AdventureTaco - turbodb's build and adventures

There's a great book on the trees called "The Bristlecone Book" that talks about the very few places in the world to see them. Interesting fun fact. If you let Garmin autoroute to the ABCPF from Bishop, Silver Canyon was your route. I laughed seeing a couple of Mini sized cars headed down. I mentioned the water crossings and step climb and managed to convince them to take the hwy.

 

When we were up at the top of Silver Canyon (a couple days after visiting the ABCPF), a Dutch couple approached us and asked if they could make it down in their rental. Turns out it was a Jeep, so I told them it'd be fine; they should just keep it in low gear. I could tell right after I said that, that the guy was thrilled - "that'll save us an hour," he said - and the woman was not. lol

We had some time to kill, and I could see how slowly they were going, so we hung out in the shade at Silver Peak for a couple hours. By the time we went down, I could see their tracks all the way to the bottom. So at least they made it, hahaha!

 

It's a huge time savings. You basically have to drive almost 20 miles south, then up the hill and 20 miles back. You can see how Garmin perceives the route as "faster". One thing you don't realize on the way up is how steep it is. One year, I'd gotten most of the way up only to be blocked and have to turn around....

 

Yeah, totally. We did the "out to 168" route when we were exploring Wyman (I wanted to drive up from the bottom after we failed getting through from Dead Horse Meadow), and I was surprised how long that loop took; it's quite the trek.

Coming *up* Silver Canyon, the road forks "near the top." It looked like the northern fork was shorter but even steeper than the southern fork. I sent the rental car down on the south, hahaha.

 

I believe the "northern" route is an old one. At one time, there were logs blocking it.

 

Looked graded and graveled now, but perhaps there were some logs that I missed. Was certainly "straight up/down"!

 

Dude, the heat out here is real. Thanks for fighting through to give us all these epic photos.


A legitimate reading over blacktop today... out with the wife in Palm Springs.

I'm too old for this shit!

 

Our First 14er | White Mountains #3
Part of the Wandering the White Mountains (Jun 2024) trip.

Unsure of the tenability of the main hike we'd planned for our visit to the White Mountains - a hike to the 14,252 foot summit of White Mountain itself - we proceeded toward the trailhead with a bit of trepidation. A few minutes earlier, we'd been approached by a Spanish-speaking couple who'd asked @mrs.turbodb if we'd been to the end of the road. They'd picked us because our vehicle suggested that we might have been, and the information officers - at the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Visitor Center - told them that they wouldn't be able to make it because the road was closed.

Up we go, through green grass, to higher elevations.​

While the view in front of us was new and enticing, the view behind us was spectacularly familiar.​

Working around the last of the trees at the Patriarch Grove.​

The possible infeasibility of our hike evoked different reactions from the two people looking out the windshield. I was worried. I'd been watching snow levels in the area for weeks prior to our departure, and it had seemed to me that the heat dome - which we'd had to endure on our torturous hike to the Champion Spark Plug Mine - had finally taken care of the last few inches of stubborn snow that had been covering the summit. @mrs.turbodb on the other hand seemed relieved. Our first day of hiking had been one of the hardest hikes we've ever done, and she was not looking forward to an even longer hike at an even higher elevation, even if I assured her that it would be a much less strenuous afair.

Continuing to climb, even the groundcover disappeared, as patches of snow dotted the lunar-looking landscape.​

Behind us.​

By now, we were passing through 11,800 feet and as the road climbed over a rocky knoll, we got our first glimpse of White Mountain. "That's strange," I mused, "it looks a lot more like Red Mountain to me." With three more miles to the trailhead, I also joked that we could always just add a few miles to our 16-mile out-and-back if we did run into snow.

"That's six miles and 1,000 vertical feet," I was reminded!

Sure is pretty up here!​

Ultimately, while there were a few patches of snow that were close to the road, the only impact was a bit of melt water that splashed under the tires as the Tacoma huffed and puffed - climbing, and then ultimately losing 100 feet of elevation - to arrive at the 11,700-foot trailhead. We'd made it! Our agenda was saved!

​

Still, it was too early to call it quits for the day. While neither of us wanted to head out on another hike - we'd save our energy for the following morning - we had noticed a road that peeled off of our route a few miles back, and decided to go check it out.

Heading back down the mountain, we could see a Jeep approaching. It was the Mexican American couple we'd chatted with below and we shared the good news that the trailhead was accessible before wishing them well and assuming we'd not see them again as we pushed on with our exploration. Little did we know how wrong we were at the time!

