Last year, on the spur of the moment, I
decided to ride the famous White Rim trail in Canyonlands National Park. This
is considered by many to be one of the great mountain biking rides in the
world. The ride drops down one thousand feet from the high Island in the Sky
uplift to the first rim of the canyon. The Colorado River is still far
below, but a relatively flat rim is formed at this level. The edge of the rim
is lined with strikingly beautiful white sandstone. The rim varies in width
from about a mile to nearly nothing and a 4WD road contours along this rim. Rim
to rim, the ride is 80 miles and that's what Homie, Mark Oveson and I did last
year. Closing the loop involves 20 more miles and 1500 more vertical feet. This
was the goal.
Last year, I had trouble finding any
companions for this ride. Doing the ride in March makes it tougher to find
people fit enough to ride 100 miles. In fall after many months of prime biking
weather, it would be easy. Homie turned me down last year, but when Mark Oveson
agreed to do it (he'll do anything on no training), Homie felt he had to go. He
didn't want to miss out.
Last year, Homie got his ass kicked on this
ride. Early on, he was out in front since it involved some very fast downhill
terrain. Homie is the undisputed king of the downhill amongst my circle of
biking friends. His skills and bravado gain him so much time over the rest of
us that it takes a long time to catch up. But after 30 or 40 miles his lack of
training started to wear him down and he trailed from then on. We weren't
racing or pushing the pace but he dropped off the back anyway. He made it, but
it hurt him badly.
This year things were different. Last year we
had the excuse of doing a big climb in Taylor Canyon and had to stop before
closing the loop. This year we had to close the loop. Riding the White Rim in
early March is a wilderness experience. We only saw two other people (in
vehicles) in 100 miles of canyon country. The White Rim is extremely popular in
April/May and most people do vehicle supported rides in 3-4 days. In early
March, there is little chance of any support from other groups. We'd have to be
prepared to ride completely without support. This meant carrying enough food
and water to bike 100 miles since there is no chance for either on this ride.
This year Homie kicked ass. Homie was
enthusiastic about closing the loop this year. He even went out and did some
training. And recruited a couple of friends, Matt and Mikey Record. They teamed
with Mark Oveson for a long training ride and Matt proved to be the strongest.
Mark recruited his good friend, The Fern, and Fern recruited his cousin Eric
from Florida. While Fern is an avid biker and former bike racer, Eric's
training consisted of a single 30 mile road bike ride on the Florida coast.
He'd have some problems with the altitude, climbing, and length of this ride.
I was much more successful this time in
wooing victims to the slaughter. My long time climbing partners, Trashy and
Hardly, signed up, along with a new climbing partner, BTO Bockmann, and a
couple of new running friends, Buzz Burrell and Peter Bakwin. That gave us a
total of 12 riders! What a mob. All males. Boo! Hiss! Where are the tough
chicks when you need them? But the group was even bigger than that. Along for
moral support were the Baron von Goo, Sally "Hand jam" (don't ask!)
Moser, Neeraj, Skippy Peanut butter and his wife Susan, and Lisel, Mikey's
wife.
We all separately drove out to the Mineral
Bottom Road and Highway 313 junction, which is just outside Canyonlands
National Park. Six vehicles converged there at various times throughout Friday
night. I drove out in my RV with the Baron, BTO, Hand jam, and Trashy. Earlier
in the week, Peter had done the homework on the sunrise/set times and said we
should be riding by 6:30 a.m. He and Buzz were the only ones not ready at 6:30
and we left without them. Peter and Buzz are both ultra runners and had
previously biked the White Rim in a day. This was a fairly easy adventure for
them, but would push the rest of us pretty hard. Hence, we didn't feel bad
about letting them play catch up early on. The roles would eventually be
reversed.
Hardly would be doing the White Rim as his
first mountain bike ride. Without any training. That sounds crazy, doesn't it?
Stupid even? I don't know. He's the toughest guy I know, bar none. His first
big wall was the Salathe Wall on El Capitan so he's used to jumping in at the
deep end. He didn't even have a bike. He borrowed my old mountain bike and,
judging from his comments, he won't be making me an offer on it. If it was
anyone else doing such a thing, I would have strongly counseled them to abandon
the idea. But I've never done anything Hardly couldn't do better.
