April was national poetry month. Fact.

in light of April being national poetry month, I attempted to write a song each day of the month. I would like to think I succeeded, those most of the songs are fragments. It took me a few days of May to get them typed up, but that didn't violate the song-a-day stipulation. They all have music but it might be a little while to get all of these recorded... They are all autobiographical. Without apology, here are the 'lyrics' to every one of them. And pictures of Rose to distract :-)

Donnie Hicks - april sessions (29 similar songs and 1 that is different; 2014)

april 1
(i've got)
two tells -
   they're blinking
   and looking
im sure to be found out

(let's not)
speak about-
   us or of
   what we're thinking
lets talk about something else

like the weather

like the snow and the wind
and the boats comin in
with their mast and their sail
pulled by hurricane force gales

like the weather

(like the)
weather or not-
   i still miss you a lot
   like a fox its white coat
in the spring

(like a)
metaphor lost-
   on my literal talk
   conversation
dissected to bits

like the weight

like the concrete boots around
with the stones pullin down
and the scales overturned
and the lessons we've unlearned

like the weight

(like the)
wait for me -
   thought for
   another life walk

(like a)
cold turkey-
   stop on a late
   Calhoun walk of
an eight-year cigarette smoke addict

like the weather

----------

april 2

tracin the constellations
believing the stories they told
if the stars are a map to the future
that's why there seem to be so few roads

belief is a powerful drink
to take it you've got to have hope
faith without meaning or entropy
beyond 'all we'll ever do is grow old'

everything comes back around
like the light returns to your eyes
when i look in your heart
 (it's like lookin' in a mirror)
and i'm so sad that it feels just like mine

sometimes
it's irrepairable
sometimes
it's perpetual

but the one thing that's different
of this from bein' sad
is that happiness shared
is the only way to live............

your voice rang thru the rafters
and rattled down the walls
and rang in perfect harmony
and shattered both our hearts

we swept up the pieces
lazily one day
and put them back together
with  a modicum of tape

sometimes
it's unforgettable
sometimes
it's forever mutual

but the one thing that's different
of this from bein' sad
is that happiness shared
is the only way to live

but the one thing that's different
of this from bein' sad
is that happiness shared
is the only way to live

----------

april 3

slow down for a minute
keep your head up
hands out-
and go get it-
this is your stuff

slow down for a minute
keep your head up
hands out-
and go get it-
this is your stuff

we spent too long
   too far gone
where mouthes can't twist
   and work things out
but in this house
   we've moved on
that wrestle took
   a different form

slow down for a minute
keep your head up
hands out-
and go get it-
this is your stuff

im not gonna say it for you
when i'm called on to
im not gonna say it for you
like i
used to do

slow down for a minute
keep your head up
hands out-
and go get it-
this is your stuff

slow down for a minute
keep your head up
hands out-
and go get it-
this is your stuff

----------

april 4

my plan is to run until
i feel no inspiration
my side is pain on fire
mirrored by my desire
and need to get home
to get in deep enough
to leave no choice but
to go in deeper a plan
to only go halfway there
in order to get back
right
hope
my intentions are wrong
my priorities shifting
twisting
winding
i turn into wind
willingly wrong
both ways
but only halfway
in order to get back
right
hope
oops

----------

april 5

april fifth came and went
like the snowflakes above our bed
held up by the last nor'easter storm
held up my guitar case
with both your hands and a look on your face
told me you were tired of waitin' on warmth

don't give up now
don't give up yet
kiss the rosary around your neck
(the one you wore against your mother's wish)
dig your heels into the earth
hope their planted in some solid dirt
   should be easy
   no problem, right
famous last words

my rapid decline began
it left us on the roadside when
i thought 'everything's comin up me'
i filled up twelve Moleskin books
dressed my T's and boxed them up
and taped them to infinity

found out all my words the same
recycled rhymes and worn out phrases-
well i guess i was raised on bein' green
and i admit i loved her more
when her voice is flat my cries ignored
distracted by too much thought in my head

eyelid movie screens, please
sang so sweet that it scared me
-you are my sunshine
-my only sunshine
-you make me feel anything

spring crept in and like a lamb
but a crippled one, didn't stand a chance
ridden by some jerk in a cowboy hat
april fifth came and went
like the snowflakes above our bed
held up by the last nor'easter storm

held up my guitar case
with both your hands and the look on your face
told me you were tired of waiting on warmth
held up my guitar case
with both your hands and a sad sad look on your face
told me that you'd burn this thing for warmth

----------

april 6

i am the unforgiving sea
i am your stability
i am the desert's stifled song
i am the hope all along
if life's a game
and life is trust
but i always seem to rush
i am convergence of your thoughts-
and im a rifle shot

ive come to react before i think
(which is a problem cuz...)
my gun has come to rest on my hip

you are the dropoff at the beach
thirty six steps into sea
you're hurricane up in the sails
you're the cure to what ails
you're no hyperbole-
but you're the only thing i need
you're divergence that i've sought-
a tree forever branching stalk

you've come to bring us peace
your love has come to rest on me
you are you
and we are we
and that is how it was supposed to be

i am the melting snow you'll miss
i am your last and im your first
i am the mountain hum of Taos
i am the sailing stones aroused
im where you are and where you're from
when life is change and life is dust
i am your overfocused eyes-
and i'm no compromise

you are the welcome warmth we seek
and you solve the lies i weave
you are the dewdrops in the sun
and you're the west wind blowin' on
you are the half moon waxing full
and you're the harp that sings and knows
you are the soft seeking eyes
and you're no judgement when i cry

ive come to know true meaning of my loyalties
as just a selfish need not to displease
you've come to love and harness these shortcomings
to teach me to observe and let go of needs

you are the bridge over the tide
who always sparkles in my eyes
whose wind could blow and heal my heart
when i thought it was deformed
and it turns out
that it was only half as good alone

you've come to bring us peace
your love has come to rest on me
you are you
and we are we
and that is how it was supposed to be

