I’m halfway through my guidebook to The Dinosaurs Are Real Mini Boulders at Alton Baker Park. But I don’t draw well.
I found a free bike helmet in a park (I held it in my hands for at least 15 seconds to let the lice crawl off before I put it on), so I don’t wear a bright green climbing helmet when pedaling around town anymore.
And last night, I found an apple in my hat and ate it.
I know these are not newsworthy events, but I am an everyday dirtbag, not a real down-and-out-destitute dirtbag, so I can’t tell you what it was like to sleep in the women’s bathroom at the Calcutta International Airport last night. And I didn’t send Astroman on Tuesday. And I want to put up clean FAs in the Wind Rivers but I’ve never been to that part of Wyoming.
I climbed three times this week, but didn’t get on any spectacular rock. And yesterday I did pull ups but not enough to impress you.
I keep revising my novel that has dirtbags in it, and even my old friend Kenny as a character, and I miss him and his way of life, a way of life I’ve never known because he actually spent 77 days in Waimea Canyon on Kauai, catching and foraging for food. He also walked to Mexico. Walked.
But this is what I do know:
It’s hard to say no to things.
Life is always busy unless you’re apathetic.
I can sleep in a bus station, a 7-Eleven parking lot, or along a fence-line in water to six inches because I’ve done all three.
And if you want to get criticized for everything you do in your entire life, write a memoir. Because I have taken a beating this summer. Some people just hate me now.
But I’ll keep climbing. Keep writing. Keep revising. Go to new places. Explore. Send trash routes on lowballs.
And that’s how it is today.