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Day 3 Climb to Camp Muir

Day 3 The Climb to Camp Muir

I started my morning at 5:30 AM which gave me ample time to finish my previous blog post, I wasn’t able to finish it the night before because I had to move rooms.  Being the genius that I am I only made a reservation for a single night, when I needed to make it for two.

The new room turned out to be a blessing because it had a functional thermostat, and a real floor mounted heater.  I was actually able to get a night’s sleep without much of a problem.  The Nyquil I took the night before had done its job, and the pending feeling of a cold had subsided.  Once I was up and about, I made my way to my new found Saloon down the road to order breakfast.  This time when I entered there were a handful of local regulars, who didn’t seem to flinch at the site of someone wearing plastic Mountaineering boots, Goretex Pants, and a Gortex Shell.

We were set to meet at 8 AM near the gear rental shack, and our entire group was on the road by 8:30, our destination was Paradise.  Paradise is home to the Paradise Inn which was built in 1920, and the story goes that the wife of the wealthy individual, who financed the Inn, took one look at the area and said she was in Paradise.  Later years brought the building of a guide house, which today houses a visitor center, all of it owned and operated by the park service.

As we rode up the mountain to an elevation of 5400’ I was in awe of the various fir and pine trees that frame the road, closer to the entrance they stand like soldiers, tall, lean, and standing at attention.  The closer you get to Paradise the trees become, shorter, thicker, almost lazier, the elevation changing their DNA.  In the summertime I’m told the wildflowers fill the once snow covered fields with an array of colors that captures ones attention, and stirs child like emotions, I’ve been told that more than one person has broken the rules and stepped off of the trails to run their hands through the palate of color that exists where normally there is only white.

When we pulled into the parking lot of Paradise, I realized that my lack of planning not only caused me to pay full price at the Bunkhouse, but prevented me from enjoying a couple of nights of comfort and rustic luxury in the Paradise Inn.

As soon as we started to get off the bus, it started to rain.  I watched as the rain drops created dimples in the snow pack around the Paradise parking lot.  From the appearance of high snow banks in a handful of spots near the backside of the parking lot it was clear that the snow was recent, and it had come down heavy.

We made our way with our gear into the large atrium of the Paradise Inn, the place was adorned with furniture and fixtures that reminded you of a ski lodge from the Rat Pack generation, I could almost see Frank sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace smoking a cigar, while Sammy drunk on some expensive scotch would practice his moves on top of the long tables made of fallen pine trees. 

This day the tables would serve as our staging area.

Our guides made sure that we prepared for wet weather, making sure our GoreTex shell jackets and pants were put on, and beneath the shells we were told to wear only one layer of clothing, as it would not be long before our body temperatures would more than compensate for the rain, and the wind.

Once each of us proved to Dan that we were wearing precisely what he had suggested, he headed out the door.  Dan led our group, and he seems to me to be the consummate hustler.  The fact the rain had already started, and the possibility that the rain would change to snow as soon as we reached a higher altitude, seemed to propel Dan’s footsteps. 

Like JJ, Dan has the years of Mountaineering etched into his face, yet his complexion makes him look slightly younger than Dan.  He doesn’t say much without being prompted, he is focused, and when the switch turns on he’s ready to go, at times I’m sure some people can find him rough, but when the time is right he appears to joke around as much as JJ, albeit with a drier delivery. 

His sense of urgency moved us out the door with our gear, and onto the trailhead, he changed the tone of our entire group.  What once had been jovial and friendly became very serious and committed.   I would not truly understand why he had created such an urgent pace, until much later on in the day. 

As we started on the tail towards Camp Muir, it was abundantly clear that this day was going g to be far tougher than anticipated, and the real test would be the waterproof qualities of our gear.

Initially the snow was slushy, every step I’d take would cause my foot to slip, but it got easier after about 20 minutes, as the altitude started to change the snow became harder, it wasn’t as hard as a sheet of ice, but enough that my footsteps would stay in the foothold I’d create.

From Paradise to Camp Muir there is about a 5000’ change in elevation, and the distance on the trail is 3.8 miles, and usually takes 4 hours.  An hour into my initial ascent, and I realized that my training regime at home had been inadequate; I should have spent more time running hills with a weighted pack.

