Simple pleasures

Ahh, nothing can stir the memories like the smell of home-cooked marinara! My brutha Craig pleaded with me for years for the recipe. I finally relented the last time I saw him and gave him the two secret ingredients. I vividly remember many childhood weekend mornings waking to that aromatic delight as my mother would be cooking in the kitchen.

It's funny how the sense of smell is hardwired to the part of the brain that inventories memories. Lilacs remind me back to my time of blood poisoning and living in a bad trip for weeks on end. The smell of sage reminds me of Badlands and sitting on top of a crumbly mudcastle watching a herd of buffalo congregate below my dangling feet. The tinge of granite mingled with that of conifers wafting on the breeze reminds me of many climbing trips to Squamish with people who are dear to me, both those who now remain close and those who have moved on.

The weekend was good. The Fourth saw me biking to work and getting slapped with a little bit of heatstroke as I rode up a hill in the 90+ heat. Since it was a skeleton crew, I marinated some steaks larger than most small dogs, chucked them in my backpack and Tetzler and I proceeded to grill up a feast at work.

Saturday, Jessica and I met up and went climbing at The Flatirons. I swear it was already 90 degrees when we started hiking up the trail at 9:30 am. We got to Front Porch and dumped our stuff. We walked over to it and took a peek, and I will admit I was happy to hear her say, "That's really tall."

It was friggin hot. The thought of spending three pitches on dark-hued rock was akin to taking a nap in an oven. So we climbed the flatiron in front of us. Typical Flatiron climbing; 190+ feet - 3 pieces of pro (#8 nut, and two tri-cams). I set up an anchor on a ledge with a small tree and added a small cam and another tricam (Pinky!!!). Leaning back over the ledge and weighing the anchor I began pulling up the rope and looked down to see Jessica already about 10 feet up climbing. Heart skipped a little bit since I had just put her on belay. We worked on our communication skills when she got to the anchor.

Lowered her off and she went over a lip and reported it was scramble terrain. I set up the rappel, daisychained into a cam and tested the tree. Solid. Even though the thing was maybe 10 feet tall, it was probably 40 years old (hey, you try growing on a giant rock.) and rapped down to her, leaving about 3 feet on the tails when I got down.

A couple of beers and lunch at Southern Sun (Mmmmm, golden ale!) followed. Saturday night was a party at a friend's place. Arrived to catch the Village of Glendale's firework show. Pretty friggin impressive for a small little city. Good times with a, um, awkward moment, but we won't get into that.

Sunday I finished sanding, treating and staining some bookshelves for Sandi & Jason and then proceeded to tenderize my legs into pulled pork by going for a trail run. While jogging at a methodical pace, two things hit me: I could feel it had been three months since I ran with any ernest, and I'm finding running to be tedious and boring. Much more fun to mountain bike.

I have people hating me though since I can decide to just go for a run, tick off 4 miles and change, including .75 mile of hill, and think nothing of it. To them I say, now you know how I feel about my buddy Steve. The guy is a freak - in the nicest sense. His cardio fitness level is off the charts and I will never, ever go cycling with him.... maybe if an alligator chomps off one of his legs. But even then, only maybe and he would have to be inflicted with a bad head cold. THEN, I might have a chance.

Sorry no photos. Brought the camera on the climbing trip but left it in the backpack.

ARTIST OF POST - Badly Drawn Boy. One of those artists who makes me wonder, "How did I go so long without knowing about you?" Hour of Bewilderbeast is incredible.