Day 202: Can Somebody Please Belay Me?

I was out celebrating my successful story time with my friend Philip when I randomly ran into my other friends Maribeth and Brandon in Little Five Points. They had been eating dinner nearby and said they were leaving the bar soon because they were getting up early to drive to Chattanooga, Tennessee.

"I want to go!," I said. "Can I come?"

They said, "Sure."

Philip was listening to the conversation. He furrowed his brow and gave me a look like, "Are you crazy?" Less because I was agreeing to rock climb, more so because who makes a decision to tag along on an out of state rock climb at 12:30am?

Answer: people drinking Stellas attempting to do 365 things they've never done before.

I ignored Philip, and told Maribeth that I was serious. I really wanted to go.

When I woke up at 7am on Saturday morning, however, I did not want to go. In fact, I laid in bed for 20 minutes and went back and forth, with myself, about whether or not I should just blow the whole thing off.

The internal dialogue went something like this:

"Get up, loser! When else are you going to have an opportunity to rock climb?"

"Ughhhhhh...sleeeeeeep...I have a headache. I need sleeeeeeeeep."

"Stephanie, you can sleep on the way to Tennessee. These are serious rock climbers who know what they are doing. Just get up!"

"This bed is sooooo comfortable. I want to sleeeeeeeeeeeeep."

I texted Maribeth, "I don't think I'm going to make it. You guys have fun!"

And then after beating myself up about being so lame, I forced myself to get up and texted her again, "Nevermind. I'm coming. Don't leave without me."

The ride to Tennessee was, for me, painful. Thankfully Brandon was in the driver's seat and Maribeth was riding shotgun, so I stretched out in the backseat and slept, waking only when we went to a gas station to pick up breakfast (McDonald's) and lunch (Subway). This was, as I mentioned on the start of vegetarian week, the first time I'd ever bought breakfast and lunch at the same time.

Pardon the pun, but buying two meals at the same time felt like rock bottom.

When we arrived at Sunset Rock on Lookout Mountain in Chattanooga, I was surprised that we go there by way of a very nice, seemingly exclusive neighborhood at the top of the mountain. The houses we were passing were gorgeous, and likely boasted some of the greatest views in the city. We met up with our friends Jeremy, Megan and Dustin, and parked our car in a gravel lot next to the nice houses.

The hike down the mountain to where we would climb reminded me a lot of hike I did with California Kevin and Mountain Man in Yosemite right down to me wearing my super radical, super outdoorsy Marmot fanny pack. Lots of greenery, lots of scenic views.

Only this time we had dogs. Now, I love dogs. I do not love them, however, when they are wandering close to the edge of cliffs. I was already worried that I would soon plummet to my death. Now I was worrying about the pooches doing the same.

We made it to the rock that we were going to climb and I was a bit confused because while I didn't expect to see thousands of bolts screwed into the rock for us to climb, I thought that I would at least see crevices in the rock for us to put our hands and feet while climbing.

There were but a few.

Jeremy and his friend Dustin stayed behind while we hiked to set up the ropes that we would be using to climb. Once they made it down to where we were, there was still some more setting up that needed to be done. I marveled at how much gear is needed to rock climb.

Maribeth, Brandon and I stayed out of their way, enjoying the mountain air.

At one point Maribeth stood up and started rooting through her bag, pulling out a harness and her own rock climbing shoes. Maribeth and I are pretty close. I know and/or participate in nearly all of the hobbies that she does, so to say I was surprised is an understatement.

"Since when are you a rock climber?," I said.

She laughed and kind of took a step back from her gear, almost in a, "What? This old stuff?" kind of way.

"Haven't you ever heard about my awful experience at Atlanta Rocks?" Atlanta Rocks is an indoor rock climbing gym.

"No," I said.

"Oh yeah," she went on, "I decided when I moved back from Jacksonville that I wanted to learn how to rock climb so I bought all of this equipment. And then I went to the gym and left in tears when I realized I didn't have anyone to belay me."

