“You’re coming back for me right?” I asked. “Maybe” he said as he swung out of sight leaving me anchored to a couple of pieces of protection 20 feet above the Sentry ledge and still 100′ from the safety of the base of the cliff, where the yellow jackets and copperheads waited to welcome us down.

I demured his initial invitation to ascend the second pitch of the climb, reasoning that if he made it to the top and my next move could be descending then everyone would go home happy. We both took an inventory of the steps necessary to make such a thing happen, and came to the same conclusion. “The only way either of us get down is if you come up with the second rope.” I rested my scorched forehead against the hot granite and squinted the sweat out of my eyes. “On belay” I said, and with that I scrapped and scrambled another 100′ up the wall to two fixed eye bolts and salvation. While on rappel I descended off route and as I neared the second rappel station I realized one of our ropes was a might short of the deck. I anchored that rope to the wall and descended the second rope to the safety of the ledge. No problem.

Mystery came down behind me struggling to move the cursed purple rope through his rappel device as I had secured the end to the wall, which is apparently not standard procedure. Shaking his head, no doubt in wonder as to how he he came to have me as his only willing climbing partner, he easily down-climbed to join me on the ledge. We pulled the rope to bring it down to us and it did not move. We pulled and pulled and pulled. The rope was hung up 150+ feet above us and guess who was not volunteering to go up and un-stick it? That’s right, I was preparing to holler to the cub scout troop down the cliff to save us, which is also not standard procedure.

After some heavy sighs, Mystery worked his way back up the wall, taking up slack in his rappel device as he went, which is not such an easy practice, and quite nerve-wracking. Meanwhile I waited on the ledge and looked down at our other friend, The JJ, wishing he were on the ledge instead of me, and I was the one lounging with the Copperheads and the Yellow-jackets.

I climbed back up to the low-point of the rope to free it from my impromptu anchor. This would allow Mystery to rappel freely and retrieve some gear I left in the route. This is when he disappeared for a bit and I waited, David Blaine style, perched on a sloping triangle of rock the size of a shoebox, attached to the wall by two Batman style camming devices. It was hot. I was ready to be done with rock climbing. The cool river and a well-earned cold beer were on my mind.

He did return eventually, and we regrouped to the safety of the Sentry ledge prepared to end this adventure and get on with the day.

Instead, we were right where we began, pulling and pulling on the rope that just didn’t want to come down. Mystery leaned his head into the rock, arms dangling at his side. I knew he was spent. The only heavy lifting I had done involved hauling myself up the rock, while he had been up three times and down twice, always on the sharp end of the rope. It didn’t look good, and the cub scouts were already gone.

I pulled on the rope in anger. I pulled on that rope with love. We both pulled on that rope in defiance of the cursed Pisgah forest that always tries to keep us in its embrace. We saw the other end of the rope move just the slightest little bit.

Oh then did we pull! Spitting, whimpering, groaning, feet scrambling to keep every inch gained, until finally it began to run freely and then tumbled down to us. 100 meters of victory lay in a snarl at our feet. The two ropes had rolled together during the rappel and braided themselves into a tight twist. This was the cause of our suffering.

We rapped down to the base, settling yet another open account with Looking Glass mountain.

-Juancho

Pages of verse ran through my mind all weekend, all of it superior to whatever I manage to lay down here this morning. Like a waiter lost deep in the weeds, I have failed to keep up. It is too late to go back and capture the events of Friday afternoon, the slimy ride under the central Florida sun, the night on the town, the meeting of an icon.

Saturday, I came down out of the stands and got into the tree-climbing game. A year ago, even before the Accident of Ultimate Clarity, I was not able to move my body up a rope using a series of crunching maneuvers. This time, only the concern of how to get down slowed my progress. A lifetime spent beneath the shade of giant Live Oak trees and only now do I see them as the unknown frontier. Apologies to the Tour de France, sorry I missed the opening stage.

Sunday, smug with accomplishment, I rode solo around this steamy town. I rode through FAMU and FSU, Frenchtown, and into the old neighborhoods. I visited 5 of my past residences and took in all the years spent in Tallahassee, doing pretty much what I do now. I am wearing a groove in this town, playing that same favorite song over and over until I know every scratch and skip by heart as well as the lyrics and tune. I rode into the trails and the ground passed so easily beneath me. I felt like a bear dancing on a ball.