Looking out from a scree road along the edge of Cottonwood Moutain, the valley below was a sight to behold.​

We didn't explore all that long before realizing that - after our late dinner the previous day - it might be nice to pull into camp a little early so we could enjoy a leisurely evening and retire early in preparation for our trek the following morning. So, we pointed the Tacoma in the direction we'd come and soon found ourselves pulling into the trailhead parking area a few minutes after 5:00pm.

There, with a ground tent set up, were our Mexican American friends. And a second Jeep, with more of their friends. Soon, another load would arrive; then another. When we awoke the next morning, there'd be six cars and more than 20 people in their group. A group that - with good reason - called themselves the "Happy Hikers!"

It was windy up here and the ground wasn't level, but with a few rocks and some strategic positioning of the Tacoma, we got oriented into the wind as best we could.​

As @mrs.turbodb set about assembly of our dinner - some delicious salami sandwiches, potato chips, nectarines, and lemon cake, I wandered out into the grassy field in front of the Tacoma to introduce myself to our neighbors and ask that they refrain from investigating the wiring of the Tacoma over the next 24 hours, a reputation that they've developed over the years.

Oh no, they've seen me.​

"Hey Marge, we've got visitors."​

It was tough getting my point across - my marmot is rather rusty - but I hoped that I'd squeaked and clicked clearly enough to make my point, before heading back to enjoy dinner and wash up.

It was well before sunset as we climbed into the tent, @mrs.turbodb reading to me from The Demon of Unrest: A Saga of Hubris, Heartbreak, and Heroism at the Dawn of the Civil War - a well-written and so much more interesting book than I'd have suspected - as I nodded off to sleep.

The following morning...

We knew we needed to get up early, the question was simply, how early? Our usual pace is about one mile per hour once we account for various photos, poking around structures we find, etc., but I hoped that we'd be able to complete this hike in less than 12 hours, since I didn't expect us to find many mines or petroglyphs along the way. Still, we'd be in the sun the entire time, so we both knew that we needed to get an early start. We decided that 4:30am would be a good time to wake up, allowing us to get on the trail half an hour before sunrise.

So, that's what we did. Well, at least, the 4:30am part. Making lunch, stowing the tent, and gathering our things meant that we didn't get on the trail until a few minutes after sunrise, but that would turn out to be just fine.

Good morning Sierra, you're looking fine with your white shawl.​

Here. We. Go!​

The trail to the summit is actually a road, but a locked gate allows only foot traffic from two miles below the Barcroft Research Station to the summit. It turned out that our departure coincided with that of the Happy Hikers, and as we passed a few of them on the initial ascent, each of them greeted us in high spirits as we all continued at our own pace. The goal wasn't to get to the top first, it was to get there at all!

A trail of Happy Hikers.​

Somehow, we found ourselves at the front of the pack, the sun providing a little warmth on this cool morning.​

We hadn't felt like it was in the high 20s °F, but apparently, it was!​

We wouldn't remain at the head of the pack for long, but we did pass through the Barcroft Station before being caught again, the first two miles - of eight to the summit - now behind us. It hadn't been as hard - I think - as either of us had feared, and I hoped that was an indication of the rest of the hike!

What type of research do you do, Barcroft?​

A little further on, this observatory would be a great spot to squander away a dark night below White Mountain.​

The walking continued, and with every passing step we got closer. Our spirits were high and even with my incesant stopping for photos, we were pounding out a pace of more than two miles per hour. And then, it happened.

"On your left," we heard, the patter of feet quicker than our own. Moving over, we couldn't believe it - one of the Happy Hikers wasn't just passing us, he was trail running the route at 12,495 feet.

And then, another. And another. In the end, six hikers - all seemingly in their 50s and 60s - passed us in very impressive fashion.

Jogging up the trail, with packs much heavier than ours.​

Don't mind us, we're just younger and slower.​

Our spirits weren't dampened at all, and we got a good chuckle out of the whole situation as we joked with each other and continued to climb.

I'd assumed that we'd been in the White Mountain Wilderness the entire time, but perhaps not?​

The view just kept getting better.​

Soon, the observatory was but a blip below the Sierra.​

By this point in the trail, none of the grades had been that steep, but that didn't keep us from complaining loudly - to no one in particular - whenever the road would follow the undulating hills down into a depression. "Certainly they could have filled this in so we didn't have to walk up the other side," we suggested. "Just lazy builders," we grumbled. "There were probably three guys just standing around watching."