She burst out laughing remembering this experience, and therefore, so did I.

Her move back to Atlanta was tough enough; the thought of her standing at the base of the manufactured rock with all of her equipment in her hands with no one to help her was both sad and hilarious all at the same time. Extra sad that her plan, I presumed, was to go to Atlanta Rocks to possibly meet someone, a cute someone who would've been more than happy to belay her.

"Certainly," I insisted, "There were dudes there that could've helped you out."

"Nope," she said, still laughing. "Everyone there was with someone!"

Ouch. Add rock climbing to the long list of things singles can't do, I guess.

Dustin and Jeremy went first and made it look easy. They hit a handful of difficult climbs along the way, and I got to see how rock climbing is as much of a mental challenge as it is a physical one. Brandon, also a beginner, but fresh from a tour of duty in Afghanistan showed his strength as well. He may not have been as smooth, but he got to the top impressively.

I decided, after all of the boys took a turn, that I would go first for the girls. Not because I was so excited to take on the challenge, but because my nerves were getting the best of me, and I wanted to get it over with. No question, since I’m constantly trying new things, I’m nervous a lot. But at this point, I hadn't eaten meat in five days, I had jumped out of a plane just a week prior, and faced 20 kindergarteners the day before. This week was emotionally and physically exhausting.

Maribeth offered me her shoes. She wears a half-size smaller than me, but insisted I'd be able to wear them. I started putting them on and it felt like I was stuffing a 15 pound load into a 12 pound bag. They were entirely too small.

"They're supposed to be tight," Maribeth assured me.

Well, then, mission accomplished. They were definitely tight.

Now I am already self-conscious of my legs and of the fact that I have, thanks to my mother, cankles, the kind of leg where the calf more or less becomes the foot with little to no ankle definition whatsoever. My friend Amanda at work insists that I do not have cankles, and she has gone to great lengths to point out others who do have them so that we can compare mine to theirs.

Well, in Maribeth's rock climbing shoes, there was no question; even Amanda would have to agree. I had cankles. Serious ones.

The tightness of the shoes made any and all extra skin and fat on my feet squeeze out to my ankle. Thank God I was wearing long pants because it was embarrassing. And disgusting.

Plus, the shoes really hurt my feet and it was hard to get used to how tight they were.

I climbed up onto the first rock/platform where I would begin the climb. Megan assisted me in putting on my harness, which was quite similar to the harness that I wore skydiving the week before. As if my cankles weren’t unattractive enough, I now had more ropes squeezing the top part of thighs and stomach.

She asked her husband, Jeremy, if she could belay me.

Megan looked at me and said, "Is that okay with you?"

Belaying is crucial in rock climbing. The belayer is the person attached to the climber who stays standing and weights the climber, like an anchor. If the climber should fall, their attachment to a belayer would ensure they wouldn’t fall very far.

Obviously I didn't care who belayed me and most everyone except me (and Maribeth) seemed capable of doing so. I was concerned, however, about the difference in Megan's weight and mine. If I fell, there was a great chance that I would cause her to fly wildly in the air or tip over completely.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?," I asked.

She and Jeremy assured me it would be fine, and I believed them, so I went with it.

The nerves I was feeling here were similar to the nerves I felt when I went skiing with Elizabeth and company in Tahoe. The “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of all these people who do,” kind of nerves. That’s, I think, why skiing and rock climbing seemed much scarier to me than skydiving—all activities are scary, but adding the fear of being embarrassed on top of it makes some challenges extra terrifying.

After everything was clipped and secure, it was time to go for it.

“Stick your hand in Jeremy's chalk bag,” Megan said, seconds before I turned around to start the climb.

The phrase sounded dirty and I laughed out loud when she said it.

“Wow, Megan,” I joked, “Way to just offer me an opportunity to touch your husband's chalk bag. It's kinky. And I like it.”