We took our first break about an hour twenty into our trek, and the sensation of taking the pack off was like being liberated from a Soviet Gulag.  During this break Dan made specific instructions for us to eat a snack, and to drink half of one Nalgene bottle.  This is a constant theme that is spread around by the guides, eat and drink it’s the only way to survive at altitude, there’s that and breathing. 

Comparing my Paleo snacks, to the Snickers, cookies, and other fast carbs around me, the only thing I could think was, “FUCK!”  The one time its okay to eat a fucking Snickers and I bring Paleo Treats.  Nice job douchebag.

During the second stage of travel the wind picked up, and the rain transitioned into sleet.  Wind on a mountain sucks, it makes it hard to hear, it makes it hard to see, and it makes it hard to move, add sleet to the mix, and it’s like having BBs thrown at the side of your head. 

As I walked the sleet bouncing off of the hood of my jacked reminded me of the sound of popcorn being popped in another room.

Our group traveled another 90 minutes.  It’s during this stretch of work that I found my mind drifting into negative thoughts.  When the group would traverse a steep ridgeline, I’d have images pop into my head of falling or sliding off the edge.  I don’t know where this comes from, is it just a result of years of negative programming, the years of failure, and self loathing, or was it some intuitive mechanism that was attempting to preserve my life?

It was hard to clear my mind and just focus on my steps.  I had to work at it.  What’s great for a neurotic person like me is that in Mountaineering you have to move one foot at a time, you don’t look back, and don’t spend too much time looking at what’s ahead, you move, one foot then the next…you just go.

For a guy who dwells on the past, and constantly tries to manipulate his future, it’s strange that I find myself gravitating towards an activity which is always and forever will be about the now.

As we continued through the sleet, my hands were exposed, and the wind gusts picked up, which caused a couple of fingers to go numb.  It wasn’t long after losing the feeling in my right fingers that Dan decided on our second break.  With the winds going 20+ mph it was tough trying to get my fleece out of my pack and onto my body without losing it.  It was twice as hard to get my Gore Tex shell back on, because it wanted to take off like a kite.  I had to get one arm in, while keeping the other arm near my body and then roll in the direction of the wind, using it to help me get dressed.

Learning to work in the wind is apparently another skill in the Alpine environment.

I could not believe how much warmer I felt just adding one layer of clothing, it felt like I’d gone from wearing shorts into a down pair of pants.  As we moved up the third phase of travel the sleet slowed, and turned into snow.  I could tell that the weather change was a result of altitude, because the snow we hiked through became more stable, like it had been falling for some time.

We traveled another 90 minutes, and reached a point where the altitude was about 9500’, this was a quick rest.  During this rest, the weather started to clear, and it was the first time we’d had a chance to look down, and see Paradise.  The view was spectacular.  The Paradise Inn was smaller than I recalled seeing that morning, and the adjacent mountains seemed to embrace our efforts, for just a moment I got a taste of what I’d been missing in my life for years.

We spend so much of our lives trying to reach what CS Lewis Calls the “inner circle”, that exclusive club that we feel we are not a part of, so we work harder to gain acceptance into that club only to realize that there is an even more exclusive club the  inner-inner circle.  It’s an illusion which seems to be a part of being an American. 

Faster, faster, better, better, more, more.

I am just one sinner among many, standing at 9500’ looking back down at the snow covered valley below, I was humbled, all other things in the world seemed trivial, and the inner circles that I strive for in my life seemed as significant as the Paleo Crunch crumbs which fell out of my mouth.  A handful of birds ate what I dropped further showing me how pointless some of my aspirations had become…

The final push after our ^3rd break was a 40 minute climb through the Muir Snow field.  It stopped snowing, and the win subsided.  It was a miserable climb; every step that I took gave way, and caused me to either slide, or stutter step.  We could see the shelter as we climbed, regardless of how many steps I’d take it never seemed to get closer.

Having a target to approach actually hurt more than it helped; I would break from taking the rest steps which we had learned the day before, and just try to move faster so I could get into the shelter.  I was no longer thinking about the now, but the future, and how great it would feel to take off these fucking boots. 

I was cold, wet, dehydrated, and now I was cranky.  I tried hard to focus on my footsteps, but it was hard to keep focused.

When we got to the shelter it was like we were home.  This four walled wood shanty might as well have been the Four Seasons in some warm beach climate.  It was felt great to get my pack off, I can only describe it as that sensation you get from holding a poop during a long car ride and that great sense of relief you get from unloading when a bathroom appears.  I was done, my poop was out.