Soon, we'd start the final leg - a 2.3-mile set of switchbacks - and the real "up" part of the journey.​

"Good luck," this Golden-Mantled Ground Squirrel mumbled. Or maybe he was just eating grass.​

To this point we'd been walking through a green oasis, but as we began our final ascent, we the trail wound its way into a barren terrain. Gleaming brightly under the blue sky, it was a sight to behold, behold we did. Several times. Definitely not because we needed a break to catch our breath. Nope, we were definitely just fine.

Colorful ridge.​

Up.​

Behold the world below. And see those dunes in the far distance? (Left side, at the base of the farthest mountains.)​

Those are the Eureka Valley Sand Dunes in Death Valley National Park! So cool.​

A bird. (An extremely rare Pinkusdotus onwingus, or perhaps more likely, a Gray-crowned Rosy-Finch)​

Nearly there, the orange, green, blue, and white laid out before us.​

About half a mile before reaching the top - and right around 9:30am - we found a nice little sheltered area alongside the trail and decided to enjoy the lunch that @mrs.turbodb had whipped up under cover of darkness. Turkey sandwiches with spicy peppers, a bag of Lays (that promised eight servings but seemed to only contain two), and a smattering of green and red grapes made for good eating at what was nearly the top of the world.

Looking north along the ridge of the White Mountains. The furthest peak - barely discernable in the distance and 1,000 feet lower - is Boundary Peak, the highest point in Nevada.​

We were full of anticipation as we made the final push to the top. By this time, the Happiest of the Happy Hikers were already there, cheering on the remainder of their group - and us - with each successive switchback. It was a party on the summit, and we were invited!

Made it! Our first 14er!​

Hard to beat that view.​

Gotta get a shot with the peak log and fancy sign.​

Thanks Zane @Speedytech7 for making me view all of these a little differently now.
​

We spent about 45 minutes on the summit - looking one way and then the other - while we soaked in the never-ending view that extended in every possible direction. We'd made it to the top by 10:20am, our five-hour time - including lunch (!) - better than either of us ever expected. We started wondering what we'd do with all the extra time we were sure to find ourselves with upon our return.

After the arrival of a few more Happy Hikers, said our goodbyes and headed back down the hill. The views now were just as dramatic as they'd been on the way up - or perhaps even more so, the sun now higher in the sky - and we marveled at them all for a second time as we put one foot in front of the other, our pace even faster than it'd been on the way up.

Heading back down to ground level.​

A colorful ridge, heading east toward Dyer and Fish Lake Valley.​

A couple miles down, I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye. Catching @mrs.turbodb's attention, we continued slowly along the trail, hoping that the focus of our attention wouldn't scamper away, since it's not often we see a bighorn sheep when we're out and about.

Looking a little scraggly, shedding a winter coat.​

From there, it was more down, though for a good part of that down, we were looking behind us, and up. How could we not, with White Mountain gleaming in the morning sun?

The patchy snow on green grass, our road winding through, and a backdrop.​

We were up there just a few minutes earlier​

Finally in frame.​

It was two minutes after 2:00pm when we arrived at the trailhead and played rock-paper-scissors for dibs on the pit toilet. Then, after a few snacks and shedding of our packs, we climbed into the Tacoma and just sat. While the hike hadn't been half as strenuous as the one to the Champion Spark Plug Mine, the bottoms of our feet were tired, and the warm air in the cab was nearly nice enough to require a nap.

Nearly back to camp, and the road to more adventure.​

But there was a lot more of the White Mountains to see, and we weren't going to lose any time in seeing what we could, pointing the truck towards a meadow that I'd heard was "hard to get to, but worth enjoying for a few days once you do," if the road to it was even passable anymore...

 

I know we’ve talked Barcroft before. I did find a couple of astronomy clubs who’ve hosted nights at the observatory. Like everything else, it’s for sale I don’t recall the rates but you spend a couple of nights. I think most people bring telescopes as the observatory is just a shell these days.

 

Secrets of Crooked Creek | White Mountains #4
Part of the Wandering the White Mountains (Jun 2024) trip.

Somehow, we'd completed a 16 mile hike to 14,252 feet above sea level in just under nine hours. Figuring that it'd take more than a little longer - especially after eating lunch and hanging out at the top for a while - I'd planned for us to spend a second night at the White Mountain trailhead. Then, we'd spend our final day of exploration winding our way through a few canyons and meadows that I'd heard were well worth visiting.

