17-March-2001
Alexander Chiang 

"Spring Break 2001"

  Friday, March 9   -- Dear Diary,

                       Well, it's the first day of spring break, and I'm 
                       off to...  well, nowhere actually. Whilst my 
                       roommates are partying in regions South, I must 
                       settle for 10 days in Champaign-Urbana, IL.

                       Whee! It's 2 pm and I'm drinking gin and
                       tonics. What a fun way to piss away the day.

                       4pm... drnkkk. g&t good! tibloc baddd :( whyy
                       ammm i tipeing innto commpurer noww???? morr
                       firewtr plzzz...
                       
                       Ugh... awake at 11 pm with a raging hangover which
                       will last well into the morn. Strange
                       memories of making drunken long distance
                       phone call and then passing out. I will ever ever
                       do *that* again.


  Saturday-Sunday   -- Moped around all weekend, feeling sorry for
                       myself for having gotten stuck in one of the
                       most flattest, least wet t-shirt contest
                       having places in the country during what
                       should have been my personal interpretation 
                       of Sodom and Gomorrah.

                       2:30 pm - Dragged Suzi out of the closet to find 
                       out if I'm still allergic to latex. 

                       2:33 pm - Yep.
                       
                       2:35 pm - Settled for the next best thing, and 
                       read rec.climbing in order to get the latest 
                       descriptions of Kastrup's back. Yeow! That's
                       the ticket, baby!


  Monday, March 12  -- Posted to the university climbing newsgroup in
                       a fit of desperation, trying to find but one
                       other climber in the greater C-U area.

                       Remembered that I have a huge programming
                       assignment due on the 30th, and that I have to
                       start *now* to get it done on time.

                       Went to bed instead.


  Tuesday, March 13 -- A nibble. Someone I didn't know responded 
                       to my query and said he was going to Jackson
                       Falls for some bouldering. His name is Andrew
                       Reynolds.

                       Continued to ignore homework.


  Wednesday, Mar 14 -- 11 am - Gingerly asked Andrew why he wanted to go all
                       the way to Jackson Falls (3.5 hr drive) just
                       to boulder.

                       4 pm - Hmm... this is disappointing. Andrew
                       has a lot of reasons for not wanting to
                       climb. Ah well -- beggars can't be choosers, neh?

                       8 pm - Yes! A gift from the gods. Andrew is a
                       rec.lurker and remembered my name from the
                       Gunksfest 2000 web page. Tells me that all of
                       a sudden he is interested in doing some trad
                       climbs. 

                       8:01 pm - Make mental note to buy Dawn a beer
                       next time I see her. Thanks Dawn!

                       8:02 pm - Start planning trip in earnest,
                       figuring out gear and driving arrangements.


 Thursday, March 15 -- Ha ha! In response to who should drive,
                       Andrew writes:

                         > It doesn't matter to me who drives. I can't 
                         > imagine you can't drive stick (you are a trad 
                         > climber, after all), but if not, we should 
                         > probably take your car.

                           (ed. note -- this is not made up)

                       This is one of the funnier things I've seen
                       in a long while, and I laugh for quite some
                       time. 
                       
                       The squirrels on my windowsill look at me
                       quizzically at first, then annoyed and angry
                       after a while, and finally look concerned
                       for my mental well-being. Still giggling, I tell 
                       the squirrles I'm just dandy, and they continue
                       to eat the siding on my house.
                       
                       I know the theory of driving stick and
                       have done it a few times, but it wouldn't do
                       for me to strip all the gears in Andrew's 
                       transmission. We'll take my car.

                       Pretend to work on programming assignment
                       for a while. Feign a combination of
                       narcolepsy and amnesia (hmm... narcolesia?)
                       to avoid doing work.


  Friday, March 16  -- Watched some basketball on tv. Go Illini!

                       6 pm - Finally, one of my friends has
                       returned to school. Human interaction has
                       saved my sanity.

                       6:15 pm - Go to Cheddar's for dinner. I'm
                       really hungry and we get the Texas bacon cheese
                       fries, along with a huge bacon cheeseburger.

                       6:27 pm - Are these cheese fries going to
                       cause trouble for me tomorrow while I'm at
                       the crag? Stomach thinks not while large and 
                       small intestines have urged brain to use 
                       caution. Brain exercises veto power over large
                       and small intestines and instructs the
                       hand-mouth-stomach triumvirate to carry on.

