BZN>SLC>Moe's Valley>Zion>Red Rocks>Phoenix

These photos are quite out of order... but it is a good montage of the last month.

BZN>SLC>Moe's Valley>Zion>Red Rocks>Phoenix

Stevie > Steve > Steven

About a year ago, Stevie (my female dog) started feeling more grown-up, and didn't want such a baby name anymore.

So we started calling her "Steve".

Recently, though, she's feeling even more mature.

Swedish Driving Tips

Given from the Stratocaster Wall to the drivers of the Red Rocks Scenic Loop.

Du suger på att köra bil!

Road Trip O'-Ten

After returning to the US late Nov 5 homeless and jetlagged, I went to Montana (place of origin) and stayed with my mother for more than two months. During this time, I started and finished writing a travel guide for the iPhone (available in the iTunes app store under "Wasatch Skiing Essentials)...

During this time, I also experienced no less than broken memory sticks and motherboard, 9 days of fever flu, MCL + meniscus "crunch" (drop-kneeing in the gym), another two week cold/flu, timing belt and engine seals replacement on Subaru, broken camera, broken external HD, lost Blackberry, front break replacement on car, a 520 Swiss Franc fine for being in the Schengen District too long (you don't know what it is, either? yeah. I do now), mmm... oh, and a dog "fight" in which my dog nearly dismembered my mother's finger and killed her dog.

Not surprisingly, I'm about a month late departing on a North American tour. Leaving SLC today. First stop: Southern Utah. Zion, then Moe's Valley.

My friend, Patrick Purcell, turns 51 this weekend and wants to celebrate by climbing 51 pitches in a day. He tried for 50 last year at Indian Creek, but had laryngitis, bronchitis, a sinus infection, and a very sick daughter. So showed up late, climbed sick, and "only" got 40 pitches. This year, he's going for the full 51 (allowing himself to repeat pitches). We'll climb at the Touchstone Buttress (lots of single-pitch routes), not at Indian Creek (as the weather is supposed to be cold and wet this time around).

Next, Moe's Valley. A good crew is rolling down from SLC and from Flagstaff. So we'll have lots o' crashpads.

I'll be tripodding for a while, but am definitely still psyched to get out and climb!

Alternative Activities in Rodellar

Alternative Activities in Rodellar:

Christine is sad m'puz she stabbed her thumb wif a big, mean, stinky-pants knife and couldn’t climb for four days… and then sad again m’puz a muscle in her back made a crunchy boo-boo.

I arrived in Rodellar about 1.5 weeks ago now, and was absolutely amazed… amazed by the weather (very un-Mallorcan: not raining), amazed by the climbing (cave after cave of steep, beautiful limestone in an beautiful, idyllic canyon). I was also pleased to check into the Kalandraka Refugio- which, unlike my last place of residence, has bathrooms, running water, electricity (not to be mixed with the running water), beds, and roofs. What’s up. And finally, it was good, as always, to meet the nice, new faces here and see several of the old, familiar faces from trips previous, including Ceuse.

If you haven’t been to Rodellar, know this: it’s like Disney Land for climbers. The deep canyon in which all the crags sit, is a twisty-turny gorge with stacks of luscious orange- and blue-streaked caves of all aspects and sizes. A spring-fed river meanders through the bottom and well-worn foot paths cross it here and there on lilly-pad-like stepping stones. There are caves up high, caves down low. Caves in the sun, caves in the shade. Orange rock, white rock, blue rock, grey rock. Walls with big jugs, and walls with more tufas than you’ve ever seen in your life. Some techy climbs, but heaps and heaps of steep lines. Thousands and thousands of bolts and an often a pleasant breeze. Mild approaches –just enough to get the blood flowing a bit, yet not so much as to prohibit two- and three-crag days. There are arches and climbs going straight up the underbellies of these natural windows. 40-meter routes and 15-meter routes. Basically, paradise.

Especially after Mallorca’s rain (and even after the vertical tech-climbing of Ceuse), I was incredibly ready to soak this up! Mostly excellent weather (shirtless climbing and puffy-jacket belaying), an unending list of new routes, and such physical climbing… Oh my! After the first few days, I was so sore from head-to-toe that it was difficult to walk or even sit properly. Though the routes here are supposed to be softly rated, I found them to be, ehh, ehm, pretty tough, as I was completely unaccustomed to such steepness. But I was soooo ready to become accustomed to it! I could feel fitness soaking into my body every day. I was getting nervous that I might rip my clothes if I accidentally flexed.