But now, we had options. It was time to work out how to best squander them!

Working our way down from the trailhead, undulating white hills rose from green meadows.​

Lots of down.​

Broadly, I'd hoped we could turn Crooked Creek, Dead Horse Meadow, and Wyman Canyon into a large loop that would take us through a good chunk of the eastern flanks of the White Mountains, but I knew that the road - if you could call it that - connecting Dead Horse Meadow and Wyman Canyon had been in rough shape for the better part of a decade, so our hopes were not high that we'd run the entire loop without a major change in direction.

Before long, we found ourselves at an intersection we'd passed more than once, and with the afternoon sun at our backs, we turned to follow the Crooked Creek.

Before long, we passed the Crooked Creek Research Station, which - by the cars in the parking area - seemed to be hopping!​

Crooked Creek wasn't a big creek, but it lived up to its name, crossing the road more than a dozen times as we worked our way through the canyon.​

Along each of the roads that made up a segment of the loop we hoped to complete, I'd used the USFS MVUM (Motor Vehicle Use Map) to plot out the various spur roads that we could explore along the way. This seemed like a genius move at the time, but as with many such moves, I later realized that - as had been the case in the Inyo Mountains that I'd explored a few weeks earlier - these were mostly old mine roads, with little to see but views. Definitely not attention-grabbers that would make sense to explore with a companion along.

Still, as we neared the first fork, I noticed that my copilot was fully engrossed in her mid-afternoon nap, so spur road it was!

Heading down a side canyon on a lightly travelled road.​

An aspen grove gleamed green in the afternoon sun, such a bright splash of color compared to what we'd seen so far.​

The rock formations down here were fantastic, and a prelude of more to come.​

As with Crooked Creek, the road down ********** Canyon crossed the creek more than a few times. With a bit more water, there were a few crossings where 30-50 feet of road were under six inches of water - perhaps a place for a bit of a high-speed car wash, had it not been for the tasty residents.

Road or creek? Why not both?​

Hey guys, you wanna be dinner?​

Of course, even if the trout had been more than 8-9 inches long, we were without permit and poles, so we slowly made our way through the neighborhood, joking that we'd know whether we'd gone too fast if there were floaters on our way back!

What have we here? (It's the ******* Cabin, apparently.)​

That broom won't sweep itself.​

Not many people visit the old ******* Ranch, and the only thing of interest in the cabin were a few dozen small - condiment-size - pouches of water strewn about on nearly every flat surface. This though was our turnaround point according to the MVUM, so we headed back up to Crooked Creek in search of our next spur.

This was definitely landscape we were both looking forward to experiencing.​

​

We've found a secret Alabama Hills! And, it reminded me a of a smaller version of Papoose Flat.​

Over undulating terrain, I noticed that I'd accidentally marked something potentially interesting on one of the spurs: a trio of structures. Still, it wasn't the cabins that we noticed as the rocky terrain opened up onto a grassy meadow, it was the teardrop trailer and Grenadier that were parked out front.

Living quarters for anyone willing to brave the hantavirus at Deep Springs Cow Camp.​

The visitor-log-turned-mouse-meal has seen better days. And not many visitors.​

Turns out the residents of the tear drop - a father and son - were up from the Los Angeles area to escape the worst of the heat dome. They'd been camped here for nearly a week, spending their days relaxing in the meadow and rock climbing the granitic outcroppings that decorated the valley.

After wasting a few minutes of their time with what we'd been up to over the last couple of days - though, to be fair, I did catch them checking out the Tacoma as we were coming out of the cabins - I had one final question before we said our goodbyes, "How'd you guys get here, and do you know if the road through the bottom of the canyon is passable?"

That got a good chuckle, and I was informed - for the second time - that Hillary had done a number on the road, and that even the Wyman Canyon portion of our loop would be questionable at this point.

Hoping that the opinion of a Grenadier driver might not be the same as those held by the occupants of a beat up, 25-year-old Tacoma, we bid our farewells and continued on.

Soon, what had been a road through a lush granite wonderland transitioned into a rocky mess that we unfondly refer to as "Oregon."​

Frequently checking to be sure we still had all of our teeth, we bounced over the rocky terrain for longer than either of us would have preferred, hoping that the reward at the end would make it all worth it.