We had climbed for five plus hours, when it normally takes four.  Unloading my gear that afternoon felt like I’d won the lottery, and hot water to cook my freeze dried food was the Ferrari I just bought with my winnings.  The rest of the afternoon and night was spent getting rest, and warming up. 

End day 3 here…

 

Day 4 Training Day

Day 4 Training Day

Joy of Altitude

I woke up several times during the night choking.  Not figuratively, but actually choking.  I was struggling for air.  Living at sea level has its disadvantages, and is a handicap in this new world.

My discomfort came from a combination of dehydration, sleep apnea, acclimatization, and the shits caused by the gluten in my freeze dried meals.

I repeated the following pattern at least 6 times during the night, just picture 1960’s sketch comedy, where their a simple repetitive sequence sped up with quirky music playing. 

I would wake up choking; find myself with a dry mouth, so I’d drink half to three quarters of a nalgene bottle.  I would go back to sleep and then get a rumbling in my stomach.  I’d wait it out, so I kept my eyes closed tossing and turning, waiting for that synergistic moment when I would have to pee and poop at the same time, when it was time I’d unzip my sleeping bag, put on my climbing pants, my down jacket, and grabbed my cleaning wipes, put on my shoes, and then crawl over two other people to get to the ladder down to the shelter floor.  Then walk in the cold to the outhouse.  I’d take care of business get back to the shelter, walk up the ladder, crawl over two people, get to my sleeping area take off my shoes, then my climbing pants, I would get my legs into the sleeping bag, then take off my jacket and zip the bag up all the way. 

I’d sleep for 30 minutes to an hour, then wake up choking again, and would repeat the entire cycle. 

After the 6^th trip I fell asleep for a couple of hours only to be woken up by JJ.

Training Day

We got a late start today, at least a late start in the Alpine Climbing world, starting at 7 AM in this world is like getting up at noon during a work week, and this wasn’t much of a problem because most of the day was spent close to Camp Muir with the focus on technical mountaineering skills training.

 JJ began the day reviewing some of the basics from the day before, including the rest step.  The rest step is a technique developed by American climbers which is simple yet highly effective.  It allows a climber to take short rests between steps as they continue to make an upward ascent.  With each step you take, you fully extend your rear leg so that all of your weight rests in your heels and on your skeletal system, by doing this your uphill leg can rest a moment in a bent position.  You then step upward and allow the weight to sit in the opposite heel. 

Watch video below:

  

We reviewed a handful of other techniques, and then learned a few more which are normally used while wearing crampons.  Crampons are great for traveling across glaciers, or anywhere there is ice.  Because of the previous day’s rain, sleet and snow the snow pack on the Muir Snow Field wasn’t conducive to learning to travel with crampons.  As a result we learned the motions of crampon walking, but didn’t actually get to do it with crampons.

It would have been an interesting sight from afar our ragtag group following JJ up and down the snow field, like a bunch of baby ducks following our mother.  JJ eventually led us up to Muir Peak, which rests about 10,600’ and is directly across from our shelter.  At the top of Muir Peak, there is a significant drop off on the opposite side of our climb, it’s clear if you slip in the wrong direction you will most likely die.  From the top of the peak we got our first chance to see a crevasse.  Crevasses’ are found in glaciers, because glaciers are moving ice formations they will sometimes form a deep crack at stress points opening up to create a crevasse.

Standing there at the top of Muir Peak looking into the blackness of my first crevasse I realized how insignificant I am when compared to the might of Mother Nature.  In this place I have less power than a single flake of snow; I am at the mercy of the weather, and all that surrounds me.

From the peak, we moved downward, practicing our plunge step in the soft snow.  We made our way to a steep incline, to practice self-arrest.  The ability to self-arrest is one of the many “un-fucking” yourself skills that is crucial to surviving in the mountains. 

Self-arrest is a technique that involves using your ice-axe, or ice-pick.  If you slip and start sliding, you use your ice axe to gain traction in the snow; hopefully it slows you down enough so you can kick your legs into the mountain.  The pick in dug into the snow provides a leverage point so you can use your legs to stop your slide. 

The mantra that was repeated during this phase of training was, dig deep pockets.

The key to self-arresting is getting your ice axe in the proper position based on how you fall or slip. If you slide on your ass, you have to make sure to roll onto your stomach, if you slide with your head first downhill, you have to get the ice axe to one side of your body so the axe will act as a pivot point for your entire body, and then once your body swings around you can kick your pockets.