The chalk was for my hands, to keep them from slipping. I happily did as I was told, knowing full well that I was going to need a lot more than the chalk in Jeremy's bag to make this experience successful. I wished Jeremy had an "athletic ability" bag or a "miracle" bag.

After I was appropriately chalked, I turned around and stared at the wall. There were no obvious grooves or shelves that I could see to put my feet or hands on. Just straight, smooth rock.

I heard Dustin ask Jeremy quietly, "Has she really never done this before?"

"No."

"Wow."

My feelings exactly, Dustin. Actually, my feelings were more of the four-letter variety, but "wow" was appropriate too.

I turned around and sort of whiningly said, "I mean, I don't even know where to start."

Immediately, everyone jumped in and started giving me suggestions on how to start, where to put my hands and feet.

Rock climbing requires you to rely so much on the people with you to guide you to places you can't see, places that can get you to the next level. I liked this. There was an instant feeling of community and camaraderie.

"Put your hand in that crack," someone shouted to me, “And pull yourself up.”

Again, with the dirty talk. Another reason to love rock climbing.

With their help, I was able to achieve far more climbing than I ever could've imagined, which really wasn't that much. The shoes, while squeezing my feet past the point of recognition, were extremely helpful in allowing me to literally climb up the flat rock. I don’t know how, but I’m sure it must’ve been the shoes that allowed me to pull that off. I didn’t make it very far, and grew frustrated several times when my friends were saying, “Just grab that,” or “Just a little bit farther.” There was nothing about rock climbing that was “just” anything. There were some great achievements on my brief time on the rock, but I soon reached a point and physically had no strength to pull and no mental capacity to figure out how to move on. I was tired and when I turned around to see everyone staring at me, I started to feel sick, so I asked to come down.

Repelling was my favorite part because you just let go of the rock, lean back and let the belayer ease you back down to the ground. Everyone was really supportive and said they were impressed by my performance, particularly because I hadn’t ever done it before. They also informed me, after I was safely on the ground, that this climb was not for beginners. Thanks for telling me now.

After my piss-poor performance, it was Megan's turn. I had asked earlier what kind of body type makes a good rock climber and everyone agreed that long limbs make the difficult reaches easier to accomplish. Megan proved that those without long limbs can still dominate, and her petite frame leapt to the top like a spider monkey. I was super impressed.

Maribeth’s was unable to overcome her experience at Atlanta Rocks, and made it to the same spot on the rock that I did. She seemed frustrated. I couldn't blame her.

I'd be frustrated too if I'd come out there with my own harness.

Day 39: Back on the Train

Since Mountain Man entered into the scene, there is has been a renewed interest in the blog. So I feel compelled to tell you that, yes, things were going just fine. Everyone was still getting along. The trip was still fun. No, you cannot see a picture of Mountain Man.

Wednesday morning, we had to make some decisions about the next couple of days of our trip. There were still some places that CK wanted to show us and that we wanted to see in Yosemite. Our only real deadline was to get to San Francisco by Thursday night because we were taking the red-eye to Boston.

Do we stay in Yosemite for another day and night and have CK drive us to San Francisco on Thursday? Do we leave Wednesday night and try and spend some time in San Francisco? For Team Temecula, not knowing the answers to these seemingly important vacation questions would have been a complete nightmare. For us, though, it was pretty standard.

We were Team Whatever.

Do want a beer? Sure, whatever.

How are we going to get from Yosemite to San Francisco? I don't know, whatever.

Your shirt is on fire. Really? Whatever.

We were just happy to be there. What. Ever.

CK had been so accommodating and such a great tour guide that the thought of him driving us three hours to San Francisco only to turn around and drive back did not sit well with Mountain Man or me. But I left it up to Mountain Man to make the final decision because a.) I really didn't care and b.) I'm a Libra and we are horrible decision makers. If he'd left it up to me I'd probably still be there, weeks later, weighing the pros and cons.