Along the way, we sent the flying camera up to investigate a structure I'd spotted at the end of a spur road. Turned out to be a good call, given the only-inches-tall nature of said structure.​

As quickly as the rocky road began, it disappeared. A change in terrain, we found ourselves leaving a high desert transition zone for a steep, switchback descent into the place I'd heard we should spend a couple of days.

Assuming - that is - that we could get there.

A narrow squeeze.​

The trail at this point seemed passable - for narrow vehicles - but definitely kept us wondering as to the continued feasibility and turnaround opportunities. Still, the reward at the end was definitely enticing!

Yes please, I'll take some of that on my where-to-camp menu!​

Frequent readers will know that my favorite spots to camp are often on the edges of cliffs overlooking an expansive view. @mrs.turbodb doesn't mind these either - as long as we're not too near the edge - but we both agreed that nestling into the boulders in this most unusual landscape would be more than sufficient.

So, though it was only 5:00pm, we found a nook, set up the tent, and promptly climbed in for a nap! Let me tell you, this whole "slowing down" thing is not overrated!

Camp.​

As the sun dropped below the ridge to our west, its heat finally relenting just a bit, we climbed down the ladder and set about the task of dinnering. Rather, @mrs.turbodb set about preparations - it was hot dogs and corn on the cob again - and I set about the consumption.

We certainly hadn't pictured ourselves here after a hike to the top of White Mountain, but as we climbed into the tent, there was no doubt that it'd been an amazing day.

The following morning...

Meandering.​

Technically, public parking.​

Knowing that we'd have plenty of time on the final day of our adventure - even retracing nearly 50% of the loop to run the remainder from the opposite direction - we weren't in any huge rush to get going in the morning. And, after a few just-before-sunrise photos with the flying camera, I climbed back into the warmth of the tent for another 90 minutes of cuddling and shut-eye.

I always love the shadowless light - especially on what would otherwise be harsh terrain - just before the sun crests the horizon.​

Camp decorations. (Nuttall's Linanthus - Leptosiphon nuttallii)​

Even with our extra tent time, we were on the road before 7:00am, climbing along Crooked Creek toward a road that'd become familiar over the last several days. The sun at our back, this time we took the easy way down, following White Mountain Road all the way to pavement at CA-168. There, we headed east, toward the final segment of our loop: the mouth of Wyman Canyon.

Granite under a golden glow.​

While would have been nice to complete the entire loop in a single go, we couldn't complain about the stunning Sierra view as we descended White Mountain Road.​

A glutton for punishment, just as I'd dutifully transcribed all of the MVUM spurs along our loop, I'd also included several that branched off of CA-168. Mercifully, we could tell from the highway that a couple of these were so obviously boring as to be entirely not worth checking out.

That left only one road - a road that reached nearly back to the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest - unaccounted for, and completely ignoring the untrod nature of the two-track, we dutifully entered the canyon of no views.

To give ourselves just a teeny bit of credit, this canyon does look like it could be geologically interesting. I assure you, it is not.​

We wasted the better part of an hour slowly winding our way through a canyon that was neither wide nor narrow, neither technical nor graded, neither exciting nor beautiful.

The best part of this out and back was the "being back" at the trailhead. Or maybe the breakfast we ate somewhere along the way.​

That canyon did teach us one thing, however: just because a road is on a MVUM doesn't mean it's interesting. I'd learned this lesson when I'd explored the Inyo, but while some might classify themselves as visual learners, I prefer the descriptor of "slow" in situations such as this. I'll probably only follow MVUM roads another handful of times before finally connecting the dots.

For now though, we were finally ready to run Wyman Canyon.

This was an exciting introduction to our 6,000-foot ascent into the White Mountains from Deep Springs - our first ever electric gate!​

Pretty quickly, Wyman Canyon began to deliver. More granitic outcroppings, a few early creek crossings, and even a bit of "wildlife" kept our attention as we quickly began to gain elevation.

Hey guys. Sumpthin's wrong with my tail. (Spiny lizard)​

Hey guys, did you notice something was wrong with my buddy's tail?​

Yo, ya'll see that lizard with a messed up tail? (Western tiger swallowtail)​

Winding our way into the rock garden.​

Seems like a good spot for lunch if someone could just turn up the outside air conditioning. ​

Unlike upper Crooked Creek - where the creek stayed in its own lane - long sections of Wyman Canyon Road were indistinguishable from the waterway. Surely this changes as summer wears on, but for now, it made for a sloshy, fun climb.