Once again, no one could stay with Homie on
the downhills. Even in a much larger group, Homie rules. Fern was the next
fastest, but he wasn't very close. I was probably the slowest, being timid and
unskillful. Homie was off the front frequently during the earlier going because
he gained so much ground on whom ever he was riding with whenever a downhill
came up. He'd flow through them while everyone else would brake. He wasn't
trying to drop anyone but was just enjoying the exhilaration of cruising
downhill.
We regrouped at Musselman Arch - an awesome
span of rock across a gaping, hundred foot void. Five of us rode across for the
photographers in the group. We shed clothing here and ate and drank somewhat. I
introduced everyone in the group. Before pulling off his shirt, Mark Oveson
said, "I'll warn you not to look directly at my chest. At least not
without some sort of eye protection." When he whipped off the shirt, sure
enough his skin was of such alabaster white that the glint off his skin blinded
me. I changed to my sunglasses while Mark grabbed a thick roll around his
middle and said, "Here's your White Rim!"
At Airport campground, where most riders stop
the first night, we regrouped again. Mikey Record excused himself from the
group and was standing over by a bush. I thought he'd be peeing, but he had one
pant leg hiked all the way up to his crotch. What the heck was going on over
there!? Turns out he was wearing a biking bib and threading his unit down the
pant leg was the easiest way to pee. Strange bikers...
We ran across Stephanie, Peter's wife,
and Kurt running along the trail. They had run down a hiking trail from
the rim and would run along the White Rim for awhile and then ascend a
different trail. They'd end up running about 30 miles. It was fun to meet up
with them and of course run them off the road as the big peloton hammered by.
Well, maybe not quite like that.
At another regrouping stop forty miles into
the ride, Buzz and Peter had had enough. They told me they'd be continuing
without stopping any more and hoped to see us at dinner that night. I knew we
wouldn't see them again. We were moving quite slow and would further fragment
later on. I agreed with their call and wished them a great ride.
Murphy's Hogback was the first big climb on
the ride and it marked the exact half way point for riders closing the loop.
Actually, it turned out to be about two miles further than halfway, but we
didn't know that at the time. In the lead group at this time was Homie, Matt,
Mikey, and I. Once we hit the really steep part of Murphy's I immediately
dismounted as did Mikey. We didn't want to burn ourselves out on such a steep,
loose climb this far from the end. I never could have climbed it clean anyway.
No one in our group really attempted to clean this hill. Buzz and Peter got it
clean though.
We waited at the summit for a long time. The
rest of the group straggled in. BTO was the penultimate to arrive and
immediately sought out shade off to the side. He was hurting, but committed to
the loop. He had to be committed for it was shorter to continue on to the
rim, where support was waiting, than to turn around. Eric sat directly in
the middle of the 4WD road and said, "24 hours ago, I thought I was in
pretty good shape." He looked wasted and would have a tough ride ahead of
him. The rest of us were feeling pretty good, but Hardly still hadn't arrived.
I rode back over to the top of the hill to
look for Hardly. He was pushing his bike up the last steep part of Murphy's
Hogback and sweat was streaming down his face. Trying to be positive, I said,
"Isn't it beautiful country out here?" His response, "I wouldn't
know." I knew he was hurting. He didn't know that we all had pushed our
bikes up that section. He was 52 miles from the start. 48 miles to go. 35 miles
to the rim where a support vehicle would be waiting. He was riding a heavy,
unfamiliar bike on big knobby tires. Most of the rest of us had installed
semi-slicks for this long ride. He carried a lot of weight including tons of
water and a headlamp. He'd need both. Nevertheless, he was determined to make
it and encouraged us to continue without him and not to wait anymore. Knowing
Hardly well, I knew he was sincere. I'm sure he hated having everyone wait for
him at every stop. This was an extremely unfamiliar situation for him to be in.