                       6:28 pm - Why am I writing in my diary at the
                       restaurant? And when did my viscera learn to
                       talk? Has my extended isolation affected my
                       sense of reality? Why do I continue to write
                       rhetorical questions to myself?

                         
                         "Ahh... thank you."
                         "Shut up weirdo. And stop writing what I'm
                          saying!"
                         "Ouch! Hey -- give me tha

                         (ed. note -- the rest of this entry is a
                         disgusting smear of cheese, bacon, grease,
                         and ranch dressing)


  Saturday, Mar 17  -- Diary-

                       Today was a great day. My alarm was set for
                       4:30 am, and I had no problem getting up. 
                       I -- the person who once had only one class
                       at 1 pm and didn't wake up on time -- was awake.
                       Funny how the promise of some climbing can 
                       affect you.

                       Picked up Andrew at 5 and started the drive
                       down to Jackson Falls. The roads were a bit
                       slick at this early hour, and after a few
                       errant sliding skidding turns, I suspect Andrew 
                       was rather nervous. I calmed him down by telling 
                       stories of all the car accidents I've been in. 
                       Ha ha!  Just kidding, of course. In reality, I 
                       just told him I'd slow down a bit.

                       As expected, most of the drive was boring --
                       this is Illinois, after all. But the last 45
                       minutes or so as we neared the crag were
                       beautiful.

                       We started the day by top-roping the rap-in
                       route. A slabby 5.7, it gave Andrew and
                       myself a chance to see how the other climbed
                       and belayed. We were both satisfied, and I
                       started flipping through the guidebook to
                       find some appropriate routes.

                       The goal of the day was to climb several easy
                       5.7-5.10 trad routes, and then spend the rest
                       of the day bouldering.

                       Jackson Falls turned out to have a lot of
                       hard sport routes, and few easy trad ones. I
                       finally found one that looked like a good
                       warm up, and we started hiking over to it.

                       On the way, we came upon a large boulder,
                       whereupon Andrew remarked that he simply had
                       to stop and climb around on it. I, being
                       focused on the upcoming climb, told him that
                       he was certainly welcome, and that while he
                       was bouldering, I would look around for some
                       more easy trad routes.

                       Out of curiosity, I started inspecting the
                       boulder and saw to my delight that it
                       consisted of huge juggy overhangs. That did
                       it -- off with the pack and on with the
                       shoes. Goals be damned -- this thing looked
                       fun!

                       We goofed around on it like little kids for 
                       a while and posed for some sweet action shots. 
                       After a bit, we were both really happy and 
                       totally psyched for some more vertical stuff.

                       Finally get to the route I had been looking
                       for, and it's totally wet for the first 30
                       feet and the last 20 feet. We contemplate for
                       a while, and finally I say, "Let me think
                       about this some more while I teach you how to
                       place some gear."

                       Andrew readily agrees and I expose him to the
                       wonders of the tri-cam. He wanders off with
                       pieces of my rack to practice setting pieces,
                       and I stare at the route.

                       It's too wet, but I could start about 20 feet
                       to its left, and climb up 30 feet, traverse
                       over to the dry part of the route and go from
                       there. The problem is, I probably don't have
                       enough gear to protect my alternate scheme.

                       Hmm... what if I just free solo that first
                       thirty feet and traverse? Then I'll have
                       enough gear to protect the rest of the climb.
                       The rocks strewn about the base don't really
                       look *that* dangerous...

                       As I seriously consider this stupidity, the
                       fear of injury from a fall during the first 
                       thirty feet, plus the danger of the disgusting 
                       slippery last twenty feet, along with the Texas 
                       cheese (and bacon) fries from the previous night 
                       make my bowels shriek and contract in terror.

                       Off to the woods for some relief. 
                       
                       Upon return, I tell Andrew of my plan and
                       asks what he thinks. He tells me how stupid
                       it sounds and I agree (very relieved). We
                       pack up and look for another climb.

                       As we hike out, I think to myself, "Hmm...
                       that must have been a virtual brownpoint. Just 
                       thinking about the route was enough to make
                       me shit."

                       By this point, it's 1 pm. Quickly over to the 
                       next route and break for lunch. With a little 
                       imagination, the pizza flavored Combos almost 
                       taste like real pizza. Made a quick mental 
                       note to try heating them in the microwave at 
                       home to see if I coax a more robust flavor
                       out of them.

