough attention to note the tourist antics and that they were leaving out the front door.

Two minutes later, Kelsey walked in to the Lodge from the back door. "Mom?" She spun around the room. "Mom? Where are you?" She ran to the back door, turned around, then headed to the front. “Oh my god!”

Kelsey ran up to Fidelman. “Did you see an old woman leave? Do you know which way she went?”

Fidelman looked up from his computer. He nodded his head. “She left.”

“Oh my god!” Kelsey cried. “She's probably lost. She probably got eaten by a bear. Which way did she go? Where did she go?”

Fidelman twirled his ankle and pointed to the back door. “Oh, she went that way.”
Kelsey ran out the back door and Fidelman burst into laughter. “I’m going to hell for that,”

Scott Frye: Behind the Paddle

I thought this was a pretty funny interview that I did with Scott Frye for the Touchstone Gym blog.

Eying his opponent from across the nine foot long table, Scott crouched and spun his paddle. The small white ball volleyed towards him. Scott blasted sideways. His paddle smashed the ball. The hit gave the ball topspin and accelerated it towards his opponent in a finalizing blow.


Frye's Coach Xin, 9 year old national champion and Frye's sparring partner Kevin Lee, and Scott Frye

Scott Frye is no ordinary ping pong player. The 53 year old Berkeley native and Touchstone Climbing Gym stock boy is also a father in the era of modern sport climbing. With the same obsession that he now plays ping pong with, he once climbed with.

In 1973, a fifteen year old Frye headed to Yosemite with Nat Smale. The pair had a carpenter’s hammer, a handful of pins, serious desire, and a lack of know-how. Using Steve Roper’s Green Guide to Yosemite they made an ascent of Church Bowl’s Aunt Fanny’s Pantry (5.6) and then attempted Black is Brown, a 5.9 and one of the hardest routes in Yosemite at the time. By trading off their one pair of climbing shoes, Frye made it to a ledge halfway up the two pitch route. Nat followed and arriving at the anchor turned white as a ghost. “Don’t move!” Nat said. He then pulled out every pin that Frye had placed with his hands. Smale quickly rebuilt the anchor. On the drive home from their near death experience, they ran off the Priest Grade road. “We went from one near death experience to another,” Frye said of the trip. Frye went back to Yosemite though and began climbing more. In 1976 with 1” tubular webbing tied around his waist, the hard old school EB shoes, and a few hexentrics, Scott lead the hands and fingers splitter Lunatic Fringe (5.10c). The climb was the hardest lead of his life. “I wouldn’t give that up for anything,” Frye said of his traditional beginnings.

At the same time that he was learning to climb the difficult cracks of Yosemite, Frye was also bouldering at Berkeley’s Indian Rock. Looking to establish something different than the sandbagged problems of Indian Rock, Frye, along with John Sherman, Harrison Dekker, and Nat Smale, ventured to the steeper stone of Mortar Rock. The overhanging rhyolite hadn’t been touched and the posse of boulderers found a series of small crimps that traversed the wall in an obvious but imposing line. “No one thought it was possible, “said Frye. They tried it anyway. Smale, the strongest of the group fought through the difficulties and established Nat’s Traverse (V8). The second ascent eluded the other climbers for a year, until Frye finally got strong enough. “All of us trained to keep up with Nat. “Frye said. Though he did a significant amount of bouldering in the bay area including the 1978 first ascent of Mortar Rock’s Jungle Fever (V8), Frye’s love for trad climbing kept him heading to Yosemite.

The Valley ethic ran strong through Frye but the bouldering at Mortar Rock pushed him towards climbing on sandstone, basalt, and limestone. “The transition from trad climbing to sport was huge, huge, huge.” Frye said. The genesis for bay area sport climbing began at Mickey’s beach, where the technical nature of the rock left the climbers wondering what to do. “Weighting the rope, even top roping was considered cheating. I didn’t want to hangdog and I brow beat people who did,” said Frye. Harrison Dekker, a bay area hard man, helped Frye break through the psychological crux of the movement. While the pair worked on Dreams of White Porsches at Mickey’s Beach, Decker noted that to send the climb they would need to break it down into little boulder problems and hang on the rope in between. The pair discovered that what the French climbers were saying at the time was true, “You could climb harder, longer sequences if you worked it out.” With these tactics, Frye traveled across the US and established new difficult sport climbs.