Monday morning, an encore performance, out into the forest for 4 hours of vision questing, as we moved constantly through the waves of heat, the smilax vines, and the sand. This is all so new to me again, this confidence that my body can get me in and out of adventures. Thanks to my swollen Achilles for reminding me to pace myself, slow it down, grab for those verses before they are all forgotten.

-Juancho

Sometime in my twenties I discovered Stetson Kennedy, first by reading his book, The Klan Unmasked, and then The Jim Crow Guide to the South. At the time I had but two noble aspirations in my life- to be a writer and to be some kind of professional rabble-rouser. The internet had not been invented yet, and so the opportunity to do both of these things from the convenience of my underwear did not exist. The only supporting evidence I had to guide me were a collection of not that good short stories (because kids in their 20’s don’t know shit with rare exception) and a couple of train-wreck efforts at organizing to support various causes. I read Mr. Kennedy’s stark and simple prose where he described not the ideas of doing good work, but the actions. I resigned myself to trying the unglamorous hard way, and went to work at a runaway shelter instead of trying to advocate from afar like a celebrity. Homeless kids need good potato salad more than they need college kids writing stiff essays about their plight. I guess I hoped that by immersing myself in the work I might one day have something legitimate to say about it all. If you aren’t familiar with the life and legend of Stetson Kennedy, I invite you to spend a few precious Google minutes learning about his contributions to Florida especially, and to humankind in general.

Tomorrow night, at an art show curated by my friend Bill Bryson, the mayor of Hogtown, Stetson Kennedy will be opening the ball. This show, The American Dream, already stood to be an epic event without this surprise announcement. Mr. Bryson is a cultural curator, a deep thinker, and apparently a persuasive organizer. Stetson Kennedy recently marched in support of increasing the pay rate of farm-workers 1 penny for a pound of tomatoes. He is a gentleman of well-advanced age and yet he gets off the couch for justice. Decades after taking down the Ku Klux Klan, defending the Everglades, and mocking the hypocrisy of the Jim Crow South, he is still making his own potato salad.

He has lived my version of the American Dream for 95 years and I can’t think of a better way to honor our nation on this Independence Day weekend.

Juancho

Check back later for a re-mix of yesterday’s Juancho vs. Dogboy ride.

I would have preferred the simplicity of a quick injection of human growth hormone but the excessive hair growth on my back and shoulders was interfering with my body’s natural ability to cool itself. Instead, I carefully removed the I.V. needle from the 2 pints of blood I purchased from some kid who deals it from the back door of his part-time job at a TCBY. He said he can run a mile in under 4 minutes so I figured it had to be pretty good. Big Worm said he was coming to the Munson Monday ride and I wasn’t taking any chances. I slapped a booster needle of EPO into my thigh and grabbed my gear when- BOOM! Lightning crackled throughout the neighborhood and the rain we have been waiting for came all at once. Nobody would be riding tonight, not on the artificial pitcher’s mound Munson has become. The trail would be a sticky mess.

There was no way to retract the increase in hemoglobin that made every deep breath taste like sweet cheesecake. I had to burn off the energy somehow so I did what anyone would do in my situation and I walked it off inside Joanne’s Fabrics. They didn’t ask me to leave until they ran the final batch report and rolled up the yards of chenille and chintz. The manager, a teenager with chipped, black fingernails told me I didn’t have to go home, but I couldn’t stay there and suggested I take it down the sidewalk to Bed, Bath, and Beyond. I told her she wasn’t the boss of me and drove home in the rain. Eventually I slept, and dreamt of future glory.

Juancho

This whole town is soaking wet this morning, and the air is moving not one single knot. I suspended my penitent practices last night and enjoyed a few cold ones, so skipping a ride was not on the menu this morning. It is so steamy that my sweat was sweating. Oh well, I felt strong. I can’t wait for another three months to pass so I can enjoy another cold beer. That’s going to be great.

I stopped in at Zone 5 Bikes, Brews, and Coffee on the way home and I just have to love what is going on down there. Homeboy has a grand vision and it is all coming together. All of the cycling tribes in the Seven Hills nation come together for Rendezvous and trading on Fridays. There is always a new Ellsworth on the stand, and one of these days that will be my new Ellsworth. I am consciously willing it into existence. I could use your help too- so on the count of three I want you all to help me manifest this vision.

OK, 1…..2……3 Manifest!

Outstanding, thank you all. If you have a vision you would like help manifesting, please submit your requests below and let the collective consciousness of the bigringcircus work for you.

Juancho