It was that time of year again! The New River Gorge! What is it about the Southeast that I find so charming? It most certainly can’t be the humidity, bugs, surly cops, Tudor’s Biscuit World, or abundance of red necks (excuse me, I mean Appalachian American’s).
Or maybe it is. After all, there’s nothing so endearing as local man folk holding the door for you at the CoMac and referring to you as ‘sugar’.
This event, which I’ve been attending for the past five years, is my favorite climber’s gathering. It has all the ingredients of a successful event. Good organization, treatment of guest climbers and sponsors, laid back approach to this and some of the best climbing on earth. The free music, competitions, booze and pancakes boost the ratings as well. The venue is great. Show up, park your car, put up your tent and let the games begin. No need to get into your car for the rest of the weekend. Which means not having to secure your non-drinking friends or pregnant women as designated drivers.
The festivities begin Friday night with Dessertapalooza.
A diabetic’s nightmare of sweets set out on nearly a half acre of tables. Then the beer tent opens and slideshows begin. Don’t worry, there’s no death by slideshow here, the crowd is tough and won’t have it!
Saturday sees a day of climbing for all.
The vendors aren’t chained to the booth since the venue is conveniently closed, so we all get out there and get spanked on some exceptionally old school sandbags. I got spat off a 5.10, and then as though that blow wasn’t harsh enough, I tried a 12a that felt harder than most 13a’s I’ve done. But the thing is, no one gives a crap what the hell you are flogging yourself on, it’s all about good times with good friends and basking in the rainless atmosphere.
Saturday night is the BIG night.
Vendor booths open, the dinner line starts (this year it wrapped around nearly the entire circumference of the venue), the beer tent opens early, lots of spray swapin’ and Odub rapping on the mic.
The Little General (a sight to be seen in mutton-chops, faux Gucci sunglasses and trucker hat) commands the mic after dinner and chides the crowd into a frenzy during the Sumo Pad Wrestling matches and dyno comp.
Now that the Red Bull and Vodka tent has opened, hundreds of wrist-banded hopefuls wait patiently in line for the ultimate party elixir. Jacked up and inhibitions annihilated the dance floor comes alive around 11pm. This year’s band was AWESOME! A local band from Beckley who can cover and seamlessly mix Rush into the Smashing Pumpkins like nobody’s business. For the next three hours, the dance floor writhed and head banged with the ‘great unwashed’ from all generations (I have a fuzzy recollection of a foxy, barely of legal drinking age grinding on me during the rendition of Pat Benatar’s “Hell is for Children.”)
Sunday afternoon; the calm after the storm.
A skeleton of the event remains. Half disassembled EZ ups, piles of recycling, upside down tents drying in the sun and the hissing ashes of the bonfire silently stand tribute to the previous night’s carnage.
Sunday night
Those of us left drag our weary bodies, voices and enthusiasm to one last gathering at Pies and Pints. Some of us are showered, or have at least changed clothes, some managed enough energy for feeble attempts at climbing and some of us have come straight from the event take down. Here sit an anthology of climbers distilled down from the weekend’s crowd to some of my most favorite people in the world. Gene and Maura, Russ and Amy, Donini, Devaki, Achey, Mace, Malcom, Kenny and Elaina.
If it weren’t for the chance to spend one more night with these folks, I would have been happily passed out at the Quality Inn, drooling and snoring for the next 12 hours.
Good-byes take 20 minutes. I hate good-byes so I surreptitiously leave and silently say my good-byes, which are not really good-bye, only see you next year.
Friday, May 25, 2007
And now, this very day, it is Time for me to say good-bye to yet another ‘home’. Good-bye City Market, good-bye Wells Fargo, good-bye airport, good-bye good friends and good bye 1601 Defiance, Carbondale, Colorado, 81623 (I had only just memorized the zip…)
Always going somewhere means always leaving that somewhere. It’s the bitter sweetness of life on the road.
Or maybe it is. After all, there’s nothing so endearing as local man folk holding the door for you at the CoMac and referring to you as ‘sugar’.
This event, which I’ve been attending for the past five years, is my favorite climber’s gathering. It has all the ingredients of a successful event. Good organization, treatment of guest climbers and sponsors, laid back approach to this and some of the best climbing on earth. The free music, competitions, booze and pancakes boost the ratings as well. The venue is great. Show up, park your car, put up your tent and let the games begin. No need to get into your car for the rest of the weekend. Which means not having to secure your non-drinking friends or pregnant women as designated drivers.
The festivities begin Friday night with Dessertapalooza.
A diabetic’s nightmare of sweets set out on nearly a half acre of tables. Then the beer tent opens and slideshows begin. Don’t worry, there’s no death by slideshow here, the crowd is tough and won’t have it!
Saturday sees a day of climbing for all.
The vendors aren’t chained to the booth since the venue is conveniently closed, so we all get out there and get spanked on some exceptionally old school sandbags. I got spat off a 5.10, and then as though that blow wasn’t harsh enough, I tried a 12a that felt harder than most 13a’s I’ve done. But the thing is, no one gives a crap what the hell you are flogging yourself on, it’s all about good times with good friends and basking in the rainless atmosphere.
Saturday night is the BIG night.
Vendor booths open, the dinner line starts (this year it wrapped around nearly the entire circumference of the venue), the beer tent opens early, lots of spray swapin’ and Odub rapping on the mic.
The Little General (a sight to be seen in mutton-chops, faux Gucci sunglasses and trucker hat) commands the mic after dinner and chides the crowd into a frenzy during the Sumo Pad Wrestling matches and dyno comp.
Now that the Red Bull and Vodka tent has opened, hundreds of wrist-banded hopefuls wait patiently in line for the ultimate party elixir. Jacked up and inhibitions annihilated the dance floor comes alive around 11pm. This year’s band was AWESOME! A local band from Beckley who can cover and seamlessly mix Rush into the Smashing Pumpkins like nobody’s business. For the next three hours, the dance floor writhed and head banged with the ‘great unwashed’ from all generations (I have a fuzzy recollection of a foxy, barely of legal drinking age grinding on me during the rendition of Pat Benatar’s “Hell is for Children.”)
Sunday afternoon; the calm after the storm.
A skeleton of the event remains. Half disassembled EZ ups, piles of recycling, upside down tents drying in the sun and the hissing ashes of the bonfire silently stand tribute to the previous night’s carnage.
Sunday night
Those of us left drag our weary bodies, voices and enthusiasm to one last gathering at Pies and Pints. Some of us are showered, or have at least changed clothes, some managed enough energy for feeble attempts at climbing and some of us have come straight from the event take down. Here sit an anthology of climbers distilled down from the weekend’s crowd to some of my most favorite people in the world. Gene and Maura, Russ and Amy, Donini, Devaki, Achey, Mace, Malcom, Kenny and Elaina.
If it weren’t for the chance to spend one more night with these folks, I would have been happily passed out at the Quality Inn, drooling and snoring for the next 12 hours.
Good-byes take 20 minutes. I hate good-byes so I surreptitiously leave and silently say my good-byes, which are not really good-bye, only see you next year.
Friday, May 25, 2007
And now, this very day, it is Time for me to say good-bye to yet another ‘home’. Good-bye City Market, good-bye Wells Fargo, good-bye airport, good-bye good friends and good bye 1601 Defiance, Carbondale, Colorado, 81623 (I had only just memorized the zip…)
Always going somewhere means always leaving that somewhere. It’s the bitter sweetness of life on the road.
No comments:
Post a Comment