Self-arrest is needed for personal safety, but also for group safety.  If you are traveling on rope teams and a member of your team slips, it is the responsibility of the others to prevent that person from falling deeper into danger. 

We must have spent a good 2 hours on self-arrest.  Spending time practicing the basic arrest, and then from various uncomfortable positions, such as sliding down head first, on your side, head first on your back, on your stomach, everything except sliding down your head. 

We took a one hour break, during which I went to the bathroom for the 8^th time.  Each time I was cursing the gluten in my freeze dried meal. 

It was nice to take in the beauty that surrounded us, other than the fog, you wouldn’t have believed that the previous day it had been snowing on us. 

After the break, we spent our time working on knots, rope handling, and anchors.  The knots, and hitches we worked on were ones that were taught to us back in Ashford, the only way to get better at tying knots, or working hitches is to practice, so getting more exposure to the basics was nice.

We mainly used pickets to create our anchors.  An anchor in alpine climbing can serve to create protection in areas where the climb might be exposed to a steep fall, or it can be the fixed point that you use to lower, or raise someone.  A picket is a piece of metal made of various sizes, typically in a vertical orientation, and looks similar to a tent stake. 

A basic anchor will have two pickets spaced next to one another, so that there is less than a 60 degree angle between the two.  In any type of climbing redundancy is the name of the game.  You always want a back up, so in setting anchors it’s important to have the anchor built into at least two places.  Once the pickets are placed you, use a cordelette (which is a short piece of smaller rope) to tie into the two anchors.  

You then pull the cordelette down towards the direction of the load that will be placed on the anchor.  You typically tie a knot or a hitch between the two anchors, which will equalize the load, and if one of the anchors should give this equalization will prevent the load from falling further.

 Just beyond the knot in the direction of the load, there is a loop where you clip your carabineer, and ultimately where you will place the rope.

It’s visually very easy to understand, yet I realize it’s probably tough with my broken English.

You can watch the video below for instruction on how to place a snow picket.

  

The snow picket can also be placed in a deadman anchor.  This is the type of anchor method I find intriguing.  There are all kinds of stories in the climbing community about people using ice axes, back packs, lighters, nalgene bottles, and even a snickers bar.  When there is no other choice, and all you have is a snickers, the deadman is apparently a way to anchor yourself.

A deadman anchor uses the snows strength to hold a rope in place, the object you are using in the deadman acts as a friction point.  In order to place a deadman, you have to dig the snow relatively deep, and at an angle that counterbalances the direction of the load.  When you have dug enough of the snow, you place your anchoring item into the bottom of your hole in a direction that will cause the item to dig deeper into the snow when under load. 

We spent a bit of time in small groups practicing our anchoring technique.  If I had brought a Snickers with me, I’m sure I would have tried to rappel down the slope on a snickers. 

The rest of the afternoon was spent working on crevasse rescue.  The reason you travel in rope teams across a crevasse is that you never know when and where the glacier may decide to open up on you.  If that happens to your team then you better be prepared for a crevasse rescue. 

In the event this happens you have to work as a team, to not only team arrest so no one else becomes a victim, but once arrested the team has to work to pull the fallen member out of the whole.   Essentially there is a step by step process to securing the team with the use of anchors, and then you use the anchor as a leverage point to build a pulley system to raise the fallen member. 

The rest of our afternoon was spent learning the steps involved in a crevasse rescue, I was overwhelmed.  There are so many steps, all of it foreign to me, in this world I am as about as useful as my iPhone is useful as a last meal.

While we worked close to camp, guides Dan and Tim spent the day moving up the summit route to secure the climb.  It had been a couple of weeks since the last summit of Rainer for RMI, the weather hadn’t cooperated, and none of the guides had been past the 3^rd stage of the climb.  It was Dan and Tim’s job to not only scout to see if the route was possible, but to dig up the fixed lines along the Clever. 

When they got back in the evening around the time we were done for the day, there was a buzz around camp that we would summit Rainer the next day.  Dan came into our shelter and talked to us for about 30 minutes. 

The game plan was to leave at 4 AM tomorrow morning, traveling about 90 minutes to the Ingrham Flats which rests at about 11,500’.  There we will take a short rest, then traverse across cadaver pass, aptly named for the deadbody that was pulled through the pass many years ago, and work our way up to the clever, along the spine, and reach disappointment clever.  This next section should take 2 hours. 

