Ick.
Wet, heavy, nasty snow. Don't get me wrong, I love snow. Just not slush. And, of course, we have that in abundance. The heavens decided to pour out their wrath in the form of a huge glob of disgusting wet stuff, which landed smack-dab in the midst of Minnesota and Wisconsin, and is moving toward Canada. Of course, it travelled across the eastern borders of the country as well, dumping snow on unsuspecting New Yorkers, Virginians, and...Marylanders? Ick.
And now for something completely different. A man with a stoat through his head. Er...wait. What I meant to say was: Christmas. It was amazing. My parents, oldest brother and I flew to Arizona to visit Jesse, my other older brother. (Confusing, ain't it?) Anyway. We dined at Joe's Crab Shack the first night, and the fare was...delicious. I would recommend it to anyone in the vicinity of Tucson, AZ.
The second day...well, afternoon, considering we slept all morning, was spent playing disc golf at the local park, which consisted of sand, rocks, a few shrubs, a multitude of cacti, and trees. Like a desert. No, really? We stopped by a small shop, Summit Hut by name. It took the better part of an hour to find the right size climbing shoe to fit my big toe. We discovered, with much laughter on my brothers' and father's part, that my left foot is half an inch longer than the right one. Wonderful. So, Dad bought me a brand-spanking-new pair of La Sportiva climbing shoes; my Christmas present, which I love. In a show of generosity, Jeremiah cooked for us that night, and we dined on a no-name meal. Pork chops covered generously with barbecue sauce and melted pepperjack cheese, complimented with broccoli (and dinner rolls) was the order of the evening. Fantastic.
However, this all pales in comparison to day three. Oh yes, it was that amazing. Jesse, Jeremiah and I took a little road trip into the nearby mountains, climbing to an elevation of over eight thousand feet above sea level. Jesse acted as our knowledgeable trail guide, leading us up, up...to Ridgeline. The rock face was completely exposed, and had easily eight climbs on it, most of which were, regrettably, beyond my skill level. Having not climbed since the Concrete Smorgasbord at UMD this spring, I was sorely out of shape. I ended up climbing a 5.8+ and a 5.7, only one of which I completed (the 5.8+, in case you're wondering).
Day four was met with sad goodbyes. We ate delicious foodstuffs at the local IHOP, then prepared to board out 2:25 flight to Phoenix. Unbeknown to us, however, the airline we had booked with had been delaying flights since 9 o'clock that morning, and they hadn't even thought to call us. Oh, joy. Can you tell this is about to get interesting? We needed to get to a connecting flight in Phoenix, which left at 4 PM. We waited around the Tucson airport until 3 PM, and finally decided to drive to Phoenix and catch a 7:40 flight to Chicago. My Dad called Kasey, Jesse's lifesaver of a girlfriend, and she whisked us away to Phoenix, about two hours away, in her small-yet-adorable (and almost painfully bright yellow) Audi station wagon.
We boarded the US Airways flight to Chicago without a hitch. Although, Chicago was another matter. You see, Jeremiah and Dad both had their boarding passes printed for the connecting flight to Minneapolis when we were still in Phoenix, but my mother and I apparently are on the airlines' burn list. Or something. In Chicago, we had to go outside of security, wait around for ages until the ticketing agents showed up (at 3:30 in the morning), and reprint all the tickets for the flight. Then, making our way back through security, we waited out the rest of the six-hour layover. Yes, I said six. Jer and I slept; Mom and Dad apparently couldn't. Finally boarding our last flight, we made it to Minneapolis at about 8 o'clock Monday morning, twelve hours after we were supposed to be there. Government efficiency at its finest.
In the end, we got home safe and sound--a little sleep-deprived, but relieved to finally be there.
So, my final thoughts for this post are as follows:
1. No matter how frustrating airlines are, there's always someone worse off than you. (Like the woman who'd been trying to get from France to Boston, was supposed to leave on Thursday and get there on Friday. She was in the Chicago airport at 4 AM. Monday morning.)
2. Never let your big brother move 3,000 miles away for a desk job and some spectacular climbing opportunities, no matter how convincing his puppy-dog face happens to be.
3. Christmas is awesome, but don't forget to relax.
I love. I live. I climb things.
Jax.
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