And then… four climbing days later: STAB! Without going into the whole story, let’s just say that I managed to stab through the pad of my thumb (entrance and exit holes) with a very sharp knife. So. Understanding that it needed time to heal properly (lest it become a never-ending infection), I took four days off. Ok. Good. It actually healed in enough in this time to climb again. Check.

But then 1.5 climbing days later: CRUNCH! Doing an (apparently strenuous) high-step/gaston move, a muscle in my lower back/ ribs decided to seize up/ pull/ hurt and burn a lot. So. Now I’m waiting for it to tell me whether to stay here and wait it out, or to go home and let it heal. Meanwhile, I’m occupying myself with (gasp!) work and other activities such as blog-writing and hiking… a friend and I walked a few hours to a ghost town (Otin) the other day. I’ve also been hiking back and forth to a PT’s office… but, as things go in Spain, he’s never really around during the times we agreed to meet. But that’s OK.

So, I suppose I’ll know in a few days whether I’ll be able to climb again soon, or whether I should take the next few weeks to get myself back to North America, take care of “life” there, and get back on the road (Southern Utah, Hueco, El Salto). All in all, not bad choices… but I’m really hoping to get to climb more in Rodellar than just 5.5 days.

Bye for now...

Hola Mallorca: probably the stupidest blog title possible.

ANYWAY. MALLORCA IS AN ISLAND IN SPAIN, popular among German urlauber (drunk on board Berlin Air flight # 9414) for its temperate waters and beautiful beaches. It is also famous among climbers round-the-world for its temperate waters, beautiful beaches, and freakingbeautiful, overhanging, seaside limestone cliffs. In recent years, deepwater soloing (or “psychobloc” in European) has become an increasingly popular, yet still exotic, style of rock climbing whereby climbers ascend seaside routes directly over the water, without ropes or any means of protection other than the deep sea below.

Having never properly engaged in psychobloc before, and because of a number of other contributing factors, I decided my next step in this Euro-journey would be Mallorca.

I arrived at Palma Airport (via Nice, Dusseldorf) with Ceuse friends, Alex and Chris, on the night of September 10. Here we were retrieved by a gracious, car-driving friend. I aimed to meet back up with my Australian friend, Chicko… somewhere on the island. According to Chicko,

“from Porto Cristo you can catch a cab to Cala Varques or hitch. About 8 ks out of porto cristo in the dirrrection of cales de Mellorca you will come across a house that looks like a castle (on the left) about 40 mts before the house is a dirt road at the end of the dirt road is a steel gate, through the gate and follow the path. at the beach on the right in the pine trees is me and a smile.”

Luckily, one of Alex’s friends knew what this meant (because I definitely did not), and they dropped me off —right at the steel gate— the next day, after inviting me to crash with them for a night and (thank you!) taking me to the grocery store for food and water.

I wielded all of my unwieldy crap the 10 minutes down this aforementioned path to a beachside campsite in two trips, spoke immediately with someone in the campsite who knew Chicko, and found him playing in the ocean shortly thereafter.

The next few days we spent in sunny paradise, deepwater soloing and generally absorbing the Spanish maritime paradise. A contributing factor to the utopian aura of the place is definitely the campsite –we sleep in a breezy pine forest immediately above a turquoise cove and white sand beach. Also, the majority population of this campsite is… (surprise) Spanish!

This (being a minority tourist among Spanish locals) has been a genuine treat, as, unlike my last time in Spain (El Chorro, December 2008), I’ve actually been immersed in the language, culture (albeit in the form of dirtbagging on the beach), and the sharing of food, jokes, etc. I've evenbeen getting Spanish lessons in earnest from a Uruguayan here. With paper and pens and an English-Spanish dictionary.

All temperate waters, sunshine, and tropical beaches aside, the last few days have been, eh… a bit tryingbecause, though the area is beautiful and, though it statistically never rains here in the summer, it has, in fact, been raining hard… off and on for the last four days. Which is less-than-ideal on a steeply-sloping campsite that easily becomes a river of mud and pine needles, soggy food bits and other rubbish. An aging tent (with large, new hole in the rain fly), and sub-tent river have severely dampened nearly all of my belongings, and the persistent precipitation has not allowed for any drying of these… Needless to say, everyone else in camp is suffering under the same dampness and, though solidarity is high, morale is generally low.

On the bright side: we have enjoyed a staple of grace from newly-made, local friends and acquaintances. A shower one day and a dry couch one night have made a world of difference in the otherwise clammy mud bog of the last four days.