Scott Frye during his heyday as the Indian Rock Lowball Master photo courtesy of Harrison Dekker

Many of the hardest rock climbs of the day were put up by Frye including Rifle Colorado’s Living in Fear (5.13d/5.14a), Donner Summit’s Steep Climb Named Desire (5.13d), the Virgin River Gorge’s Dude (5.13c), and the Marin Coast’s Surf Safari (5.14a). His traditional ethics never left him while he sport climbed and he remains an advocate of minimal impact. One of the things he laments is all the fixed draws at places like Donner Summit’s Star Wall, where Steep Climb resides. Talking about his first ascent ethics he noted that back in the day, “If a route was 60 % bolts we’d just make it 100%.” Unfortunately one of the natural digressions in climbing is a conversion from bolts to fixed chains. At the Star Wall, the six foot long metal chains can be seen from the nearby Pacific Crest Trail. “As a non climber walking up and seeing that I would be offended,” Frye said. “If I had known it would go that way, I would have put less bolts and more gear in.”

At 44, Frye finally returned to the home of his traditional beginning but this time he went to Yosemite to boulder. Though he had been around for the first ascent of Thriller, he had always stayed away from the smalls rocks. “When people started to just boulder in Yosemite I thought they were crazy. It was a strange concept- to drive all that way just to boulder,” said Frye. Ironworks hardmen, Paul Barraza and Tim Medina finally convinced Frye to explore the smaller stones. From the next 7 years, until Frye was 51, he bouldered constantly and rediscovered his love for climbing. Frye made an ascent of Thriller (V10) and the next year sent Midnight Lightning (V8) at the ages of 44 and 45 respectively. “I guess I just waited for the pad technology,” he said.


Frye climbing at Grizzly Peak in Berkeley

Frye has supported his endeavors through work in the climbing industry. He briefly experienced the “luxurious life” of a sponsored athlete but he found stability in the climbing gym industry. He has worked for Touchstone for over a decade as the retail assistant/shipping and receiving clerk. Frye works the morning shifts at the Touchstone retail warehouse at the Ironworks gym. “Working with Patti (Phillips the retail manager) and the Melvins (the Touchstone Founders) is a great job,” Frye said. Frye, who has worked with Touchstone for 10 years, credited the Melvins with helping a number of climbers and the climbing community on a grand scale. “There are not enough good things you can say about the Melvins,” Frye said. The Touchstone stock boy ships guidebooks, harnesses, a lot of chalk, and a ton of climbing shoes to the five different Touchstone gyms. Occasionally, Frye escapes the retail warehouse at Ironworks to mentor the older crew of climbers at the gym. “I teach them to flag and climb more dynamically- so it’s not like they’re climbing on the Eiger on frozen ice.”

Frye’s newest obsession is ping pong or more accurately known as table tennis. Though he has played for his whole life, he has focused on the sport in the past few years. Frye plays 5 to 6 days a week, runs topspin, underspin, and curve drills every other day, pays for a Chinese coach, has a mentor, and teaches a youth team. Frye also practices and trains with the kids. When they do fitness runs, he ignores his bum knee and follows them around on his scooter. “I’m having so much fun with it, trying to realize the skill set of an Olympic event,” Frye said.

These days, the little he climbs is in the gym, where he cross trains for ping pong. “It’s a funny thing, “Frye said. “After climbing for 30 years and looking back at it all, there’s one thing I wish I had done- climb more.”