Finally Mountain Man decided that we would spend the morning in Yosemite and then take the train to San Francisco Wednesday afternoon. Day 39 was another full day of things I'd never done before: see trees big enough to drive your car through, ride an Amtrak train to San Francisco, eat a vegetarian burrito prepared in a truck and ride on the back of a scooter.

My parents told me that I had actually seen Redwoods before, when I was 11 and our family took a trip to San Francisco. But all I remember about that trip was riding on a cable car and the hideous fuchsia cardigan I rocked in just about every picture.

Seeing the sequoias in Yosemite was different. Usually when I see something as an adult that I've seen before as a child, it always seems smaller and less impressive. Not the case with the sequoias. Even though I was bigger, the trees seemed so much grander and more beautiful. Once again, CK's knowledge of the area came shining through as we hiked (not walked, hiked) the Tuolumne Grove of Giant Sequoias. We saw the Dead Giant, a tree that is 29.5 feet in diameter. Back in 1878 a tunnel was cut into the tree, and visitors could pay a dollar to pass through on their way to Yosemite Valley.

I pay 50 cents to drive in and out of Atlanta on Georgia 400 and there isn't any fun tree to drive through. They should change that.

We also came upon a sequoia that had fallen years ago. This tree was so big and hollowed out that it was possible to walk/crawl through it. Mountain Man made it the whole way, but about halfway in I started to feel like I was in the Spider Cave again, so I quickly found an exit.

We left Tuolumne Grove and headed back to CK's house to load up our stuff and head to Merced, where we would catch the train to San Francisco. We wanted to give ourselves plenty of time to stop and pick up a burrito from Ramon, a Mexican man who makes and sells food out of a truck he parks at a convenience store. CK said it's one of the best burritos he's ever had and everytime he drives to Merced to go to the grocery store or whatever, he stops and picks one up.

I love experiences like these. I love that if I was alone and had stopped at that convenience store and saw that burrito truck, there is little to no chance that I would have bought and eaten something made in it. But thanks to CK and his infinite wisdom about Yosemite and the surrounding cities, we knew it was worth it to get Ramon to whip us up three veggie burritos. CK would enjoy his on the way home to Yosemite while Mountain Man and I would enjoy ours on the train to San Francisco.

That is, of course, if we didn't miss the train, which quickly became a possibility after Ramon decided to take extra time giving these three burritos extra special attention.

Once we had the burritos and we were back in the car, CK assured us that the train station was not far from where we were and that we'd definitely make it on time. I was relieved, until I watched a train whiz right past us on the tracks that ran parallel to the road we were on.

And then I saw something that I had never seen before in the 72 hours that I had known him. Cool, calm, and always collected CK was nervous.

I've only experienced a handful of truly low points in life, but missing a train because I stopped to buy a burrito from a truck parked at a convenience store certainly would have had to be added to the list. What's that number to Jenny Craig again?

Thankfully, we did not miss the train. We made it in plenty of time. There was no long drawn out goodbye with CK though. We hugged him, thanked him and quickly stowed our luggage and took our seat. CK told us to sit on the second story of the train because it had the best view. And it did. Unfortunately, however, the sun set half an hour after we left and for the next three hours there wasn't a whole lot to see.

But we were one cart from the bar, so Mountain man and I sipped beers, ate our burritos (which were well worth the stress of almost missing the train), and did something neither of us had ever done before: hung out together. Just the two of us. And everyone else on the train.

No surprise, there was plenty of people-watching to enjoy on our four-hour ride. I always try and make up stories about the people I see. Like the middle-aged gentleman who carried five or six plastic grocery bags on to the train. Some might have assumed he doesn't own any luggage. I assumed his estranged wife stole his luggage because she found out he was cheating on her. He was forced to pack the few belongings she didn't destroy into plastic grocery bags and get on the quickest train out of town.