----------

april 7
singing into a banjo to you

all of my angels are within reach
but i can't shake this weight from me
of twenty six hundred pounds pressed to my seat
their song sings me not to sleep

go now
if you must
to other worlds
go now
if you must
there are other worlds

both of my hands begin to see
the newly shaped landscape inside of me
this sterile community is a hospital bed
but i'm told 'it's a needed step'

go now
if you must
to other worlds
go now
if you must
there are other worlds

it's a hard night
and it's a long day
riding on the heels
of a complaint
give a reason
why i should stay
'you must
it gets better
i promise'

go now
if you must
to other worlds
go now
if you must
there are other worlds

----------

april 8

we took the road up to cripple creek
switchbacks thru a canyon eight miles east
we found the only shady spot
   between a cactus and a rock
pitched our tents and washed
the day's dirt from our feet

the full moon glow gave everything a homestick shine
and the afternoon's raindrops hadn't yet dried
the rattles you heard first
   thinking only makes it worse
i left the tent to find two hateful staring eyes

my friend
i still love you
but let's spend some time apart
this summer
friendship fling
we found eight weeks ago is gone
it was sweet
but only
at the start

our destination mutual to get away from us
so we loaded up the car for a reprieve
took our minds off from the seat
   at the Florissant Fossil Beds
held in time; hell on earth
we were the trees

my friend
i still love you
but let's spend some time apart
this summer
friendship fling
we found eight weeks ago is gone
it was sweet
but only
at the start

----------

----------

april 9

well i know im not a star but i can
change the sky with every thought
like how that cloud looks to lonely
change my mind and now it's not
and im hopin you don't notice
that my dreams are mostly skin-deep talk
but we're so intertwined we can't
love from needing what we've lost

i saw a beach on the horizon
where the sun laid down its head to sleep
i saw the ocean drink the sunset
and it didnt save a taste for me
and i hope there's still some left
for me underneath the Red Sea
but then needin' you was never
anything but just a reason to leave

i know that we are young
and my instincts are wrong
and my care's stuck too deep in stone
but for all my flaming flaws
i dont deserve your doubts at all

and i thought an ad-libbed verse for t his
to sing and wind down the clock
but before the notes emerged from me
across my teeth they all were lost
cuz somewhere inbetween my head
and mouth there's a paradox
in an excuses filled corridor
stacked ceiling overflowing box

there's a business with a purpose
in a city where nothing makes sense
and there's a heirarchy of order
but i don't know where i fit in
when the buildings dry and crumble
and the tide comes in to take a drink
ill pick the sand up later
build a new town and start over again

----------

april 10

it was raining cliches
     as we painted our names
on the backs of brick-yard buildings
and we knew we were't far
     from nowhere at all
but a gamble at uphill both ways

softer now
soft eyes
soft step
soft night
soft sought
soft swept

watcht the second stair
     (it screams)
keep your feet 'a
     (whispering)
cherish all the time
     before we're caught
hide be beneath
     with ease
to keep my shape in
      bed sheets
no one knows we're here
     but me and you

softer now
we owe it to ourselves
we're all the time
in the worldd

stand still
and we know no shape
outside of the shape
we built

----------

april 11

if i grew up
i aint never been much for lookin' ahead
outside my sphere of control nothin unplanned
sometimes i guess whats around the next bend
wrapped in sheets i fall asleep wonderin'

if i grew up
tho i am small
my future mistakes scare me now
there's a match that's not yet put out
  and an ocean burned down
the beach on its knees while it's laughin'
  a horrible sound
the fire put out my desire now is gone

if i grew up
i wouldnt need to joke and tease
but i love you cuz you're still here
so you must love me
and my best laid plans have all gone awry
things dont seem to change much
  why should i
if i grew up

--------

april 12

make music not war
make music not war
use the same four chords
use the same four chords

have faith
don't doubt it
put me down
makes me stronger

make music not war
make music not war
use the same four chords

im a rose in a windstorm
trust my feet to hold me down
test my teeth rip your arms
hold me under a rainbow
we can be each other's reward

make music not war
use the same four chords
make music not war
use the same four chords
make music
not war

--------

april 13

i dont ever never wanns use a faith i cant believe
when i was young my mother told me not to use my teeth
now im standin on a precipice and hangin by a nail
i guess ill ask for her forgiveness instead of if i may
you're a viral link i can't resist and click on with my eyes
im forgotten raincoats cant remember if i try
im a lesson takes too long for me to seep in
youre the patient pupil Aristotle chillin in the pew

----------

april fourteenth
im forever inspired by you in ways you can not imagine

a cloudy day
for every time i throw you shade
a release of rain
a generational crime repaid
-it's not that i take
but when you forgive with no complains
show me a way
without making me feel ashamed

its not that im cold
but these sheets are too old
they're worn thin by friction and angst
you warm me up
and i hope that's enough
fueled by addiction and thanks
an apartment so small
yeah
small as a shell
and tight like the sidestreets of Elm
dont give into taste
of the feeling of hate
pushed tight to your chest like a well

you've got to be strong
stronger than you thought you'd be
tho you'll be tired
there's always tomorrow
try to get sleep in between

the new quilt you sewed
like the Earth that we fold
kept our dreams occupied for a while

when summer came 'round
with no plants to be found
tho we searched thru the dirt like child

took to the sky
like a refugee flight
seeking a constant change cloud

but the belly fell out
and the wind took your blouse
now all of your trials are doubt

you've got to be strong
stronger than you thought you'd be
tho you'll be tired
there's always tomorrow
try to get sleep in between

now all of your trials are doubt

----------

april 15
halfway inspired

it's better with the light on
whatever else thought, tho, you can try on
you can keep your eyes off
if it's a deal, tho, we can sing song

i cant understand these flared in my brain
makin' me think, makin' me go insane
all of the people that we used to be
laid out as trinkets on a windowpane

it's better with the light on
whatever else thought, tho, you can try on
you can keep your eyes off
if it's a deal, tho, we can sing song

routines are pickin' up quick
it is what's makin' me sick
pictures framed of all our dreams
we aren't featured in a single thing

it's better with the light on
whatever else thought, tho, you can try on
you can keep your eyes off
if it's a deal, tho, we can sing song

----------

april 16

your soft footsteps dodged the grass blades
smell held from beyond the last rain
underneath
your feet swung from above the trees, made
the breeze swift to reveal the bare twig
interweaved
your plan spoke we abundant solitude
a sea spanned from the sun to the moon
we perceived
you said, too, that 'we must be alone
from the cradle to the bulk of
what we confront

like we arent new
no no no
but we arent new
no no no'
you said
like it was less than humble

it took us ten days to reach ya
phone calls from beyond the need to
speak to you
we just need one thing i told ya
not to be alone without ourselves
critiqued

we watchted the whole town 'round us
blend in to the flame and darkness
on the beach
we leaned our hip on railing fence
sparked like waiting innocence of
coming sleep

like we'd been cheated from our hearts
no no no
but we aren't new
no no no
we aren't new
no no no
like we'd been cheated from our hearts
no no no
but we aren't new
no no no
we aren't new
no no no
you said
like it was less than humble