Squamish Days

If they knew how many black berries I would be stealing I doubt that they would have let me into their country. Canadians are a friendly bunch, especially those in Squamish, B.C. but no one likes to have all their fruit stolen. Kim and I kept a mindul eye out for the mountie filled two large tupperware containers with the fruit from behind the downtown grocery store. It was pleasant work- pick one, eat one, pick one, eat one, eat one, pick one, eat one, pick one, and repeat. Somehow, my container seemed to fill much slower than Kim's.

Thomasina spends most of her free time sewing these days. She sewed a black bag with a picture of Snoopy on it and the phrase "I'm kind of a big deal." I carry all of my bouldering supplies in it when we have climbed in the forest. That night, Tim, Kim, Dirty Bird, and I, went over to where Thomasina and Cedar are staying, she sewed a new patch on my ripped pants for me, while I baked a black berry pie.

Over pie and ice cream, I picked a cowboy patch for my pants to cover the enormous tear, that I got from bouldering at Way Lake. Climbing near Mammoth over two months ago, had been the last time that I wrestled little pebbles, and when I got to Squamish, I felt rather weak. I would like to say that the weakness left. I would also like to say that I am a billionaire. Unfortunately, I can say both but saying them does not make them come true. My cowboy patch made me feel tough though and I managed to make a decent attack on the native rocks.

The arete bulges high above the granite on the Squaw. Just to the right, is the notorious ffwidth Pipeline- a testpiece that I had taken an enormous lob off of my first summer in Squamish. A series of piches, sidepulls, and balancey climbing goes through a V4 boulder problem and into a difficult mantle towards the summit. Dave Morales belayed me when I dogged the pitch, then again when I almost sent the pitch on toprope. We rappeled from the top of the Squaw, leaving the Frayed Ends of Sanity (5.12c) for another trip. After two apple fritters, a blue berry muffin, and enough water to drown an elephant, we started up Freeway (5.11c). The climb went well, though I fell on toprope twice. I blame a lack of skin and feeling tired for my falls. Dave hiked the route and we managed to top out just as it was getting dark. We ran down the trail. The fifteen pitches of climbing that day, tired me a little (this is me spraying about how much of a hardman I am). The cowboy patch inspired me to kick myself with some spurs and get down in time for dinner.

Kim and I ate tortellini with bad pasta sauce for dinner. The weak American dollar, and the offensive amount of money I had to spend getting a pass port just before the trip(the pass port agency suspected me of being a berry thief), kept me on a budget. I am always on a budget though this one was titled Foreign Expenditures and the debits were written neatly in the checkbook of my mind. We had been eating better meals. The night before, Mary-Kate, Kim and I ate half off pizzas at the Howe Sound Brewery. They were moderately good for half off pizzas. The price was half off- which was good because if the sauce or cheese had been half off I would have demanded a refund. When we ordered, I wondered if they would fuck up my order. A few nights prior, we had eaten with Will Wolcott and Courtney Miyamato for their last evening in town. The brewery put mayonaisse on my chicken sandwhich.

"He hates mayonaise," Kim stared at Will's order of poutinne- french fries soaked in gravy and cheese curd. "It reminds him too much of semen. This morning at the bakery, he made the most disgusted face I'd ever seen. He never show his emotion but he looked absolutely devastated."

Will shared his poutinne while we waited for my sandwhich. The first one came with mayo, despite telling the waitress, "I'm allergic to mayo. Please don't put in on or my throat may swell shut." The staff at the brewery probably wanted to poison me. The second sandwhich came without the disgusting white goo and I made it through the meal without my throat swelling shut. This was one of my fears when going to the brewery for pizza with Mary-Kate. The pizza turned out ok though. They kept both halves of the cheese and the sauce on the dough and they didn't put any mayo on it.

Kim has had an impressive trip. She followed me up the Grand Wall 5.11 A0, pulling off her first wall ascent ever. She led her first trad route on a multi-pitch climb, she's doubled the number of trad leas she's made, and she had her best bouldering day ever here. Lately, her hips started bothering her. She fell off of Heartbreak Hotel and badly bruised/hit her hip bone. Pretty proud despite her injury!