rumney was a gigantic bust.
oh what a disastrous web we weave if we attempt to....can't think of a rhyming word...recreate.
t'was (yet another) trip from hell.
the baby busted out a 102 and A HALF degree fever thursday JUST prior to our departure time, putting our long awaited trip in grave jeopardy.
sweet.
fever broke the next morning (so we thought) so we put our narrow white asses in the car, met monica and got to driving...
for ten fucking hours.
the kid kept spiking a fever, we kept stopping and sticking stuff up his ass...all the while wondering why we were stupid enough to attempt this. we finally rolled into the farm around 10, 11ish...set up camp (a very long and complicated process in the dark. believe you me). finally ended up in the awesome but extremely dusty 150+ year old farmhouse that makes me sneeze and tried like hell to sleep.
no go. the fever spiked again. the kid and I couldn't breathe. we could HEAR but not participate in the full moon campfire shenanigans and life was generally miserable until sunrise.
wait. it gets better.
we set an alarm to get up early for the farm breakfast. I was promised gluten free, dairy free, (et cetera. you guys know the list) eggs, sausage and potatoes...and was pretty excited about it.
nope. the farm was overrun with french canadian sausage stealing motherfuckers (I HATE french canadian sausage stealing mother fuckers!~!!!!) who ate up all the food before we got there.
I've never been more upset about a $10 plate of over cooked cold eggs and greasy kale in my life.
we lounged around trying to recover our sensibilities and hit the crag in the early afternoon.
BLISS! rumney rock is the best on the east coast (possibly in the whole entire universe) and we thoroughly and whole-heartedly enjoyed ourselves, five minutes at a time while we managed to squeeze in three whole routes amidst the prof's constant and incessant protestation.
he finally fell asleep JUST prior to be tossed off the cliff...then monica's phone rang.
her boyfriend's grandfather took a turn for the worse and we needed to get home.
fuck me.
now, I did not at all intend to write this blog to bash our climbing buddy (which is why I waited several days to even attempt it)...but I'm gonna have to put some facts out there to really convey this entire picture.
he was sick before she left. she was asked not to leave. she chose to leave anyway knowing full well he was on his last leg.
soooo...we reluctantly (after THREE routes) headed to the farm to shower up, pack up, get fed and get on the road, again.
fuck.in.a.
on the way home, I got even more frustrated with her as she didn't help kick in for gas, didn't share in the driving and always got in the front seat.
'scuse me!?!?!
girl, I heart ya...but we're never taking a road trip together again lest I find it difficult to supress the urge to strangle ya.
separate cars, girlfriend.
separate cars.
2 comments:
I beg to differ... go to HP40. That is the best rock ever. Although Rumney is pretty good.
As for Monica... yeah... had that experience (money-related).
Money and cut short aside...Rumney is exactly what the doctor ordered for the Otero-Kromer clan. Regardless of quantity spent, the quality of spirit, rock, connections, to each other, the earth and exposing the Prof to what life should be like was well worth the 18 hour commute. It was noticed in his demeanor. He was sick but joyful.
Next time, and there will be a next time, we fly solo or caravan, we set our own schedule and we go when everyone is healthy. We volunteer to get our hands dirty and remember what is important. That or we ask for money up front...cheap bastards!
Post a Comment