                       Ok -- lunch is over. Racked up for the next
                       climb -- it's a 5.9 fist sized splitter crack
                       angling off to the right. I'm not very good
                       at these, and after a few moves, I'm off. 
                       Some more attempts, and I realize it's not
                       going to happen. Ah well -- rather have my
                       pride hurt than my ankle broken.

                       Luckily, right next to us is a large 5.6
                       dihedral crack looking thing. The loud threesome 
                       top-roping it finally move on, and I'm ready. The 
                       first 40 feet are easy and fun. Then I get to
                       a narrow chimney section that is completely soaked
                       and dripping wet. The outer portions are
                       overhanging and slick, and all of a sudden,
                       things aren't so fun anymore.

                       I slither onto the muddy ledge and consider
                       my options. The narrow chimney is out -- I don't
                       think I can protect it very well, and my last
                       piece is the pink tri-cam in a precarious
                       placement. That means I have to pull through the
                       overhanging part.

                       I work my way out from the ledge and start
                       feeling around for handholds on the overhang.
                       Not very many. With my legs stemmed wide, my
                       ass is starting to cramp up, and I flail back
                       to the ledge, whimpering.

                       Repeat for the next 15 or 20 minutes. I'm
                       wet, muddy, and scared. Need to get the fear
                       under control. Once in a while, Andrew calls
                       up to see how I'm doing. I'm fine, I lie, and
                       continue worrying.

                       I wonder what my bones will look like on the
                       ledge in 20 years after the flesh has decayed
                       away.

                       Enough -- find two handholds I trust and
                       commit to the overhang. I sure hope that pink
                       tri-cam holds, or at least slows me down
                       before I slam into ledges below.

                       Get one foot up and then the other. Finally!
                       Quickly work my way up the few remaining
                       feet, and I'm lying in wet moss and leaves at
                       the top. Praise the gods. 

                       Call down that I'm safe, and start building
                       an anchor to belay Andrew up. A short while
                       later, he joins me. Turns out he squeezed
                       through that wet slimy chimney and had a much
                       easier time. I admire him, and we scramble
                       back down.

                       It's late in the day and the cold has started
                       to penetrate through to our bones. Probably 
                       only an hour of daylight left, so we head 
                       back to the car to grab the crash pad for 
                       some bouldering.

                       As we hike back, our path entails crossing a
                       stream that feeds a 40 foot waterfall. Andrew
                       leads the way, and as he is stepping across
                       the organic goo growing on the bottom, his
                       foot slips and he lands in the quickly
                       flowing water.

                       And then he starts sliding. Down towards the
                       edge of the falls.

                       Panicked look on his face now. Spread eagles
                       himself to get as much friction as possible
                       and finally stops. 

                       I breathe again.

                       Gingerly makes his way to side of the stream,
                       and I carefully carefully follow. We decide
                       to call it a day and head back. His pants are
                       soaked, and since I'm wearing shorts already,
                       I lend him my (muddy, but substantially
                       drier) pants.

                       An uneventful drive back, and our day is done.


  Sunday, March 18  -- 3 am - at home now and extremely bored.
                       Tomorrow we have school again. My friend Lisa
                       and I are restless but we lack entertainment.
                       Inspiration strikes. 
                       
                       Out come the permanent markers, and down go
                       the pants, as Lisa draws a weird looking face
                       on my ass. For an extra touch, we find a
                       cigarette, light it, and place it in the
                       appropriate spot. 

                       Quid pro quo now. Lisa gets a few choice
                       phrases written on her stomach with arrows
                       pointing helpfully. Hilarity ensues as
                       incriminating photos are taken.

                       Tired, but entertained, we call it a night
                       and turn in.

                       9 pm - reflecting upon spring break as I
                       click clack away on my keyboard, still
                       smelling faintly of marker fumes. 
                       
                       The climbing trip yesterday turned a week of
                       silent boring hell into a memorable break.
                       We didn't really climb that much at all, but
                       it didn't matter. Playing around on the boulder, 
                       carefree and child like, along with a nice
                       scary lead to start the climbing season has
                       reinvigorated what the drudgery of school
                       took away.

                       Wet t-shirt contests and tequila soaked
                       dreams? I don't need that stuff. The cuts and
                       scrapes and muddy clothes are a much better
                       souvenier than a temporary sun tan. It's good
                       to know what you want out of life.



                       fin.