----------

----------
april 17

when we gonna cross that street?
ill hold your hand its not for you but for me
im still learnin this so cut me some slack
i forgive you your things will you forgive me that

you said 'we're well matched'
i said 'dont cling to that'
another town another road perhaps
'if being well matched'
you said, if in fact
'is not a facet that we posess'

when we gonna cross that street?
ill hold your hand its not for you but for me
im still learnin this so cut me some slack
i forgive you your things will you forgive me that

felt like forces
we hadn't got the timing yet
reasons to say yes
were few and far and deep and wide
i said 'if the facts
are not a backup that we require'

when we gonna cross that street?
ill hold your hand its not for you but for me
im still learnin this so cut me some slack
i forgive you your things will you forgive me that

----------

april 18
5 am

i woke up with inspiration in my head
i woke up with inspiration in my head
like the last few drops of sweetness lingering
i woke up with inspiration in my head
i woke up with inspiration in my head
like the last time i bought flowers for you
i woke up with inspiration in my head
or at the very least intented to
i woke up with inpiration in my head

woke up with half an idea in my arms
to beat the rain we could dig up the back yard
planted several discarded apple cores
needed none but expected more

i woke up with inspiration in my head
i woke up with inspiration in my head
with nowhere to put it
no pen in reach
convinced it's not good enough
or 'it'll stay in memory'
i woke up with inspiration in my head
with nowhere to put it
no pen in reach
convinced it's not good enough
or it'll stay in memory
i woke up with inspiration in my head
and went promptly back to sleep

---------

april 19

i made it more magical in my mind
more than stars and tide had aligned

little flower
grow real tall
little flower
feel so small
little flower
if you want to

im watching the rain pour water rise
im watching the businesses abide

i guess i made it more magical in my mind

-------

april 20

i used to hear the mountains hum
that was back 'fore i was young
i miss the carefree steps of youth
all that's analyzed is reduced
all that's analyzed is reduced

the tide keeps comin in
now we're too boats at sea
tomorrow we will be
only if we're hopefully
blue

we used to dance before we knew
what we're dancing was supposed to be
i feel like i homeless poem
words been written without intent
worse been written without intent

the tide keeps comin in
now we're too boats at sea
tomorrow we will be
only if we're hopefully
blue

the tide keeps comin in
now we're too boats at sea
tomorrow we will be
only if we're hopefully
blue

i used to hear the mountains hum
that was back 'fore i was young
maybe i'm still in transition's grip
but i've been feelin' pretty damn stagnant
i'm an overanalyzed fragment
all that's overanalyzed is lost
i'm an overanalyzed fragment
all that's overanalyzed is lost

----------

april 21

there's a lot more traffic on this side
tho that's not something i've just realized
we were happier in the West End
let's go back
and learn to build bridges again

i built bridges in a former life
could hold up much that's prolly why i died
fell beneath the weight of merely six or seven guys
i feel ike i deserve a second try
i feel feel like i need a second try

took up well drillin as a means to make a buck
twelve thousand feet and all my tools stuck
left my bucket down the hole and ran from that job
but i feel like i deserve a third try
i feel like i need a third try

----------

april 22

i dreamt a
chimney to the heavens
and my blood as Epinephrine
a staircase to the weather
and my clocks tucked in the cellar

kept the time
     time
          time
     time
          time
     time

a beach down
the street keeps
the ocean back
or more like
the whisky that
lines my glass
when this chemical
is not my fault
but my youth
and my accidental
childish doubt

that the time
     time
         time
     time
         time
     time

i dreamt a
paycheck to adulthood
and less to figure out good
a job instead of no class
and my countdown to my last

summertime
     time
          time
     time
          time
     time

---------

april 23

i would like to
put my
pen to paper
and have meaning fall out

i would like to
wrap my
head around it
and be washed of my doubt

but instead im
screaming into
and yelling
at this page

i would like to
post a
question to you
and the answer in my hand

but it's your life
and your decision
but it's
killing me
it's tearing me
in two
in three
pieces of
it's making me a fool
please spare me from
deciphering your
youth
it's you
it's yours
a negotiable truth

place the
pitter patterns
in the
folds within our seams
i know the
answer but
can't resist so
im yelling in here
screaming at
this page of
needing to
know what i already do

but it's your life
and your decision
but it's
killing me
it's tearing me
in two
in three
pieces of
it's making me a fool
please spare me from
deciphering your
youth
it's you
it's yours
a negotiable truth

----------

april 24

what do you do
when you were asked to kill
to crush a dream
by telling the truth
would you walk away
with a smile on your face
wipe him of his
with another ounce of hate

integrity if
measured easily
do you love your friends
passive aggressively

when would you lie to her?
when should i lie to her?
to save a fece
or a thousand years of hurt

we were maudlin tears
a modest harlequin
an honest tale
of a storied sincere

we were a moment
in a photograph
but we were real and they were
a charletan trap

ooo..

---------

april 25

i feel like i'm southbound
(1, 2, 1, 2)
to a front range mountain town
and when i look behind me
my footprints on the ground

i feel like im flyin
talking to the clouds
but when i listen closely
snowflakes make no sound

i feel like im anxious
for the season up ahead
cuz what if i cant stand it
ill flee til spring again

----------

april 26

im a tunnel (without light)
but im the only one (who can see inside)
every action and it's response is well rehearsed
and all of the things in my sphere of control they are a curse

diagrams and murals cover my walls (but as i mentioned before...)
im the only one who can see them at all
every context and it's outcome is predetermined
and all of my outliers i set myself a burnin'

then you (sometimes seem blind)
how can you possibly miss those blatant signs
you reply 'ive felt the same of you for quite some time'
how can you never see what's around you' (see what's around you)

you're cut and run
     i'm work things thru
i'm the needle and the thread
     you only seek to undo
you're a big bang
     i'm a molecule
but without you
a tunnel would have to do

i couldnt focus (in the thick of a crowd day fright)
squinted my eyes (to feel at home in the light)
so i switched to camera (focus, speed, aperture)
but with the same narrow gaze thru a tube (i failed to capture her)

you're cut and run
     i'm work things thru
i'm the needle and the thread
     you only seek to undo
you're a big bang
     i'm a molecule
but without you
a tunnel would have to do

let's be together
     a reaction and its resultant
let's indistinguish
     my start from yours concordant

you're cut and run
     i'm work things thru
i'm the needle and the thread
     you only seek to undo
you're a big bang
     i'm a molecule
but without you
a tunnel would have to do