I wonder if the other people looked at Mountain Man and me and knew our story. "Oh yeah, those two recently met, but they seem to be getting along and they're on their way to meet up with her friend Elizabeth for dinner."

I had texted Elizabeth that we were getting on a train and would be in San Francisco Wednesday night.

"What? What train? I'm so confused," she texted back.

Like most people, Elizabeth had no idea who Mountain Man is or what we were doing there together. She didn't even know there was a train from Yosemite to San Francisco. But that's what's so awesome about her. She'd meet me whenever and wherever (even at 9pm on a Wednesday night). Why I was there and who I was there with were all secondary to the fact that I was there.

Elizabeth's motto: Hang out first, ask questions later.

Only there would be no opportunity for questions, because Mountain Man is also a camel, and doesn't take bathroom breaks. No chance to explain.

After dinner, Elizabeth's boyfriend Kristof took me for a ride on his scooter through the hilly streets of San Francisco. Actually it was just one block, but it was still a ride. What a great way to commute! If I didn't think I would kill myself or others riding one through Atlanta traffic, I might look into trading my SUV for my very own scooter.

On the other hand, I also realized, based on these pictures I feel obligated to share, that I look overweight wearing a helmet. Seriously, it sounds like a joke, "Does this helmet make my butt look big?" But in this case, the answer is no joke. Yes, it does. And your face and arms too.

I'm blame it on the burrito.

Day 38: In the Walls of the Cave

The first day of traveling with Mountain Man and California Kevin (CK) had been, in my opinion, a huge success. Everyone got along, there weren't too many unnecessary bathroom breaks (yeah me) and the conversation was flowing for most of the nine hour trip from Palm Springs to El Portal. Amazing all the things that I can talk about with an audience who had never heard my material before. Once we got to CK's house, however, we crashed. A full weekend of Phish had caught up to all of us and we were done.

I woke up in Yosemite completely in awe of the scenery around me. A far cry from the smog of Atlanta, looking out CK's living room window was like looking at a Bob Ross painting (happy trees and happy stream and happy mountains). Neither Mountain Man nor I had ever been to Yosemite, so we were both ready to see and do new things. Day 38's thing I have never done before: tour Yosemite National Park with a local.

It did not take long for me to understand that CK was a pretty hard core outdoorsman. On the road trip we learned he had spent a large portion of his summer vacation camping in Alaska. Knowing this about him made me a little nervous to see what kind of activities he had planned for us. Mountain Man told me privately that he'd told CK to keep our hikes at the beginner level, since we were travelling and wouldn't be packing hiking gear. I did not have the heart to tell Mountain Man that I don't actually own real hiking gear. I've asked before, but I'll ask again, "Isn't hiking just walking on an incline?"

I may not have had "gear," but I did have running shoes and workout clothes. Oh, and a Patagonia fleece and a Marmot hip pack (hip pack = fanny pack with cool outdoor company logo on it). Bring it, Yosemite. I can look the part.

CK works for the Yosemite Institute, an organization that leads environmental education programs for school groups. He took the week off to hang out with us, but I wonder if he felt like he was still working because Mountain Man and I were hanging on his every word like students on one of his field trips. We asked questions about everything.

Me: "What's that?"
CK: "A rock."
Me: "Ohhhhhhhhh, cool!!!!"

CK has lived in Yosemite for five years and knows a great deal about the geology, geography and ecology of the park. He is also patient, soft-spoken and easy-going, all great qualities for a tour guide. CK could've told me that the sun only shines five days out of the year in Yosemite and I would've believed him. But he didn't. He shared a wealth of knowledge, of which I remember about five percent. I hope that the kids he teaches do better than me.

CK first took us to Sierra Point, an unmarked hike. It used to be a trail, but a rockslide forced it's closure in the 1970s. One minute we were cruising along the paved walkway with all of the other tourists, and the next thing I know, ascending up rocks that didn't seem to go anywhere. Just the three of us. For the most part I was fine. I kept up with the boys and I didn't fall. There were times when the openness or steepness freaked me out, but I kept reminding myself, "This is just a walk, this is just a walk."