He is always the strongest and fastest. He's used to waiting for others and
always did so patiently. He's had enough practice at that. But never on the
other end. Perhaps this was a good experience for him to know what it felt like
to be a straggler. I'm sure he doesn't want to relive it and he never badgered
the stragglers before, but now he knows what it feels like. No one (except Buzz
and Peter who had already taken off) minded waiting, but that didn't matter to
Hardly. He'd rather straggle in last just one more time: at the very end. As he
approached me up that hill he said "I think I've bitten off a bit too much
this time." I've never heard him say this before.
I explained the new situation to the
group. We'd been riding for six hours and were only halfway back to the cars.
At this pace, if we didn't slow down on the second, hillier half of the ride,
we'd finish after dark. BTO, hiding out in the shade, asked, "Are we
going to be stopping any more?" We decided that we wouldn't wait any
longer for Hardly and BTO. They'd have to continue at their pace and enjoy it
as much as they could. We'd continue around as a group of eight and
send down a support vehicle to give the stragglers a ride or at least
take their extra weight and give them more food and water. I felt a bit bad by
leaving these two, but there really wasn't much we could do for them at this
stage. The best thing we could do was to get the support vehicle started down
just in case things got worse on the second half. That said, I wouldn't have wanted to be left. My
ambition to ride strong and stay with my other friends got the best of me and I
continued. Now I feel that, while I succeeded as a rider, I probably failed as
a friend. I'm impatient with slower people and like to move fast and at my own
pace. Yet when I'm the slow one, and this happens frequently with my group of
friends, I don't want to be left. I really want to be fast enough to keep up,
but barring that I'd like someone to stay back with me. I never ask for it, but
I always appreciate it when they do. I guess my insecurities about my strength
and endurance urge me onward to prove that I can keep up with these guys.
Changing that behavior will be hard for me. But it will make me a better
person.
After Murphy's and the decision to split into
two groups, a further sub-group of six emerged at the front. Absent from this
group were Eric, who wasn't a surprise since he was wasted and hurting at the
top of Murphy's Hogback, and Matt, who had been going strong. Little did we
know and wouldn't find out until almost 9 hours later, but Matt had flatted
(the only flat out of all 12 riders and over 1100 combined bike miles) just a
couple of miles past Murphy's. Matt apparently had brought the wrong tubes for
his bike. His rims were for Presta values, but his spare tubes were for Schrader.
He tried to patch the hole, but his glue was hardened. Hardly gave him his
glue. Reluctant to wait since he had been dead last most of the day and
reassured by Matt that he had everything he needed, Hardly continued on. Matt
wasn't able to fix the flat because it was so close to the stem. He was
stranded 54 miles into the ride, 46 miles from the finish, and 33 miles from
the rim and support help. He'd spend the next six hours walking his bike almost
twenty miles before help arrived. When we next saw him, he had a huge smile on
face and was laughing at his folly. Isn't there anything that can get this
group down? I've never seen such positive attitudes out of so many people under
severe physical and mental stress. I know I wouldn't fare as well.
Fern went off the front after Murphy's and
stayed away from the group for quite awhile. Homie, Mikey and I rode in pursuit
for many miles and eventually caught him at a camp spot where Fern was taking a
break. When Mark Oveson arrived, he didn't even slow down saying, "I can't
stop any more or I'll never be able to start up again." I hopped on the
bike and continued on to ride a few miles with Mark. We all agreed to regroup
at the top of Hardscrabble Hill. Later, Homie and I went off the front a bit
and rode together up Hardscrabble.
Riding next to me on a hill was a dangerous
proposition as I don't hold a very straight line. When things get tough and I
slow down, my poor balance causes me to weave across the road in a desperate
attempt to stay upright. On an earlier hill I weaved into Homie's path and
caused him to stop. Since then whenever approaching a hill, if I was near
Homie, I'd ask him if he wanted to get out in front. Frequently he'd turn me
down and still follow behind. One reason is that I tend to climb the hills at a
faster rate than Homie because my gearing isn't as low and I need more speed in
order to not fall over. But I suspect the real reason he elected to stay back
was for entertainment. I remember on a tough hill a ways before
Hardscrabble, where I was just ahead of Homie when he reminded me
that I didn't clean this hill last year. I was determined to make it this year
but fairly early on, I spun my back tire. I struggled to recover, failed, and
then couldn't get my foot out of my pedals. Plop! Over I went onto my side.