Disappointment clever is named for all the disappointed climbers who turn around at this point.  After the clever we’ll take another break and then travel another hour to “High Break”, here we’ll take a short break to add a layer of clothing, and then head towards Columbia Crest and the summit.  The entire climb should take 5-6 hours to the top, and a total of 8-10. 

As Dan and JJ talked about what lays ahead, the seriousness of the venture hit me.  I can’t believe how nervous I feel.  Have I bitten off more than I can chew?  Is this who I am?

Tomorrow is a day were trying is less important than doing.  One step at a time, one breathe at a time, I have to keep my min strong, and be ready to push my body.  I am strong.

If we summit, we will be the first team from RMI to summit in a couple of weeks.  I feel so tiny every time I step outsie my shelter, looking at the clouds move across the valley and in the distance near Mount Adams, I am in awe. 

The weather changes, it snows, it gets windy, and it gets hot.  All of it has its own beauty, in a world this beautiful how can I be so angry?

I’m ready to climb, and to succeed.  This is a moment to embrace.

Day 2 Orientation

I went to bed last night around 9:00 pm, I watched a couple episodes of Weeds on Netflix, and posted to my blog. Yesterday's post was cathartic, it was easy to write, and I haven't felt the words come out of my head that smoothly in quite sometime. Who knows if anything is wrote yesterday made any sense but, it sure did feel good.

Going to bed wasn't too hard because my body had been awake for close to 20 hours, perhaps my blog post yesterday was a direct result of the euphoria that is felt when hallucinating from exhaustion. I stayed in a place called Whitaker's Bunkhouse, which is an apt description of the place, the walls are thin, and the HVAC units for each room probably cost under $200, a piece. The heater that was in my room is the kind that they use in trailer offices, or temporary construction sites, it does a great job of pushing really hot air but doesn't control the temperature in the room, you add to this a knob which has had all of the markings removed, throw in a large asian who has a high body temperature and you have a recipe for a tough night of sleep.

The room was ice cold when I entered, so I turned the knob until I heard the machine turn on, then ignored it. The room eventually warmed up, and I fell asleep.

I slept for the fort 5 hours undistributed, the next four hours I tossed and turned. I in fact made constant transitions from the bed to the floor. I felt like a dog looking for the coolest spot on the floor, and then id get cold and get back into bed.

I eventually started to strip down, until I only had my boxers on this didn't help much, so I got up at one point to turn the machine off, which only made it worse because in a short period it was too cold, so I got up and turned it back on.

As a result I of this night of hot and cold, I woke up feeling poopy.

I got breakfast down the road from the bunkhouse, at a small bar and restaurant, a modern incarnation of a Wild West Saloon. The entire place was made of wood, it was dark, and smelled of stale alcohol. I was expecting some grizzled man named Cookie to come from the kitchen, and bartender with a handle bar mustache to offer me a drink, but I was disappointed to find an older woman, and her cute young daughter. The mother had the years of hardwork, and dealing with drunken assholes written in the wrinkles other face, while the daughter with bright pink cheeks, perfect blonde hair, had was shy and had an innocence in her eyes which told me that a trip to Seattle on a weekend might be a really big deal for her.

I was happy to find a classic bar menu of hamburgers, steak, fries, and a breakfast menu that gave me exactly what I needed bacon and eggs. The food took a while, there were probably 10 other people there waiting, but the fact that the mother was the only cooking all of these meals, while she was teaching her daughter how to setup for the day forced me to be patient. If anyone can understand their situation it's me.

After breakfast I drove to the park entrance and took a couple of pictures at the entrance of Mount Rainer Park. A small part of me felt like a singer who visits his venue the night before a performance and just stands on the stage, peering into an empty auditorium, visualizing his work, and imagining the response of his audience.

I got back to the Bunkhouse right before 8 am. The bunkhouse is owned and operated by the family that owns the guide service RMI, the family also owns the company Whitaker Mountaineering which sells and rents gear. The bunkhouse is two buildings, part of a larger campus dedicated to Mountaineering. RMI is a company that is more than 50 years old started by Lou Whitaker who climbed Rainer as a kid, and had been all over the world climbing,

I met my group during orientation. An interesting group of 13 other people, the youngest in our group is 19 who happens to live in Arlington, and the oldest is well over 55, and even a mother of 3 from Colorado who wanted to try something technical. More than half of the people are from the East Coast, and most of the people have little or no technical Mountaineering experience.