Only it's not just a walk. Here's what one website says about Sierra Point: "This hike should not be attempted by beginning hikers due to the difficulty of the missing portions of the trail. In fact, the National Park Service does not recommend that anyone take this trail."

Hiking is NOT just walking on an incline. Hiking is serious. I'm a hiker.

The view from Sierra Point was well worth the risk (easy for me to say now that I'm safe at sea level). We could see four waterfalls and CK used Mountain Man as a map to show us some of the other Yosemite highlights.

After lunch, we walked to the base of Yosemite Falls and sat for a bit watching the water hit the rocks. On our way back, we ran into some of CK's co-workers leading groups of kids from what he says is the ultimate destination of their trip, Spider Cave.

Whenever I think of caves, which is rarely, I think of them as I've seen them in movies. A damp, dark room with a low-ceiling that's accessible on foot by an archway style opening in the rock. This cave was nothing like that.

In fact, I had no idea we were getting ready to go through Spider Cave until CK was already inside and calling out for someone to follow him. He stepped down into an opening no more than three feet wide and within seconds I couldn't see him anymore.

I could hear his voice, though, and he was giving me instructions on how to follow him into the cave. That is how the experience was meant to go. I would listen to his instructions, do what he said, and then turn around and give the same instructions to Mountain Man. CK said this was a team-building exercise. Go Team!

CK would tap the walls of the cave and say something to me like, "Hold your left hand out and you can feel that the cave is going to take a bit of a turn to the right. Leave your hand there for support and bring your left foot down about two feet and you'll feel the ground. Be careful though because the walls are going to get pretty narrow."

It was then my job to repeat those directions to Mountain Man. Only mine came out like this: "It's tricky here. Put your foot down carefully. Good luck."

Poor Mountain Man quickly learned that he was on his own in this dark cave.

Dark may be an understatement. I mean pitch-black. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. CK assured us there were no spiders in Spider Cave, but honestly if there were, I wouldn't have ever known. I couldn't see anything.

The craziest part of the cave came at about a third of the way in when the cave became so narrow that we literally had to lie on our backs and turn slightly to the left to squirm through. CK said they call this part of the cave the "birth canal" and though not pleasant to think about, I completely understand why.

Once we got to the end of the cave and were about to exit, CK stopped and said, in his best Yosemite guide voice, that this was the part of the trip where we talk about our feelings.

I said in my best eighth-grade voice, "This experience wasn't what I was expecting at all, but I thought it was awesome. I really felt like we communicated well and all learned to trust each other. However, I could've done without Mountain Man playing grab-ass the entire time in the dark."

Mountain Man said, "This was not what I was expecting either, and I almost lost it a few times back there. Oh, and Stephanie gives horrible directions."

Clearly I made the right move electing to go first behind CK. I felt at ease with his expertise and explicit instructions. Mountain Man, on the other hand, was forced to go at it, with only me to help guide him. No wonder he had a mild freakout going through the birth canal. Before we climbed out of the cave, CK said usually for his school kids, he'll turn his head lamp on so they can see what they navigated through. Unfortunately he didn't have his lamp with him that day, so we have no idea what the space looked like.

Since I've returned, I tried to look up Spider Cave/Yosemite on the Internet to see if there is any picture of it, and so far, I haven't been able to find one. In fact, most of the entries about Spider Cave are from people who have heard about it but can't figure out how to find it. Like Sierra Point, Spider Cave is also something only the locals know about. Maybe it's the elitist in me, but I think this is so cool.

We finished the day watching the sunset in a meadow at the base of El Capitan (Mountain Man and CK engaging in some serious man talk and I engaged in a stare down with a deer). Then we headed back to CK's house for some homemade pizzas and microbrews. This Tuesday couldn't have been more different from any other normal Tuesday in my house. And I couldn't have loved it more.