Homie just chuckled as he rode by. It must have looked hilarious.
On Hardscrabble Homie rode everything clean
except for one twenty foot section of very steep, very loose dirt. Only Buzz
and Peter, we would later learn, cleaned this section. Buzz, in fact, rode the
entire loop clean - even the seemingly impossible sand section after
Hardscrabble. Amazing! I fell off again on the last steep section of
Hardscrabble and had to push up the remaining section.
We stopped at the summit and soon Fern,
Mikey, and Mark arrived. I said there was no point waiting longer than twenty
minutes for Matt and Eric. We were low on water and food and couldn't carry
them out. There was really nothing we could do for them except send down a
vehicle to check on them. At this point, we had concluded that Matt must have
had a mechanical problem. Eric we figured was just fading further. We ate and
drank and soon Trashy arrived. After 25 minutes we were off again down the fast
descent. Fern and Homie led the way down this quick descent. Homie must have
been feeling spry because he went off the front a ways. He claims it was only
on the downhills, but things are pretty flat after Hardscrabble. I rode with
Fern and we talked about hard hill climbs. Fern has done the Triple Bypass a
number of times and would like to do the Mt. Evans Race, which I've done three
times. He told me about doing some 9 mile hill with 4000 feet of gain in under
an hour! Dang. I was looking forward to an epic battle up the Mineral Bottom
road. But when we arrived at Potato Bottom, at the base of the climb back to
the rim, Fern announced that he was going to wait for Mark and ride the last
stretch with him. What a loyal friend. Mark had previously reminded Fern about
waiting for him when he had altitude sickness on the Triple Bypass. Mark said,
"Remember how we finished together? I hope you remember that today."
Fern did indeed remember and they finished together.
Buzz and Peter hit the rim first, spouting to
the support team how they had done rim to rim in 9:03 hours. Buzz took aid at
the top, but he's already done it unsupported before and cared little about
this distinction. He and Peter apparently had a bit of an attitude with our
support crew of Lisel, Neeraj, Magoo, Judy, Skippy, Susan and Sally. They told
Judy to start driving immediately for a rescue operation for Hardly. Buzz and
Peter made a common mistake. They didn't know and underestimated these riders.
Buzz and Peter, as previously stated, are ultra endurance athletes and might
have a slight air of superiority because of their past achievements. But when
it comes to pure toughness, they are marshmallows compared to Hardly Manson.
They didn't know Hardly and assumed weakness. With people around Boulder, this
is almost always a mistake. No matter how hot shit you think you are, you'll be
humbled in Boulder. Hardly would make the rim. Tired, yes, but still with
a smile, and no complaints. He whined less in 85 miles of hard biking than
Peter did about potentially bad weather on the drive out there. I
am proud of Hardly? Yes. He's my hero.
Peter and Buzz weren't supermen leaving a
group of gumbies behind them, as implied to our support team. They just didn't
like the regrouping stops. This is exactly how Peter's runs are done on
Thursday nights. It makes the runs very enjoyable and quite social, but almost
worthless as a workout. I told them before that this ride would be the same
experience. But obviously it was too much regrouping for them. That's fine, of
course and I encouraged them to continue on at their pace. I was just a bit
disheartened to learn of their attitude at the rim.
I coasted up to the RV feeling a bit weary. I
racked the bike, walked in and reached for the microwave popcorn. I needed salt
badly. Horror of horrors, the generator wouldn't start! Talk about a
desperate situation. The ride was a picnic compared to this disappointment.
Thankfully, I was rescued by Magoo's chips and salsa. Every rider to finish
would go through these same motions and we completely devoured Magoo's chips
and salsa. Thanks, Magoo!
My car to car time was 11:13. Mikey and Homie
finished in 11:32 and Mikey's bike computer record a total riding time of 9:10.
I figure my total riding time was just under nine hours - around 11 miles per
hour.