I didn't have much of a chance to get into a conversation with anyone that exceeded finding out their name, where their from, and where they were staying. As a consummate stalker I've been observing the others, and it's interesting how various personalities take to a group, it's like watching a chemistry experiment. Take various chemical elements, put them together and watch the atoms moving around to form a compound. I have no idea what the compound of this group will become this week, but so far I've marked the elements of the group that I will bond best.

For the most part the day was uneventful, we had a slide show to start the day which explained the history of the company, and the overall itinerary of the course. As I sat and watched the pictures of the climb to the Summit of Rainier, I realized that this exactly where I wanted to be, yet understood the serious nature of this venture.

All thought its a small number, people die on this Mountain.

Rainer is technical, it's tough, the weather gives you enough of a beating you know what to expect in higher altitudes, yet there is ample opportunity to learn hands on the technical skills essential to Mountaineering.

Every other group this week that was out on Rainer did not make it to the Summit. The weather made it unsafe to proceed beyond 12,000 feet. I'm hopeful because at least one or two of the days this week the weather is supposed to be clear enough for us to make an attempt.

JJ who is our lead guide has been 4 of the 7 summits, and has made 4 expeditions to Everest, and he routinely leads clients up Aconcagua in Argentina which is one of the 7 summits.
JJ is built like most world class climbers he is 5'9" with shoulders built to carry a pack, his skin weathered from the sun, but its the hue that can only occur from having the suns rays reflect off of the snow and bake your face. During his orientation he talked extensively about how mountaineering comes down down to learning efficiency, and making smart decisions. He could not stress more that most deaths that occur at high altitude are a result of poor decision making.

After the slide show and orientation, we pulled all of our gear out and had it inspected by the guides. The rest of the day was spent learning the basic knots, and hitches we would use this week.

The final skill we learned was something I call learning to unfuck yourself. We are going to travel on fixed lines this week, and climb as a group tied together. Along the snow fields, and glaciers we cross this week there is a possibility of having someone falling through. If this should happen we are going to be taught how to do a rescue to pull that person out, but today we were taught how to ascend a rope using only prussit chords, and your desire to live.

Now only if Crossfit rope climbs allowed for a harness, and prussit chords.

This will be the last post to the blog until Friday or Saturday. I will not have a cell phone, or my iPad. It will be nice to be out of touch and disconnected from the world for a bit, thanks everyone for their support, I'm looking forward to finding out if this will lead to the next chapter in my life.

Day 1 Seattle Travel Day

Day 1 Trip to Seattle.

I woke up at 5 am for an 8:30 flight to Seattle.  I didn't sleep very well mainly because I waited last minute to do my final gear check, and pack.  I think there was a part of me that was still in uncertain if this was still just an idea in my head, or an actual trip that was about to unfold.  

I used to love climbing mountains in Colorado, but that was a different time, different place, and I was a different person.

When you are obese are afraid.  There is no question about it, you are constantly afraid.     You are afraid to go out, you are afraid to look in the mirror, you are afraid to see your own family, most of all you are afraid of success, and self actualization.  

The excess weight is a shield from all that can hurt you, it keeps you encumbered, slow, it keeps you numb, so you are always safe in a self embalmed tomb of nothingness.

I've built up enough negative talk to cripple five lifetimes, it's been tough to shave back the years of self-pity, broken hopes, and lost self.  I can't explain how I've felt recently, because the number of emotions that swim through my mind and body in any given week could drown an olympic swimmer.  
I find it strange that my mind is still working against me.  

Three nights this past week I've sat on the couch, stared at my shit, and just ignored it.  I didn't even know what time my flight was until a few minutes before I went to bed.  I almost feel like a part of me wanted to see this trip fail.  You add to this subconscious mess a lingering injury from the Tough Mudder, and you have a week were most of the ideas in my head were geared towards quitting.  

It was hard to push on, it was hard enough that I didn't finish my next two posts on the Tough Mudder.  I have drafts for both but haven't touched them, because I was self medicating, only this time it was with idle time, and not food.  The pain in my shoulder was just acute enough for the possibility of canceling the trip to enter my thoughts. 

Fortunately enough of my conscious mind made decisions that would not allow me to cancel this past week I made two visits to the chiropractor, one to urgent care, one to an orthopedist, one with a massage therapist and I have one with an orthopedicst when I get back who specializes in sports medicine.   I got enough reassurance this week that I wasn't going to cause serious damage, that I had no choice but to proceed. 

