At some point, we will hit a literal bump in the road, and our new camper will definitely break in half, our bed will smash down onto our heads, and we’ll learn our forever lesson about trying to live a life that makes us happy. Until then, we’ll just keep not taking the hint. Our maiden voyage, like most new things, felt a lot like trying to puke on someone else from a rollercoaster, but throwing up into the air instead, not understanding what direction your body is travelling through space, and slamming straight into your own floating vomit ribbons.

Thar she blows

We put the Rampage in storage for the summer, and have officially moved into our little truck bed camper (AKA Anal Lance AKA The Rrhoid AKA The K Hole AKA The Suicidal Thought AKA Junior). The idea is that a smaller setup will give us so much more freedom to travel between airports, other peoples’ driveways, and ideally, climbing areas. We could have hung around Las Vegas working on it forever, because it’s a piece of shit. Instead we made a deadline. We had a weekend off between work events, and our plan was to spend the free week in Flagstaff. This way, Nachoclaws could climb at Priest Draw, and Eli wouldn’t have to spend any longer than one week hating everything. Sometimes your boyfriend has sausage fingers and samsquantch feet and can’t fit them into the holes in the roof.

So we took off, planning to spend our first night in the Wal-Mart in Kingman, AZ because we are used to dragging a 38ft. house behind us, and every stop has to be planned, and have 40 acres in which to turn the thing around. Instead, we came upon Coyote Pass and held onto our butts while stopping the truck FOR THE WHOLE NIGHT because we just began the whirlwind adventure of camping WHEREVER. We woke up appreciating our new freedom by wandering around gathering our free breakfast of flowers and lizards.

Ah, retirement. Or whatever the hell we are doing.

Then we got to Flagstaff, and I crashed my mountain bike onto some rocks. My body went down so hard that I had a limp for 2 days, I erased part of my tattoo, and opened a puncture wound in my elbow that may never stop bleeding. It didn’t stop me from climbing, but climbing at the Draw is hard even when you don’t feel like a warm, leaking sack of raw meat. All of this pain and failure culminated into one revolutionary epiphany: Saving projects for never! My friend Stefan friend recently said something I took to heart, “…a perfectly difficult climbing project becomes the ultimate daydream, a tantalizing fantasy of what you could soon achieve. Remember to enjoy the imminent struggle, because nothing else will bring you such rapture.” Naturally, I figured the only way to really live those words, to truly savor that feeling, is to just never send anything. I feel like a new woman; climbing has never been so rewarding; looking forward to looking forward to things. 

The guy in the background is Eli.

Between the intensely physical challenges that Flagstaff was presenting, the camper had to have its revenge as well. Our fridge likes to quietly give up on itself sometimes, and I don’t know how to make it see what we see in it (perishables). Our charge controller has the same temperament as Rick Sanchez, which will undoubtedly have a similar effect on our battery as Rick’s relationship does on Morty. New and exciting problems with the camper have surfaced since then. Don’t miss the next issue: water leaks, and not being able to refill our propane.

As usual, seeing old friends was the highlight of the trip. We summoned Kelvin, of the Left Fork Pool Boyz, into existence for the weekend, and it was good to see this beloved figment of our imagination! This happened to be the same weekend as the Beta Boulder Blast. We didn’t go, we just went to the Draw, which was great. We flailed hard on some things (except Eli, who repeated every problem we went to despite being a walking sausage collage), and threw in the towel soon after I went nuclear and brought out my homemade liquid chalk. I put it in unmarked squeeze bottles, and Kelvin didn’t know what it was. He joked about putting vaseline in them and giving them to your buddy when they’ve gone down the project wormhole but everyone wants to leave. Kenny’s been on that thing way too long, GIVE HIM THE CREAM. “Oh no, vaseline?! Guess you’re done! Pack it up, buddy.” After I gave myself the cream, we made it back to town to catch finals and drunkenly flop around the gym while our friends’ (prog-ska?) band brought the house down. The next day we rallied at Biff’s Bagels, and headed out for a rare session in Kelly Canyon, where we, again, sent nothing. It was exquisite.

Purely by accident, I actually found a project I could realistically finish before we left. Though at first glance it may seem so, it’s actually not a boulder problem. It’s a uniquely pertinent scientific experiment. I set out to test the hypothesis that “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” My results were conclusive: Nope! Just try harder, eventually it will work. In any case, everyone, you can stop fucking repeating that quote because I’ve scientifically proven that it’s nothing but a limp horse dick of a cliche. Oh, give me the cream?! Give yourself the cream!

Life’s a dance, you learn as you go. Keep throwing those vomit ribbons and eventually you’ll figure out how to aim. Or you won’t. It doesn’t matter, truth is that was the best day of my entire life and the only thing I’d change is maybe not eating mustard packets out of my own hand first. Too acidic. Make your own mistakes, and then learn nothing from them, because it’s all about the processssssssssssssssssssssssssss

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