Here is Mike Record's description of the ride
from the rim back to the car:
"I don't
know if you heard me complaining when I got back to the RV, but I was pretty
delirious the final few miles. When I started up the road, my stopwatch said
10:15. I figured at an average speed of 9 mph, it would take me 90 minutes to
finish. My odometer said 87 miles, so I decided to leave the display on the
stopwatch and wait exactly one hour before looking at the odometer again. If I
was on pace, the mileage should read 95. Well, somehow I managed to wait 60
minutes. At 11:15, I switched the display to the odometer. Halleluiah! It read
95.26!! I would be done very soon. I left the display on the odometer, and
started to watch the hundredths tick by. Only they didn't tick very fast. In
fact, they were hardly moving at all. It took eons before the thing read 95.27.
What was going on?! I couldn't have been going *that* slow! True, I was getting
tired. And the road was inclining up at an alarming rate. But shouldn't it have
turned over to 95.28 by now? Crimony, what was going on?? I almost said
something to John, maybe a half-joke about my computer being broken. But
talking was too much effort. I decided to grimace and bear it. And then the top
of the RV came into sight just beyond the crest of the hill. Whoopee! John and
I finished together. I looked at my computer. "Damn!" It only read
95.34. I was going to have to pedal around the parking lot just to get my full
100 miles in. And then I realized something. I had switched the display to
total cumulative miles. Not trip miles. By some cruel coincidence of fate, my
total accumulated mileage was nine hundred fifty three point four.
That's 953.4. In my bleary-eyed state, I failed to notice the exact location of
the decimal point. I had been watching tenths tick by, not hundredths! Oh joy
of joys, the trip distance was 100.06!! I didn't have to pedal anymore!!"
Trashy was the next to arrive - just a couple
of minutes ahead of Mark and Fern, who arrived around 6:30 p.m. Mark and
Fern almost immediately got into their van and headed back down the road to
check on Eric. They found him seven miles from the finish, extremely tired
and starting to get cold. He was so close, but didn't hesitate to
take the ride. Later, he'd say that when he saw the headlamps approaching
he was half hoping it was them to rescue him and half hoping it wasn't them so
that he'd be forced to close the loop. With the possibility of a ride, he
couldn't muster the will to close the loop. My friend Tim Nickles made exactly
this same choice last year.
We waited a long time after that. We were
starting to get worried. Not about the other riders, but about the possibility
of all the restaurants in Moab being closed by the time we got there. I
encouraged Susan and Skippy to just head in and eat, but they wouldn't abandon
ship. Fern and Eric took off back to Salt Lake City and Buzz and Peter were
long gone, but the rest of us all piled into the RV for food, drinks and
stories. It was a packed group in there and lots of fun. Finally, around 8:30
p.m. lights approached. When they flashed us, we knew it was them and scrambled
outside to get the story. Hardly was wasted and barely moved from the back of
the truck. He told the story of pushing his bike all the way up the final hill
to the rim. He could have taken a ride out, but turned it down. Damn, this guy
is tough. BTO had waited for Hardly the entire second half of the ride. He
didn't want to leave Hardly alone and probably didn't want to ride completely
alone either. Yet he frequently got far ahead of Hardly. At one point, BTO
waited for almost 45 minutes before he finally started to backtrack in search
of Hardly. He rode back a mile before finding Hardly. To turn around and ride
the opposite direction this far into a ride is impressive. The character of
this group is unsurpassed. I aspire to rise up to the level of my companions,
not only in terms of physical achievement but mostly in character and
compassion. BTO and Hardly both eschewed the ride in the truck and pushed
their bikes side by side up the final hill in the dark.
At the rim, they piled into the truck with
Matt and Judy. Judy had to be the hero of the day. She hadn't really met Matt
that morning and when Matt, who had been pushing his bike for endless hours,
saw the truck approach and a beautiful woman emerge and say, "Need a
ride?" he thought she was an angel sent from heaven. And indeed she was an
angel. A finer, more giving person you will not find. Judy drove over the
treacherous Hardscrabble Hill alone and in the dark to rescue someone she
didn't even know. She just knew someone was back there and needed help and
didn't need to know anything else. She wouldn't return without him. Was she
pissed that she had to drive so far? No. She smiled while picking up Matt,
flushed with the tremendous joy and fulfillment of coming to the rescue of
someone in dire need. In some ways she might have had the most satisfying day
of all. The rest of us just did a ride. She rescued a new friend. She was
widely hailed and toasted at dinner that evening. Matt offered to buy dinner
and beers until she couldn't stand up. All were turned down. Good will was more
than enough payment. If she ever needs help, there is going to be a stampede to
help her. And Matt will be leading the charge.