This morning Nancy drove me to the airport, and I got to the airport about an 1:45 before my flight. I bought my ticket through US Airways but the flight was operated by United, who the fuck knows what that means, what I do know is it ended up meaning bullshit for me.I waited in line for about 25 minutes, which wasn't that bad considering the number of people in line, but when I stepped up to the check in terminal, i could not bring up my reservation, i used my confirmation code, my drivers license, and the credit card that I used to by the ticket, each time the screen told me to contact a representative.

I thought ok, no problem, there were easily 15-20 employees working behind the counters.  I approached one person who asked me to wait, so i took a step back from the counter to watch what was going on.

The couple ahead of me had their flight screwed up the day before so United put them up in a hotel, and they were coming back to get on their new flight, but there was a new problem with their tickets.
Note to the world, small Asian women will only take so much shit before, the ninja, samurai, sumo wrestler in them comes out.  She was salty, and ready to fuck some people up.  Her justified hostility made me laugh, and allowed me to keep my unpleasant side to take the day off.

I stepped cautiously around her, you never make sudden movements when going around s predator, after getting clear of her fangs, I approached the guy in the jacket again, and asked for help, he pointed me down towards a guy a few stations down who was working on fixing one of the ticket printers.  The guy ignored me, and continued to fix his machine, I said nothing, but I could feel the guy was tensed up.

So I stepped around this new Angry Asian person, to the United Representative who finally acknowledged my existence.  I handed her my ID, and she was snippy, not an ounce of niceness in her body.

 

I asked her what was going on, she ignored me, and typed 500 keystrokes which I'm sure only resulted in her typing stop name, I stood there wondering what was going on, so I took a step back again, and looked around, i realized that there were only 4 or 5 United employees, everyone else was working for a third party.

From what I could figure out the contractors could print your luggage stickers, and weigh your bags but couldn't do anything else, which meant the other 15 people were really just window dressing.  The snippy lady eventually felt it ok to answer my question, and said that the reservation was through US Air, and not United so she had to transfer the information to their system, regardless of the reason it was taking up too much time. 

After all the BS at ticketing, I was surprised by how quickly I got through security, in the end I got to my gate right as they called my zone.   

When I got to my seat I prepared for the flight, and realized that the two seats next to me were empty.  As the last few passengers entered I started to think I might have an empty row...not to be, as the second to last couple to get on the plane would be my travel companions.I'm not a racist because I just hate everyone, so take this for what it is, I might be a jerk or an ass but fuck you and your bleeding heart, I could just that I have a best friend who is of this ethnicity, but thats usually the real racists beard.  

Most ethnicities have certain odors, or more appropriately specific smells are attributed to specific cultures.   My mom likes to say that all you white folk smell like meat, that your sweat is meaty.  I don't know what meaty sweat smells like but i do know what whiteman B.O. smells like its unique to the pigmentally challenged brothern of the world.

When I was a kid my friends would come over to my house and say that my house smells funny, and I'd say shut up, because it didn't smell.  What could smell better than potent kimchi, rotting bean paste, and dried up fish everywhere?  

Sorry, we can't all grow up with potpourri in the bathrooms, and moms who bake cookies...crackers...
So the guy who sat next to me was a man with curly dark hair in what looked like a weird combination of a bouffant, with an Elvis ridge at the top, he had olive skin, and a the look on his face who make one thinks he sucked lemons as often as he took a breathe, he was dressed like an average American but he and his wife were speaking another language which had lots of guttural sounds, and when I said hello they barely made eye contact.

When he sat down next to me, I smelled an odor which I cannot describe but absolutely can place.  You don't want to admit it but you know exactly what I'm talking about, you've smelt it in certain taxi cabs, and in and around halal grocery stores.  I don't know what it comes from, but it has to be the result of something dietary.

In my case it's a smell that bothers me.  I kept getting whiffs of it, and it was crushing me.  Initially he was relatively courteous about elbow space, and we played the dance of airline seats where he would shift and sit forward, allowing me to sit back and relax my shoulder then we would change places.  All went well for two hours, then his wife gave him a jacket which he used as a blanket and it was nighttime for my new friend.