----------

april 27

the train tracks keep comin' and im almost out of steam
roundin the next bend to a station it seems
i lost my old route map so i dont know if this stop
is just a refueling or the Twilight's Last Gleam

window panes fogged up from the breath of the dead
we left the last station to a tunnel ahead
it doesn't look good but this crowd is all still
do i trust the conductor or jump off instead

the train tracks are risin' and i'm pert-near out of steam
roundin' the last bend to a mountain upstream
i lost my new route map so i dont know if this stop
is just a refueling or the Twilight's Last Gleam

this narrow gauge railway is improbably small
and the twisting route we take seems likely to fall
each quiver and quake of the rail 'neath our feet
seems an eternity our fates unresolved

the train tracks are fallin' no need for more steam
rounding a hairpin to an abyss of serene
i lost my old route map so i dont know if this stop
is just a refueling or is Twilight's Last Gleam

reach out the windows burn my hands on the rocks
a sign says 'look out' but no one's thinkin 'stop'
the dead seem content without conscious or fear
i move around the bones kick pennies that have been dropped

the train tracks keep goin' and im all out of steam
roundin the last bend to a station it seems
i lost my old route map so i dont know if this stop
is just a refueling or is Twilight's Last Gleam

my sister is pressed to the seat next to mine
the only thing wider than the doubt is her eyes
i try to reassure her tho it's ready we're already late
my screams unreturned through a fate we advised

the train tracks don't end and im all out of steam
roundin yet another bend to a station it seems
i lost my old route map so i dont know if this one
is just a refueling or as Twilight's Last Gleam

----------

april 28

we learned to gamble like we learned to live
i wouldn't ask you to fill my cup if i were any good
from innocent no consequence if we lose or win
to all cards on the table with everything all in

still holding back tho i drink like a shark
you didnt ask for my love to fill up your heart
from hundred cent stores to the age of real hurt
you were content with your book of words

pushed you thru walls on accident
my way to hope with this a horrendous laugh
a decade-thick door closed your face to me unknown
and a mile-thick case of poems kept your thoughts your own

how long is normal
for me to wait
for forgiveness
and the old me to abate
cuz ill wait

the streets we walked and know have changed
a brand new bright streetlight to keep them 'safe'
and the place we passed leaves in the fall it seems
has been covered is silent and paved

our neighbor's  house one day burned down
with a sigh and two exposion sounds
and our parents were placed where they needed for repairs
not so invincible but indivisibly there

how long is normal
for me to wait
for forgiveness
and the old me to abate
cuz ill wait

i got a token of truce from the girl who can't be moved
a train ticket expired months ago but cut into
a fold out paper doll chain painted as an egg timer
with sand falling from her hand and tickling into her heart earned

how long is normal
for me to wait
for forgiveness
and the old me to abate
cuz ill wait

----------

april 29

we were just one gorgeous sunny Friday morning
away from driving out of here
we were the clipped wings healed but flyin' too early

we were a mile long stretch of red road lights changin
for us
runnin to or from
leavin an I.O.U. note
for them on the coffee hot plate
consider ourselves
we could be great
or we could be sane
and run away

we were t he sharp stones falling from cracked boulders
away but not far from the stone
we were a feather spit from wings in danger
we are the slow lane windows down arms tanning from sun
lighting on us now
leaving and i dont care note
in our backseat window
inconsiderate youth
but at least we know
that we need none
but me and you

----------

april 30

side swept hair and plastic rimmed glasses
you know the things that pull my strings
i can't grow beards but i do wear flannel
and promise to eat only sustainably

no pinot noir just a P.B.R.
or some microbrewed I.P.A.
dreamin about becomin' like Holden Caulfield
too bad he was just some phone cliche

so many things we ought to talk about
thriftin, vintage, wilderness, organic, chic,
so long as we can really recsognize
that hey,
we're all somebodies freak

you're against even your own counter-culture
singing on a soap box with a kazoo
takin' a break only for designer cupcakes
to wash away the 4/4 key of G songwriter blues

cultivatin' those beets and that image
must take a big effortless chunk of your day
you're a self-marginalized overly reightous kinda fella
screamin from his pedastle that 'we're all the same'

so many things we ought to talk about
thriftin, vintage, wilderness, organic, chic,
so long as we can really recognize
that hey,
we're all somebodies freak

i liked this before you were born, i swear
before your distressed skinny jeans were in the store
hey im just kiddin' and it's no even blasphemy
just cloaked in six or seven shades of irony

so many things we ought to talk about
thriftin, vintage, wilderness, organic, chic,
so long as we can really recognize
that hey,
we're all somebodies freak

----------

Thanks :-)

Memoirs of a convergent thinker

I spent all of 2011 engaged in cognitive rehabilitation and therapy.

Rose contemplates OT vs. PT vs. S.L.P., February 2011

      I had some amazing therapists.

Among them was Sue Newman of Courage Kenny Rehabilitation Institute.

  

      She imparted many things upon me and helped me to understand that I am a 

 

                                         Convergent Thinker.

http://www.cotf.edu/ete

        What is a divergent or convergent thinker?

                            A metaphor I came up with:

      

        Picture yourself lying on your back on some nice comfortable grass with your head near the base of a large tree.

                            Are you there yet?

        A convergent thinker can hone in on the absolute details of the furthest out bud. They can literally feel what the texture of the branches must be. And they know what the tree's fate will be exactly 12 years from now.

        Conversely, a divergent thinker can see all the intersections of the branches leading up to the top, and they can speculate on the many different ways that the branches must be textured, and think about several fates the tree might have.

        The point is that a convergent thinker might miss the multitude of paths leading up to that aforementioned bud 100' above them and the divergent thinker might not have as detailed a drawing of that bud's anatomy.

                            These are absolutes, and we live on a spectrum, not at absolutes.

        I am pretty far down the convergent thinker end of the thought-spectrum, and that's not a bad thing. The world needs convergent thinkers, in my humble opinion. Teamed up with a divergent thinker, great tasks can be accomplished efficiently and completely.  

      Furthermore, as Sue Newman made me realize, there is a great power in understanding which end of this spectrum you lie on. The techniques she taught me for "coping with" an extremely convergent mind allow me to harness this hyperbole 

                            Band name, I call it!

                                  and achieve great things with it.

        Like anyone's, my convergent mind will still cause trouble when I let it go unchecked. That I am a convergent thinker is likely no surprise to anyone who knows me. If I were a gunslinger, I would shoot from the hip and ask questions next. As it stands, I am the guy who will put something in his pocket and realize 40 miles later that I needed to leave that item back where I grabbed it.

                            Get it?

      The purpose of this post is twofold:

1. A confession: I am a convergent thinker, and I am okay with it. When is the last time your convergent thinking got you in trouble? What about your divergent thinking? I don't think one is better than the other, simply different.
2. A plea: Take a moment to identify where you lie on the spectrum, and think about how your antithesis might operate. I have found attempts at balancing my convergent-thinking habits to be very beneficial. Your employer will probably get a kick out of it, too! I view my convergent thinking as an asset, and think you should view your position on this spectrum an asset as well.