We loaded into our vehicles and headed for
Moab. The original plan was to invade Trish, Mark' wife, and the Wild Bunch,
Mark's four kids, at their hotel room and order pizza. That plan was shelved
because we like Trish and want to keep her as a friend and we found out Eddy
McStiff's was still open. We got a big table and the entire group had a great
dinner. The joy and goodwill flowed around the table like a strong river. I
felt buoyant. Not because of my ride, but because of my company. I am such a
lucky man. As with climbing, the adventure is grand and the scenery
outstanding, but these perks are dwarfed by the big rewards: great companions.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mark's comments on the ride:
I was so
wasted, and my butt so sore, that by the end of the ride I was getting off the
bike to walk up the littlest hills. Any excuse! I will probably not do this
ride again in one day unless I've got many more bike miles under my belt for
the season. It's just too painful. I'm so glad that I did it, though, and got
it ticked off the list.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just like last year, I still consider this my favorite
mountain bike ride. This is just so much fun. The terrain is relatively
non-technical - which is a huge plus for a Gumby mountain biker like myself.
Out of the 100 miles I pushed my bike less than a mile and most of that was
because I wasn't fit enough to ride the steep hills clean or to ride the
extremely difficult sandy sections clean. The views are sublime. Around every
corner I am gaping with appreciation for the beauty. So many formations to
climb; so many canyons to explore; so many sights to see. The weather once
again was perfect. This was a necessity for making the loop with a smile on our
face. Wind or rain would have made this miserable to un-doable.
My altimeter watch recorded a total elevation
gain of 6260 feet. Trashy got 7400 on his altimeter which was sampling the
altitude every 20 seconds instead of per minute like mine. Seems like a great
disparity, but suffice it to say that the gain is well over 6000 feet. This
surprised me. Before the ride I had guessed under 4000 feet. After the ride I
would have guessed about the same. No other rider guessed more than 5000 feet.
It just didn't seem like that much to me since it was spread out over such a
big distance. Two weeks previous to this ride I did 10,000 vertical in 38
miles. The White Rim is flat compared to that. I'm still amazed. It seems like
there are just three hills: Murphy's Hogback, Hardscrabble (both pretty
small at 500 vertical feet) and the climb back to the rim (900 feet). I failed
to take into account that there is about 1200 more feet of climbing from the
rim back the car and that there are a number of smaller hills all along the
way. Buzz had said before that he didn't consider this a very flat ride. He was
right. I was wrong.
Everyone got a room at the Best Western that
night except for the RV crowd who just slept in the parking lot. The next
morning we went to the Chinese restaurant right next to the hotel. Egg rolls
for breakfast? Not! They serve a $2.99 eggs, bacon, hash browns, and toast
breakfast that was delicious. At breakfast were the RV crowd (BTO, Baron von
Goo, Sally, Trashy, myself) and Hardly's group (Hardly, Judy, Neeraj, Susan,
Skippy). Homie, Matt, Mikey, and Lisel were slow risers and taking advantage of
the shower. Mark was sleeping in, but Trish and Jacob ("What's your favorite
food that begins with a 'C'?" I guessed candy, but the right answer was
Cheezits) were up walking around. We headed to Arches National Park, only a few
miles outside of town, to try and squeeze in a desert tower ascent before the
coming storm hit.
Our objective was the
Right Chimney route on the Penguins formation. This route is called a
"forgotten classic." In his guidebook, Stewart Green calls it
"possibly the finest free climb in Arches National Park with good rock and
superb jamming." Arches formations are constructed of Entrada sandstone
which is particularly sandy and scary to climb on - nothing like the solid
Wingate sandstone of the Castle Valley and Indian Creek. Hardly and I had some
experience on this rock and knew this 10c route would be challenging. The route
itself isn't a chimney at all, but a thin hand to hand to fist to offwidth
crack climb. The route is two pitches long, but only 140 feet high so it could
easily be combined into one pitch.