Climbing-wise: I’m not there yet. I’ve had a high rate of painful falls into the water. Odd belly- and face-flops, thigh slaps, wind-knocked-out-of-me’s, sinus blasts, etc, etc… are making it very difficult for me to properly wrap my brain around this particular style of climbing... needless to say, four days of off-and-on rain haven’t eased this transition for a number of factors (wet rocks, chilly weather, and sometimes simply unclimbable conditions). But I’m convinced that I’m just slow in getting used to it. So… whenever the weather clears, I’ll keep chipping away at this problem. Given deepwater soloing’s popularity, it can’t be all that bad. I think the responsibility is with me and that I’m just an awkwardly-falling, high-surface-area wuss.

But anyway. I definitely can’t complain, though I do look forward to hitting my stride again with climbing (in terms of mentality and volume), and hope I can get some of it done soon.

Next stop: Rodellar!

September 4, 2009: 11 Days in Geneva and back to Ceuse

Sorry if this is boring.

For about a month now, I’ve been limping along with a latent wrist injury. Well. Really, I’ve had this problem off and on for… seven years. It goes like this: sometimes when I use an open-handed hold/ sloper, my wrist does a fancy little fake-dislocation thing. Though my hand doesn’t change grip, and my arm may not change position, the wrist itself suddenly just drops out or “fails”. That is, though I don’t relax, strain, or flex, the entire complex shifts and lengthens. Essentially, it’s as if the wrist dislocates. Once it’s done this, there is no way to muscularly reduce it; the only way to “fix” it is to let go and allow itself to correct.

Normally this is OK; it’s a bit uncomfortable, but doesn’t really hurt. Especially if it only happens once, and I don’t repeat the offending move. But once it’s happened, the wrist is always a bit weaker and prone to repeating the subluxation. Still though, if I’m even somewhat cautious, it’s usually a'ight and I can continue climbing.

However, about a month ago, I experienced a severe, acute occurrence of this injury. Without warning, my left wrist failed and it hurt.It hurt a lot and immediately made me question whether I would be able to climb much at all in the following weeks (and months).

Luckily, the next night I spoke with a doctor in camp who is familiar with this exact injury. He gave me a fantastic tape job that, in fac,t supported the wrist wonderfully. I eased back into climbing and found that, with this slick, new tape job, I was essentially able to use the wrist at full-function. Bam! Wrist power! Even with discretion on open-handed holds. And it didn’t even seem to be doing the wrist any harm; rather it seemed to be healing while I was climbing…

Fast forward a few weeks. And then put Christine on an overhanging route with a crux. Though neither the route, nor the crux, are that hard, my method for climbing the crux involved a two-finger, one-pad, undercling pocket. With the left arm. It was better balanced that way, you know?

Well. I don’t know who I think I am –or more precisely: when I forgot my predisposition to injuries– but I, of course, tried this route, wrist and all, and voila! I tore or strained something in my palm.

Oh Crap.

I tried to belay: Pain. I tried to pick up a water bottle: Pain. I got dressed in the morning: Pain!

Crap.

Just as this happened, two friends of mine were moving to leave Ceuse (one because of injury), so I decided to get a clue and take a ride to Geneva, where I would be able to stay in a friend’s apartment and recover. And reflect on my real ambitions on this trip, my attitude toward climbing, and my reasons for staying in Europe for the fall. Because, to be honest, flat affect, self-doubt, and buyer’s remorse (regarding my decision to not return to the US) had been getting me down just as much in the days leading up to my hand injury as my wrist injury itself. Furthermore, given possibly seriousness of the injury, I needed to take a few days to gauge my pain and mobility to determine whether I would stay in Europe for the fall –or whether I would just head back to Utah and do some book research. (But… even freaking typing hurt!)

Anyway.

Fast forward a few days. Reading, running, situps, etc, etc… Ibuprofen. Voltaren. Ice. Ice. Ice. Working, internet, showers, sightseeing, swimming… Geneva! Old Town, cafés, cobblestones, parks, barbecues, music. Reading, reading, reading, art, writing, writing, writing. Internet. A real treat. And then…

Pushups! Pullups? Yes! Pullups!

I was so glad to be able to painlessly bear weight on my hand. And only after about five days of rest! Not only did this feel OK, but it also seemed to help loosen up the injury and make it feel better. This told me that the injury was probably just a damaged sheath in my palm that bundles the tendons of my middle- and index fingers together. (Anatomy?) So I decided to return to Ceuse.

As of now, I’m taking it pretty easy/careful… only am doing routes that don’t strain the hand too much (as it still feels a bit vulnerable and prone to being, ehm, crunchy). I’m also taping the two fingers together, but so far, I think I’ll be able to climb through it... And that said, it seems I'm healing and have even been able to pull kinda hard (for me) on it, and it's not getting worse. Woo hoo!

Ok.

I'm off to Mallorca, Spain tomorrow... Bye Ceuse!