Cali or Bust

Dearest Reader, I thank you for your time in showing curiosity and/or
concern in my humble narrative as well as your patience as you sift
through my illiterature. Nonetheless, I would like to extend the
information that I did not pony up these words on my own enthusiasm, but
was beckoned by a friend who was obviously in some form of desperation to
contract such a scoundrel as me to illustriously design through story—how
did he put it—ah yes, an interesting point of view…

I wish I knew what made a good point of view. You know, good enough to
universally relate to readers and captivate interest. I’m not much money
for focusing in on a broad spectrum. In fact, I find it difficult to find
a proper place to begin, and if I do, I usually wander off track almost
immediately. Sometimes derailing completely. You may even take note of
this in the words on this very page. Usually, my stories align with an
idea that is under discussion. However, here, we have no frame of
reference for a topic. There are too many choices and I have no idea as
to unlocking the mystery of what great and thought provoking writing is or
what it even could be in the slightest.

Obviously, I should compose a work in context to my life as a person who
enjoys climbing. I’ve had a lot of good times passing through the
communities that play host to ideal geological landscapes on the search
for a good way to spend time away, I’ve crossed the paths of many
distinctive kinds of people. Most, I can happily say, have been charming,
beautifully intelligent and helpful folk. That is always my favorite part
of traveling. The local color. I imagine it keeps me lucid, sharing a
natural art, as climbing, with seemingly familiar strangers that bring
many different styles of climbing and living to the table.

Perhaps an account from my personal collection of climbing chronicles
would be in order. One in fact that has a certain spark to it begins in
2003, where we find myself on the road to finishing my undergraduate
studies and with no career opportunities lined up to pursue in avid
conquest. No plans for the first time in my life, allowing me to do
exactly whatever it was I wanted to do. Good thing I had no idea what I
wanted—which leaves me plenty of time to think about it. All I knew for
certain was that it would be mighty generous to get myself to California—I
mean, what’s life if you can’t do some nice things for yourself every once
in a while. I’m sure many a lovely day could be discovered through the
scenic and legendary Californian panorama. Blessed with Bishop, Black
Mountain, Joshua Tree, Yosemite not to mention countless other areas of
glory and fortune. Yes, California, the setting of a suitable study in
transition and free thinking.

Coming by and saving enough money was clutch in this first decision to
depart westward since having only a part time job, and living on my own in
the last days of school was not too friendly on the ‘ole wallet, if you
know what I mean. First, I had to come up with a couple of ways I could
cut down on costs. How about the phone? I’ve got email at the university
and I’m not a very popular guy. Sure, cut it off. Nice, money in the
bank. Electricity? A reasonable man would object that this luxury could
even be labeled a necessity for a respectable suburban existence. Good
thing I don’t even believe in squatting. Essentially, I would break the
need of electricity down in my situation to luminosity and refrigeration.
It is nice to see what you’re eating. I did still have an account with
the school cafeterias, which overall weren’t too bad. I could still cook
since gas was an included amenity along with water in my agreement with
the pleasant lady who happened to be my landlord. To use the stove all I
had to do was light it with the flame on the end of my Nag. After
discussing this idea with a friend, he gave me a candle making kit, which
was very nice of him might I add.

So, for my last semester, I kindly told the electric company thanks but no
thanks, and I began the conversion from convenience to proper planning.
If by rare chance I would land my gracious self a date with a nice young
woman, she would tell me I was particularly romantic for lighting so many
candles for her. A nice move in the right direction for sure, but one
whose cover could be blown abruptly and savagely if I did not foresee
certain key moments that could potentially play out over the course of our
evening together. I had to be especially vigilant when making sure the
path that lights the approach to the lavatory allowed the lady the
preference of freshening up in the dim antediluvian mood of the candle’s
flames to that of attempting to turn on the lights to find at my inexpense
and to her surprise that I was not being so romantic as I was economical
(By the way, by not having telephone or electricity bills to deal with, I
ended up saving roughly 500 duckets to help me along. Oh man, did I spend
a lot of time in the school library! Perhaps a blessing in disguise!

With a fool proof financial plan that I’m sure at this point will get
along great with whatever loving family and friends have up their sleeves
come graduation day, you could bet your sweet bippy I could stay elsewhere
for a modest while. Now, all I need is to decide on transportation. My
chariot at the time was a sweet old Toyota 4Runner that was equipped with
a manual transmission to boot. I loved that car. I loved it too much
though, for the beast was getting old and tired, and I knew deep inside
the gears and pistons that machine cognitively wanted—no—that machine
cognitively desired to be useful and help me along at speeds I’d only
dreamed of. Although I’m afraid no such want or desire could ever bring
this automobile back to its old glory days. No longer, the strong
performance marvel of modern design and engineering we once knew and loved
but now a fading memory that was rusting quick. No way could I ask that
sport utility vehicle to take me to California, and then expect her to
bring me back safely to the heartland one day. This car stuck by me
through four years of college, and it was time to let her rest in pieces.
Besides, the money I could get selling her would also come in handy down
the road.

Taking the bus is an experience I already had the unique pleasure to
embrace, so that was out of the question. I’m not much for flying around
the country so I prefer to drive, or to be driven. Word of a classmate
who happened to be driving to Yosemite to work for the summer and would
love some company was music to my ears and I happily obliged and enlisted
as first and only mate. I was convinced that once I was out there a way
back home would be obvious when it was indeed the right time to go.

With the plan implemented, and the dream of experiences that will soon
come to be known by me swiftly becoming more than a mere possibility and
encompassing the decisions of my daily routine, all I needed to coordinate
now was how to finish school.

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