The guy leaned back, dropped his elbows to his sides taking up the maximum space possible, then he took off his shoes, and put his feet in the seat pocket in front of him, and his legs were in a butterfly position.  My first thought was "You mother fucker",  you just crossed into my bubble, and i don't like it.  It is around this time that I caught a serious smell of his foot odor, which was an exponential dose of the halal market.

I did what anyone in this situation would do...I fell sleep to make it go away.

When I woke up we were descending into SeaTac, the only bit of solace I had was the possibility that my snoring woke his ass up, or made it hard to for him to stay asleep, or maybe I gave him a good cheesy fart from dinner the night before.  

Seattle is big.  

The city is much larger than I imagined it, and I drove my Hyundai Gensis rental car (got to plug my people's),  towards REI from the airport, as I got closer to the city I started to eat more and more curious about this place, and it made me wish that I had 3 or 4 days to explore the city limits.  

The area around REI reminded me of Northern California, the architecture of the buildings, the types of businesses, and the look of the people that I saw.

While driving through the neighborhood, I came across a simple realization I am in love with the West Coast, I feel this draw towards the West, I almost feel tuned to live on the west coast.  Every time I step foot on the West Coast, I feel as if I belong here, it calls to me, and I don't understand why.

I went to REI to pick up some last minute gear, and food for the trail.  I brought paleo packs, and paleo granola for breakfast, but I needed some more food with high calories so I bought some freeze dried backpackers meals, mostly rice and chicken.  I also picked up packs of tuna, puréed fruit and veggies, and some endurance gels.  I have no idea what I take I daily for calories, but I won't have access to anything and I need to make sure I can keep my body temperature up at 10,000 feet.

After REI, I had lunch at a place called Lunchbox Laboratory, which is one of the many Gourmet Burger joints that have opened in the US over the last ten years, so many of them try too hard, and usually disappoint.  This place delivered.  

I had what they call the Dork which is a duck and pork combination patty.  It was good, with bacon it was even better, i liked the Dork enough that I ordered a regular Kobe burger to go, which I had for dinner.

After my pit stop I got on the road south towards Ashford.  The car I have doesn't have a gps, so I used my iPhone, which gave me a little bit of trouble, I've never used the maps before to navigate, so it took a bit of figuring out, and adjusting, but it did the trick, and got me on the right path.  This is my way to tell you that I twice I had to flip a bitch, until I realized there was this arrow in the corner that you tap that tracks your movement.

The weather was overcast for most of the day, and there was intermittent rain the entire drive to Ashford, it would drizzle for a few minutes, then stop, the sun would break, and it would drizzle again.  The further I got into the mountains, the more it rained, and for 15-20 minute spurts it would come down hard, which made driving on the one land road tedious. 

Even with the constant, changing weather, I felt free, as I traveled the road, I couldn't help but listen to music that made me sing, smile, and recall the sweet memories from a time long since misplaced.  I think that driving fast, with the windows down and singing your favorite song is a decidedlyAmerican tradition.  

I still don't know if this sense of freedom is hitting me because I'm out of the stresses of my life, or if it's because I'm going to detach myself from my over stimulated life, for years now I've told myself I would take a day and just disconnect, not because I want to hide, but just so I can hear myself.  I hear the West.

There is the old saying "Go West Young Man", each day I get older, the further I step away from being a young man, and wonder what could have been, what should have been, is this trip about overcoming past obstacles, or is it about discovering who I am at 33, figuring out if the person I thought I should be, is really the person that I am, or the person that I'm becoming.  

Is the draw of the West Coast the cause of this inherent questioning of my life or, were the questions always there, and the freedom of the West is allowing them to awaken.  This happens every time I travel West, I questions who I am and what I'm doing.  

Po Bronson calls his generation, the Brilliant Masses.  A generation of creative, intelligent, and talented people who are mired in mediocrity, not because it's hard doing what society expects, but because it's too hard to do what you are destined to do.

If this post seems all over the place, it is because my mind is all over the place.  I look forward to starting the day tomorrow.

I'll spend the next two nights here at Whitaker's Bunkhouse, in the morning I'll register with my guide, check my gear, meet my team, and start training for glacial travel.  As much as I am excited, I am afraid of succeeding at this thing, because what does that mean if I do get to summit, Rainer is not the highest peak in the lower 48 but it is the most like Denali, which is my ultimate goal, if I get past this one, it means I can't bullshit anymore, and I have to do what I said I would, what a foreign idea getting what I want because I set my mind to it, get out of the way fat man....