      Future posts will either be labeled as convergent or divergent, depending on the dominant thought process responsible for that story :-).

      Speaking of future posts, here are my current post-goals coming in the next few weeks:

      1. Tell the story of Liz and my first alpine climbing trip this summer in Glacier Gorge of Rocky Mountain National Park.

 

Liz follows up the third pitch, North Ridge of Spearhead Mountain, 7-27-13. My cold feet warm up while on belay.

      2. Talk about my trip up to Minneapolis with Angelyn and her family.

Holly, Peggy, Angelyn, and myself got to visit Minneapolis this summer.

      3. My trip to Alaska to visit family and see Kim and Jamey get the most married at the beautiful Resurrection Bay outside of Seward, AK.

View out to the ocean from Seward, AK, 7-2-13

Oh look, I just did it there! 

More to come.

Donnie

Crummiest $87 used helmet I ever bought

Disclaimer: this 'account' is fiction and pseudoscience at best

Schmudo was bored. 

It was Saturday, June 8, at 8pm. He glanced at the clock and remarked to his roommate,

"Time to drink!"

Forsythia, his roommate, boldly and matter-of-factually replied, under a haze of methamphetamine-induced grandeur

"Isn't it always?"

Schmudo grabbed his third Keystone Light ('for the rich and famous', the bottle read), and before he really cared to notice, proceeded to grab his fifth. Glancing back down at the clock, Schmudo wasn't pleased that his friends hadn't called to go to the local tavern.

"It's already pert near ten, should we just go?"

Forsythia didn't respond.

"Syth, should we?" He persisted

After several minutes of this back [and forth], Schmudo realized that his cohort not only did not hear him, but that she was asleep, and probably would be for a great long while.

"Well, I'm gonna go have fun." Schmudo proclaimed.

Schmudo was not an idiot, but he didn't care to think of himself as anything less than top gun hot hot shit bad ass numero uno. He frequently reminded himself of this, having invented a handy acronym

TGHSBANO

He liked the way it rolled off his tongue.

Schmudo was also not the brightest light bulb in the factory.

So, at 11 pm, he sat cross legged in his North Knoxville apartment complex, pondering what to do. By 11:30 pm, he had come up with a plan.

"I know a guy," he said, having forgotten that Forsythia was no longer cognizant. He stood up, rolled her over onto her back so she could gasp clean air rather than the cigarette-riddled carpet her mouth had been sleepily tasting.

He grabbed Forsythia's helmet, and walked over to 5800 Central Avenue Pike. A yuppie apartment complex, he thought, with nice cars and no security. Perfect. He had actually spent some time in the apartment complex, having a mutual friend living there. They are the cheapest apartments in the area, which make a perfect home for his friends. Remembering a vintage motorcycle he remembered seeing parked in the same place for months, Schmudo casually walked up and ran his hand along its bow and stern. By this time, it was "pert near midnight" as he liked to say.

Next, he hopped on the bike. 

"Whew, he left the steering unlocked tonight," Schmudo muttered to himself.

Without starting it [yet], he rolled the 1976 Kawasaki KZ 400 (he didn't know this, to him it was just an old junky-lookin' bike) away from its parking spot directly beneath a small street light. A few hundred feet downhill, he found himself in pitch darkness with no one around. He grabbed the four-inch-long flat head screwdriver he "borrowed" from Forsythia, jammed it hard in the ignition, and wiggled until the motorcycle's HUD lights turned on. 

He had ridden Forsythia's bike before, and knew to turn the gas on. He reached down to the headcock (he didn't know what this piece was called). Fortunately, the arrows illuminated by his skull-and-crossbones Zippo+LED light combo were visible. He switched the gas on.

Fiddling with the gas, and not knowing the bike-specific magical combination of throttle:choke, it took him a minute to get the bike running.  Like he thought, 'an old junky bike. that guy probably doesn't even ride it.'

Once he got it going, it died, as all bikes will do unless you know the magical throttle:choke combination. He knew that he was starting to make noise, and heard a few dogs barking. He put his helmet on[to his quite small head], and hopped on the bike. The bike had a tarp attached to the rear rack, but he thought it looked dorky, and so he threw it to the ground. 'Instead', he thought, 'I'll tie this helmet on the back. It is way too tight for me, anyways, and this way people will think I'm on my way to pick up some hot chick.' He had brought a mesh cargo net, and so he also ditched two of the elastic tie-downs attached the bike, and secured the helmet beneath the mesh cargo net. Next, he started the bike, fiddled with the throttle, and slowly rolled down Dry Gap Pike.

After about 2 seconds of riding south on Dry Gap Pike, he noticed that the bike didn't run right. He tried to throw the throttle wide open like he had seen in the movies, but that just made it worse. He settled in, and started to enjoy himself, despite the bike being what had heard called 'a toad'

A few hours later, having passed very few cars, he decided to try the highway. While accelerating on an I175 on ramp, he again noticed the bike not running right, especially as he opened the throttle. What Schmudo didn't know is that this bike's carburetors needed cleaning. He looked down at the odometer, saw it read '70 miles,' and thought 'these tanks look they can go at least 200, right??'

Several more hours later, it was nearly 3am. Schmudo realized he had been riding for hours. He had gotten off the highway long ago, instead preferring speeding down residential streets and laughing at the fact that he was able to make dogs bark, seemingly on command.

At 3:30 am, the bike shuddered. He was rolling northbound on Broadway Avenue, and turned east onto a residential street. The bike died.

'by god. shit,' he muttered.

He got the bike running again, this time remembering that motorcycles had a "reserve" function, which 'let you drive for at least 50 more miles, right?' he speculated.

A block later, the bike quit. He was on Lawson Avenue in North Knoxville, and set the bike up on its kickstand, dismounted, and wondered.

'Well, the suns comin' up in a few hours, i should go get some gas and get this into my buddies garage,' he said quietly to no one in particular.

Leaving the helmet perched on the rear of the motorcycle, he regrettably cursed to himself

'Why did I throw that tarp away?! sure would be nice to cover this thing up!!'

He reached Broadway on foot.

'i am done. cuttin' my losses. i had fun, and no one will ever no. 'cept me. that's what matters,' he confidently muttered to himself.

Schmudo walked the five miles back to his apartment. He briefly thanked his lucky stars that, even though he had put nearly 70 miles on that old junky bike over the past few hours, he ended up only a few miles from where he started. 'funny, that,' he said to himself with a grin. Schmudo said a lot of things to himself with a grin.