After gearing up in the parking lot, we hiked
and drove up the road for a half mile. Initially we were stumped as how to
approach the base of the climb, but found two ways to bypass the very serious
approach pitch on the lower, very rotten rock. We traversed in on an exposed
ledge system which was a neat little mini-adventure all by itself. I got to the
route first, but didn't have my pack since I wasn't sure my approach would go.
I descended back down to take my pack from BTO, who was bringing it up for me.
By the time I returned, Hardly was nearly ready to launch up the route. I
really wanted to climb this route because the alternative was a desperate, run
out squeeze chimney just to the left. Hardly knew this and knew I had selected
the tower and the route. He had every right to head on up the route in front of
me, but he didn't. He knew it would disappoint me and it wasn't worth it to
him. I thought this a gracious move considering the threatening weather.
I did a "Trashman tape job" on my
hands. This consists of just wrapping tape around your hand in one long piece.
It tends to roll off and doesn't give the best coverage for your knuckles, but
it can be done in about 30 seconds. Soon I was geared and ready to go. Trashy
gave me a belay. I told Hardly to follow me up the pitch a couple of pieces behind
because it was starting to rain and we could see a big storm coming. If the
rain got steady, we'd have to descend because climbing on wet sandstone is
dangerous to the climbers and the route. Hardly ended up leading the route at
the same time as I led it. This proved a bit complex for him with my gear and
rope in the way, but it maximized our climbing time.
With the wind picking up and some droplets
falling, I thrashed upwards. A few nice jams led to the first crux of thin
hands or off fingers. The climbing on the first pitch was entirely up a right
facing dihedral and here I was able to do a bit of lie backing and stemming in
order to reduce the load on my arms. I found this section the most difficult of
the route and almost came off here. I probably would have come off except the
urgency of the conditions forced me to climb fast. Hence, I didn't have enough
time to do my classic pump-out and fall off routine. Above, great hand jams led
to an awkward wide section at a bulge. By working my feet up very high and
getting into a crouch, I was then able to stretch completely by this wide
section and get another hand jam. A drop knee (hey, a gym move!) helped
establish me above this section. The final bit to the belay was offwidth and
proved its usual challenge. I clipped the anchor, which consisted of three
drilled pitons and a chain.
Trashy started following my lead as Hardly
reached the belay. Hardly had easily cruised the pitch and thought it was
easier than 10c. I was reluctant to downgrade the pitch and hoped instead that
I was climbing strong. Trashy had to take tension to remove one of my cams
which had walked far into the crack. Thankfully he was able to retrieve it.
Further up Trashy confirmed the grade in my mind, when he came off at the wide
section. Trashy almost never falls off something that I can do. I asked Trashy
if he wanted the second pitch and he declined. It was rated 10a and offwidth,
which doesn't work so well for Trashy now that his left wrist has a pin in it
(the effects of a nasty fall while ski mountaineering in the Cascades). I
headed off, now out of the corner and climbing up the crack that splits the
right penguin from the center penguin. This cracks starts off as perfect hands
but it is slightly more than vertical. Luckily there was a foothold about ten
feet up and the angle eased back to less than vertical. I placed a couple of #2
Camalots on the lower section and now placed a #4 Camalot. Here I had to make a
tricky transition from right side in to left side in. At this point I could still
get fist jams, but further up, just where the wall went vertical again, the
crack became offwidth. The next five feet were quite challenging and physical.
I'm sure glad it was short. I placed a #4.5 Camalot here and started arm
barring and heel-toeing. My first attempt only netted me about three feet and
my technique wasn't working. I slid back down until I could get a foothold for
my right foot and reassessed the situation. My second attempt wasn't really any
different in technique, but this time I was committed to exert the necessary
effort. Thrashing, groveling, whining, etc. ensued. In other words, my standard
offwidth technique. The crux for me was moving my arm bar from below the #4.5
Camalot to above it. If I wasn't such a sissy, I'd have placed the piece lower
- at waist level - and never had to encounter this problem. Then I could have
moved up the arm bar an inch at a time. Finally I got high enough for a locker
chicken wing and let out a whoop of delight. The terrain was still very steep,
but I rested comfortably on this lock and then squirmed the last six feet to
the anchors.