Meanwhile, about the same time Schmudo ditched the KZ 400 (again, he had no idea and didn't care what make, model, or flavor the bike was), Donnie Hicks woke up.

"Rose, why have you been whining for the past six hours!?" He angrily looked at Rose, then the clock: 4 am. "Fine." He conceded and took her outside.

"Hm. Motorcycle is gone, I must be dreaming."

He walked around the entire apartment complex, slowly waking up and realizing that his motorcycle was indeed gone. He walked back inside his apartment to ponder.

Banjos make good WAKE UP music..

At 9 am, he filed a police report. 

At 6 pm on Sunday, June 9, he got a call from the Knoxville Police Department.

"Gordon. We have recovered your bike. You can pick it up tomorrow from the impound lot," Rhonda happily told him.

At 4 pm on Monday, June 10, Donnie went to the Knoxville Impound Lot. And who did he find but...

'What's that on the back' Donnie wondered

No body damage. The bike looks like it never left his kickstand. The first thing Donnie did was look at the headcock. As he suspected, someone had turned it to reserve. He opened the gas tank, and saw that there was but a mouse's swallow of gas left (that's a Southernism, ya know). He looked at the odometer: 144. 

'ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY FOUR!?' he cackled, laughed, and giggled all at once (those of you that know Donnie know what this sounds like). He checked his phone, where he kept detailed records of mileage and gas fillups, and confirmed that it had been 144 miles since his last fill up. Usually filling up around 100 miles, since he knows the reserve function does not work, Donnie was surprised that the bike went this far before 'puking out.'

He paid the impound lot $87 dollars to cover the "towing fee," signed a receipt, and rolled the bike outside of the gates. After going home and having his lovely girlfriend drive him back to the impound lot, he emptied the two gallon gasoline tank he had just purchased from his neighborhood friendly Ace Hardware and could still barely see the top of the gasoline in the three gallon KZ 400 gas tank. 'Yep, she was emptier than a cow's stomach on harvest day' he thought (that's another Southernism! You can use it!).

He drove home without incident, secured the bike in its same old spot with a bicycle lock, and then drove to Sonic to get a well-deserved Chicago dog.

My helmet on the left, Forsythia's on the right

Short on Linville Gorge Karma Points

Trip report

My dear friend P. Lee and I got to do something this weekend that she had been wanting to do for over a decade: climb a couple of classic routes in the Linville Gorge Wilderness Area. P. Lee is a busy gal, but Memorial Day weekend provided us with a window to meet up and do this. We hadn't seen each other since last year, and it was merely great to see each other, let alone do some multipitch climbing in this area.

We initially had hoped to camp near the trail head (see http://www.fs.usda.gov/Internet/FSE_DOCUMENTS/fsm8_050237.pdf for a map of the whole area; Linville Gorge wilderness is in map section G3). The Linville Gorge Wilderness Area is a surprisingly remote area of North Carolina. There is very little cell phone signal to be had, and the nearest town (Linville Falls) is very small, with very few amenities. These factoids will be significant later in this story… Successfully foreshadowed. However, as we are both semi-mediocre Weekend Warriors and we have amazing friends in Asheville, it ended up working out better to stay in a house. Specifically, the gorgeous house of our even more gorgeous friends Jackie and Paul Langille.

Jackie and Paul's house

Jackie and Paul recently moved to Asheville, NC after Jackie landed a tenure-track Assistant Professor job at UNC. However, both she and Paul were out of town this weekend, and they graciously agreed to let us use their house for sleeping time, eating time, etc. When I asked whether there was something I could do in order to repay them for their generosity, Paul asked that I scratch their cat Samantha behind the ears. 

Samantha the cat.

Check.

I arrived in Asheville on Friday, May 24 around 12pm. After dropping some things off…

The rack

...and relaxing for a few minutes…

I met up with my amazing friends Michael and Gretchen, where we had lunch at the White Duck, where I at some amazingly-Ashevillian tacos.

The White Duck. Duck duck white duck.

Later that night (7:20 pm), Liz’s flight arrived in Charlotte. Later that night (8:20 pm), she retrieved her checked bag and picked up her rental car, a 2013 Hyundi Elentra with 3,200 miles on it. Later that night (10:30 pm), Liz arrived in Asheville. Being that Liz and I are, well, Liz and I, we immediately started darting around the house, sorting gear, and planning for the next day. By 11:30pm, we had everything packed for the next day and were in our respective beds.

P. Lee flaking the rope

It is about a two hour drive from Asheville to the Table Rock Parking Lot. To find this location on the Earth, simply go to www.maps.google.com and type “Table Rock Parking Lot, Old Table Rock Rd, NC” into the map search bar. If your internet behaves like mine, it ought to show you precisely and accurately where the Table Rock parking lot is. Again with the foreshadowing, this is significant later in the story. Because it was Memorial Day Weekend, we anticipated “a lot” of traffic in the area, at least as much traffic as such a remote area can experience. The climbs we intended to get on, The Mummy and The Daddy are “trade routes,” considered to be ultra classic for both North Carolina and the southeastern United States. Liz had been eyeing these routes for years, never able to climb them for various reasons (i.e. lack of a partner, always doing other things in Linville Gorge, etc.).

“Let’s leave at 3 am tomorrow so we are first in line for the Daddy,” said P. Lee.
“Uber alpine start!” Donnie exclaimed.
“Ultra alpinismagawea,” Liz remarked.

At 3:30 am on Saturday, May 26, both our alarm clocks chimed. We were so excited to go climbing, we weren't particularly groggy, only taking about 10 minutes to throw our things in the rental car and start driving. In my preparations for the day, I had even gone so far as to make a full batch of cold press coffee and have our travel mugs filled for the car ride.

We arrived at Table Rock Parking Lot at 6 am sharp, just as the sky was getting light out. The parking lot was nearly full, which, as I previously alluded, was not surprising to either of us. Nevertheless, we found a spot and were pretty psyched.

6 am at Table Rock Parking Lot!

We started jingling down to the trail, seeing nary a headlamp or camp light on yet as we passed numerous tents and bivy sites a few hundred feet outside of the parking lot. Apparently, no one had beat us to the trail yet. Yipee. It is 0.5 miles along the infamous Mountains To Sea Trail to the Chimney’s, a popular top rope area that Liz had previously led boy scouts to. We stopped to gawk at the sunrise, taking the obligatory yoga-pose-photograph that my friend Hannah insisted I take wherever I travel. Another half mile south on the Mountains To Sea Trail, we found the trail we were looking for.

6:30 am near the Chimneys

At this point in the story, I feel it is necessary to mention part of the reason we decided to climb “trade routes” such as the Mummy and Daddy. Part of the allure for a place like Linville Gorge is the old-school climbing mentality that, if you are new to an area, you will get lost, scared, and tired. You will not simply “find the trail,” download a G.P.S. map of your destination, or otherwise have your hand held and be spoon fed the experience. Thus, we both anticipated that something would at least go a little bit wrong. I thought about “Linville Gorge Karma (LGK) points,” such that whenever something bad happened throughout the day, I assumed that we earned a few LGK points, hopefully preventing further mishap. Disclaimer: this is my interpretation of the old school North Carolina climbing mentality that I gleaned from various conversations with older North Carolina climbers and those who have gotten lost, scared, and tired on their first trips to the area. People that know Liz and I well will understand how these aforementioned tidbits are indeed alluring to us rather than discouraging.

“The trail we were looking for” is the third tunnel through the rhododendron forest on our right past the Chimneys, “marked” by a bowling-ball-sized chunk of bullquartz. Initially, we thought this was  game trail and walked by it. However, a hundred feet later, the trail behind to descend off the ridge, signifying we had gone too far.

          

  Climbing beta: the approach trail to the Amphitheater area of Linville Gorge is the third unmarked spur trail on the right side of the MST, approximately 0.5 miles past the Chimneys. If you start desceding off the ridge, you’ve gone too far, but just barely. After you realize you’ve gone too far, turn around on the trail and the climbers trail should only be a few hundred feet back.

We had been told by multiple people that this descent was miserable, and a waste of time. The guidebook mentions a way to avoid the descent by rappelling a nearby buttress, and we had heard from numerous others about other ways to avoid the descent gully, but…

P. Lee: “Let’s just go down the descent gully, it can’t be that bad, right?”
Donnie: “I don’t know, I heard from Bob that it was a waste of time.”
P. Lee: “Yeah, but it will be good to just do ourselves so we can see, right?”
Donnie: “Yeah, let’s just do it. We’ve probably done a lot more questionable descents in Colorado.”

The descent gully was a waste of time. It was barely light outside and the descent gully followed an actively flowing creek. It involved some second classing (i.e. using hands), but I suppose it was best that we could learn that lesson ourselves. And maybe it will get us some LGK points.

We found the base of our climbs, with The Daddy being first up. Liz led the first pitch, which was about 140 feet of super exposed metamorphic rock.

The Prow (right), Lost Cliffs (left), and Linville Gorge (center)

  

I actually got pretty nervous on that first pitch. Imagine standing on a vertical rock wall with 100 feet of air beneath you. On this first pitch, I was following Liz up, and thus already had a rope running to the top of the pitch, but I was nervous because I was up next. However, that being said, we were both still pretty psyched.

Top of pitch 1 on The Daddy

I led the second pitch, which was an 80’ pitch to a tree belay. Tons of exposure, tons of opportunately to place gear, and very mellow climbing. A perfect match for a new traditional climber like myself.

The third pitch was a bit confusing: the guidebook said to traverse up and right, but that looked hard. Plus, we saw a “bail 'biner” up there, indicating that the previous climber had tried to go that was but back off, presumably because it was too difficult. I initially led up to it to scope it out, but got confused, and, for the first time in my trad climbing career, backed off the pitch. I down climbed 30’ and Liz and I switched places, with her leading the third pitch. P. Lee is a very experienced climber, albeit only being 18 years old (snort). She figured out the pitch right away, bringing me up to the top of the third pitch.

At this point, I was getting really comfortable, having found my Zen. I discovered that following a pitch was more nerve-wracking than leading. When I was following a pitch, I knew I was safely attached to the top of the pitch, as so I could let my mind wander as I climbed. My mind immediately went to the next pitch, which I was scheduled to lead. would I be scared? Would I be able to find protection? Would I be able to even do it. 

  However, when I was leading a pitch, I was so focused on the task at hand that I didn’t have the spare time to let my thoughts wander: I was in the moment, not worrying about the future.

Behold, one of the fundamental reasons why I love climbing. It is difficult for me to be “in the moment,” and climbing brings me there.

I led the fourth pitch of the Daddy, which, in my opinion, is the money pitch. I had so much fun, and I wish that pitch could have been 1,000 feet long instead of 100’. By the top of the pitch, I had written a song about the pitch, sung to the tune of 500 Miles.

I would stem 500 miles.
And I would crimp 500 more.
Just to be the man who climbs a thousand miles not to fall down.

Most clever. 

We topped out at about 1pm, and I ate a granola bar. We spent 10 minutes at the top, taking pictures and reveling in the fact that we had just climbed a trade route that P. Lee had been wanting to climb for over a decade. We found the descent gully, which was a rappel station allowing an easy way down to the base of The Mummy and The Daddy. This is the approach that other climbers had suggested we use rather than the Amphitheater descent gully.

Disorienting picture. Which is right side up! Both of them!

The rappel was surprisingly cave-like.

Short rappel on the back side (north side) of the Mummy Buttress

After getting our rope temporarily stuck, we walked the ~200 feet downhill to the base of The Mummy. About 199 feet downhill (read: just before we got there), P. Lee turned her ankle. Game over, right? Nope. Turns out, P. Lee turns her ankle about once a week. It’s a chronically recurring injury that she is very use to. And P. Lee is pretty damn tough.

“Damn, we don’t have any ibuprofen, do we?” P. Lee asked.
“Nope. Whoops... Guess we should have planned for the worst. You could go soak your ankle in the creek to bring the swelling down?” asked Donnie.
“Nah, it will be fine. It always does this,” P. Lee calmly proclaimed.
“Does what?” asked Donnie.
“It freaks out at first, then it chills out.” P. Lee stated the obvious.
“…” Donnie quietly pondered.

We climb on. It is about 1 pm at this point, and we ate some lunch. We had stashed a pack at the base of The Daddy earlier in the morning with our lunches and extra water.

Next up was The Mummy, arguably the most popular route in Linville Gorge, and one of the most popular ones in the state.

P. Lee 20 feet up the first pitch of The Mummy

P. Lee cruised up the first pitch and brought me up. Again, while following her up, my mind wandered to the next pitch, which I would be leading. I started seriously doubting my ability to climb it. However, once I started leading, I had a blast. Besides, when I was leading, I didn't have to clean the gear that Liz had placed. P. Lee has a tendency to get gear stuck. I am being sarcastic, but also not. I understand her mentality: if a person has to fall 20 feet when 200 feet up a rock face onto a piece of metal the size of fishing lure, I would want it to be good and stuck as well.

We topped out of the Mummy at around 3 pm and found the trail back to the Table Rock Parking Lot, where we arrive at about 4 pm.