As soon as I crested the ridge the wind hit
me and I got cold. I was just below the summits of both right and center
penguins where the sling anchors dangled. There were a couple of in situ
carabiners here. While I shivered at the belay, the Trashman began cleaning the
pitch. Meanwhile Judy was zooming up the first pitch. She'd say later that she
came off on this pitch, but I'm amazed to hear that since she seemed to climb
confidently when I was watching. Judy and I usually climb at the same level so
I assumed she was clean on this pitch. Undoubtedly the fist sections were much
tougher for her. The Trashman dispatched most of the final pitch with ease, but
also stalled at the offwidth section. He struggled to reach the chicken wing
rest I had raved about and when he finally threw his arm into position I
thought he had it. But moments later, the wing popped and he slipped down six
inches. I asked, "You want tension?" but he was too busy fighting
gravity to respond. I figured he didn't want tension until he slipped further. Trashy then
threw in the chicken wing again, but this time instead of placing his palm
against the wall of the crack, he placed the knuckles of his fist. I'd never
seen a move like this. Then he moved up and leaned into the crack as far as he
could. I think he jammed his helmet in there to move up his lock. Then he belly
rolled into the squeeze before he was secure. I knew I was watching a master
climber practicing his craft. Spellbound, I watched with the rapt attention of
protégé observing his mentor exercising all the tricks of his trade.
Once Trashy hit the belay, he quickly
bouldered out the final 5.9 move to put him on the summit of the center
Penguin. After down climbing, I repeated this move. We were just rapping off as
Hardly arrived at the belay. Not satisfied with the puny challenge this
offwidth provided, Hardly made things more interesting by pinching his lead
rope between his foot and the crack. This made upward movement the challenge he
was looking for. Of course, under those conditions he found the climbing
difficult also. Trashy and I rapped off. Judy started up the second pitch and
BTO was already a ways up the first pitch. He was top roping this pitch and
belayed by Sally. BTO, a 5.13 sport climber, had little trouble with a silly
5.10 crack climb. He waited a top the first pitch so that he could climb the
second pitch. Trashy belayed Sally, remember her nickname is Hand jam, up the
first pitch. Sally soared up the corner with remarkable ease and speed. She
stopped once at a good stance to warm up her hands. My hands were freezing and
I was just standing on the ground.
Once Judy hit the top, she quickly rapped
down and, on the way by BTO, handed him a rope so that he could climb the next
pitch. BTO had the obligatory struggle with the offwidth and even commented
that he thought it was hard! A mere 5.10. Must have been the lack of face
holds. BTO was quickly lowered to the ground and Hardly set up the double rope
rappel and finally descended. Despite belaying in the wind and cold, he was his
normal imperturbable self. Glad that everyone got the opportunity to climb
as high as they desired. Most of the time we were watched by Neeraj, Homie, Mikey,
Matt, and Lisel, but none wanted to give the crack a try. This would have been
an excellent crack for Homie - the inventor of the butt jam and ass lock. The
wide cracks on this route offered ample opportunity for Homie's favorite
techniques. His ground breaking philosophy was to consider the ass not merely
as dead weight, but another appendage to be used as fully as the arms and legs.
Once Homie has a solid ass lock he can literally make himself a sandwich before
continuing. I think he has even bivied from one particularly bomber butt jam.
Of course his ass was so sore the next morning that riding the White Rim Trail
in a day seemed like a vacation for his butt.
We packed up and headed down. The quick
weekend trip was drawing to a close. All that remained was the drive home. This
went smoothly except for the blizzard from Vail to Idaho Springs. Fish tailing
down Vail Pass in traffic while driving an RV was the most stressful part of
the entire weekend for me. At one point, after a particularly stressful, jerky
incident where I was pumping the brakes madly and swerving to avoid sliding
cars, I looked in my rearview mirror to see Trashy standing by the door. I
thought he was getting ready to jump out if a collision seemed imminent. I
learned later he was just returning from the back bedroom. He had run back
there to try and get more weight over the back wheels. But I shouldn't
complain. My four passengers were experiencing an epic of their own: they
almost ran out of paper in which to record the score in the game of Hearts they
were playing. Talk about a tense situation!