Climbing beta: when approaching The Amphitheater, hike one mile south of the Table Rock Parking Lot to the third unmarked tunnel through rhododendron on your right with a bowling-ball-sized chunk of quartz in the middle of the trail. Take this trail about 0.2 miles west. Just as it gets rocky and starts to go down the creek, stay on the same elevation and turn back south. There should be a faint trail. This trail follows the rim of the Amphitheater. When you exit the rhododendron, you will be on the Mummy Buttress. Continue to scramble southwest and downhill until you find the rappel station, a slung boulder with quick links. Do a short rappel (30 feet? See two pictures above) and you will be at the base of The Mummy.

Great! We made it! We climbed The Mummy and The Daddy! But as we were hiking out of The Amphitheater, something seemed off to me. We had just climbed two very classic routes in the area, and had accrued very few Linville Gorge Karma points…

Lo and behold,

Whoops!

.

As I previously mentioned, cell service is very spotty in the Linville Gorge Wilderness Area. That’s part of the point, right?

No problem, right? Just change the tire and limp down the 9 miles of steep, rutted, whooped-out road to the highway, limp into town, and get a change, right?

The rental car didn’t have a spare. Nope, it had a space for a spare tire in the trunk, but, alas, it was an empty space. It did, however, have a “self-sealing repair kit,” consisting of a pump and some magical goo that injects into the tire and purportedly seals the leak from the inside. We filled the tire with air, and could clearly hear the leak. We could not find an obvious hole, however, despite using water to find bubbles and thoroughly examined the entire tire surface.

“No problem, let’s call the rental agency,” Donnie thought.

“I’ll call them,” Liz confidently proclaimed.

The magical position to get a cell phone signal. Don't move your leg, P. Lee.

An hour later, we found the magical place to stand in the Table Rock Parking Lot that provided sufficient signal to call Enterprise. After dropping the call a few times, we finally got a stable signal and got a hold of “Keenan” from Enterprise.

It took me 52 minutes to explain to Keenan where we were. This length was not because the call dropped, I had a stable signal to Keenan from Enterprise for 52 minutes. It took me 52 minutes to explain to Keenen, a non-native North Carolinian, where the Table Rock Parking Lot was. I provided the names of Forest Service Roads that it is located along, I provided G.P.S. coordinates, and I provided him with explicit directions to the parking lot from Asheville. It took him a while to get it. Bless his heart, right? I had him confirm the location with me, because it still wasn’t clear to me that he knew where we were. He confirmed. He had it right. I asked him to confirm again. Again, it appeared that he had the location right.

6:30 pm, he found the location and told us he dispatched a tow truck from Charlotte, N.C. He said it would be approximately two hours until the tow truck arrived.

By this time, a group of people camping at Table Rock had adopted P. Lee and I. They fed us a steak dinner (I am not joking), gave us beer, and kept us company.

8:30 pm, no tow truck had arrived.

“There is no way there are going to find us,” P. Lee declared.
“I agree, let’s call them.” Donnie offered.

We called the tow truck, who we had been given a direct line to.

“Yeah, I am almost to you guys!” Tow Truck Driver #1 excitedly declared.
“Will you confirm the address that you are travelling to?” Donnie asked.
“Um…. 141 Ford Road, North Carolina.” Tow Truck Driver #1 replied.
“No. That is nowhere near us.” P. Lee and Donnie both replied.

9:00 pm: “We have to get off this mountain,” P. Lee stated.
“Yeah, that seems wise.” Donnie sincerely replied.

By 10:00 pm, we had re-inflated the car tire, which had lost about 10 pounds of pressure from when we filled it up earlier, and limped our way down the highway. We called Tow Truck Driver #1.

“Yeah, I couldn’t make it up these mountains! Where are you guys?” he asked.

By 10:45 pm, P. Lee and I realized that this guy wasn’t going to find us until we were in the world’s most obvious location. We again limped down the road to a Marathon gas station, which closed a few minutes after we arrived, and we waited.

11:30 pm, Tow Truck Driver #1 pulls into the Marathon gas station.

“My transmission is acting up! I don’t reckon I’m gonna be able to tow y’all to Charlotte!” he stated.
“So what are we going to do?” Donnie and P. Lee asked.
“Well, we’ll hopefully wait for a ride. Dispatch told me to load up your car and try to start driving back and see how she goes,” Tow Truck Driver #1 offered as consolation.

11:45 pm, we had loaded the rental car onto the flat bed pick-up truck.

11:50 pm, we pulled to the side of North Carolina Highway 181.

“Yep, She’s not gonna go any further! Dispatch told me turn her off, wait 30 minutes, and try again” Tow Truck Driver #1 stated.

He turned off all of his lights. Including his safely flashers. We were barely on the shoulder of this rural highway. I jumped out and turned the rental car hazard lights on. P. Lee and I both climbed into the rental car.

3:30 am, after some very restful half sleep that induced multiple Charlie horses and cramps, Tow Truck Driver #2 showed up.

3:45 am, we loaded Tow Truck Driver #1’s truck, with the rental car on its flat bed, onto the back of Tow Truck Driver #2’s truck. We limped to Charlotte.

5:50 am, we arrived at the Tow Truck shop to drop off #1’s truck and transfer the rental car to a different truck to take back to the rental agency.

6 a m, dropping Tow Truck Driver #1 off (left flat bed) to load rental car (left) to another tow truck. Thanks, Tow Truck Driver #2 (right)!

6:30 am, we had a new rental car (a Jeep Cherokee. With a spare).

6:45 am, we ate eggs and toast at Cracker Barrel.

8:50 am, we arrived at Jackie and Paul’s house.

8:51 am, we called people to let them know that we were alive.

8:52 am, we slept until 2:30 pm, having been awake for 31 hours.

We then went to downtown Asheville, ate some pizza, drank some well-deserved beer, and laughed at how ridiculous the previous 31 hours had been.

Life is not too bad.

However, we got to climb The Mummy and The Daddy. I would do it all again.

Viva la climbing.

Take home lessons for me:

1.      Assume the worst is going to happen, rather than that you’ll go to Linville Gorge Wilderness Area for the first time, climb what you indented, and get off without accruing substantial Linvlle Gorge Karma points.

2.      Life is different when you have no cell phone service to call for help.

3.      The Linville Gorge Wilderness Area is very, very remote.

4.      Climbing is the best.

Lots of love to Liz. Thanks to my family and Angelyn for understanding that while something wasn’t quite going as planned with P. Lee and I, we were safe.

Next up for P. Lee and I is a climb that is twice as long as the two climbs we did in Linville Gorge. I hope that means our “Epic” will be twice as long.

Love,

Donnie