Let's drive up the river. Or the road. Why not both?​

We followed telephone poles through some of the most insane terrain.​

It was just before 11:00am when we arrived at the junction where the road to Dead Horse Meadow left Wyman Canyon Road. We could tell that no one had driven the road in quite some time, but curious to see how far we could make it, we pushed our way through encroaching willow branches and onto what was once - apparently - an old mining road.

Not very wide anymore. (left) | Still passable at this point (right).​

A half mile - and three progressively harder obstacles - later, our single-vehicle status meant that it was time to turn around. Hat for scale.​

Making our way - in reverse - back to Wyman Canyon, we hoped for more of the river-as-a-road that we'd enjoyed to this point in our journey, but the water mostly dried up, the road becoming a reasonably well-maintained right-of-way for power line maintenance. Still, there were a couple things to stop and see along the way.

A rather dismal looking cabin from the exterior turned out to be rather cozy on the inside (which I neglected to photograph).​

Weird, didn't we see Deep Springs cabin at the other end of this loop? Did someone steal a door? Or a log book?​

This nicely rustic looking cabin at Robert's Camp - turned out to be a total dump on the inside.​

Well, aren't those classy messages to leave for future visitors. Leave it nicer than you found it ... or something.​

From Robert's Camp, the road continued to climb, but by now it was boring enough that one of us was napping.​

A final cabin. I think we were both done by this point, because it was too much trouble - even for me - to even get out of the truck at this one.​

As we reached the end of the loop at White Mountain Road, a Limber Pine (left) and Bristlecone Pine snag (right) stood as Christmas tree-shaped sentinels over the road.​

Our early start on the loop meant that it was a few minutes before 1:00pm when we crested the ridge and found ourselves in the same place we'd camped two nights prior. Here, with clear blue skies, we looked down on Bishop and the Volcanic Tablelands, the Sierra still snowcapped in the distance.

We sat, for 20 minutes, admiring this view.​

Down there, is dinner.​

The problem - if you could call it that when we were enjoying a view like this - was that once we dropped down into Owens Valley, the pleasant temperatures at 10,800 feet would become oppressive. Not only that, but they'd remain above 87°F through the night - a situation we'd need to endure in order to catch our 5:55am flight out of Las Vegas, but one we wanted to suffer for as short a time as possible.

And so, we did what any good procrastinators would do in our position - we headed up. Ten minutes later we parked the truck in the shade of a Bristlecone just under the Silver Peak Summit and set about two very important tasks: 1) napping, and 2) reading.

Namesake.​

The view up here - a bit of sun illuminating White Mountain - wasn't anything to scoff at either.​

With a six-hour drive between us and some yet-to-be-determined place where we'd spend the night, we finally pointed the Tacoma back down Silver Canyon Road a little after 3:00pm. Our destination was a Mexican joint - Las Palmas - just off of Main St. in Bishop. We'd stopped there on our way into town for a quick bite and had been thoroughly impressed with the fish tacos and enormous serving of guacamole. These delights weren't inexpensive, but they were well worth it in our opinion, so a repeat dinner was in order!

Light and shadow on the striated switchbacks made for a visually enjoyable trip back into town.​

And of course, there were always the Sierra.​

 

Las Palmas. What a great place that was. It’s soon to be a day care center. Talking about your old stomping grounds.

 

Wait, what? Are they going out of business?

 

Gone. Construction is mostly done. Does not look anything like it once did.

 

We must be talking about a different place. I was there at the end of June.

 

No, the one in Santa Clara.

 

This is a delightful narrative, with world-class photography to boot, but surely you are joking about this being your first 14er, right?

Not that I'm one to boast, having myself struggled through countless yards of slightly uneven terrain, sipping at whiskey and gasping for fresh nicotine, just to reach the summit of Mt Whereverthefuck last year. But the literal reason for that hike was your own suggestion that I do so.

It was somewhere in Colorado. Like Mt Anthony or some bullshit. I sent you pictures.

Are you telling me you didn't even scramble up this cakewalk of a 14er on your own? But you sent me up there on my own, to possibly either die or just have a really fun time????

 

Antero? I've been there twice. Never to the top. Thanks for rubbing it in. Sheesh. Looks amazing.

#mefail

 

It was pretty amazing. And the only reason I stumbled up there was because you told me to!



Not mad though, looks like you had an epic trip to SoCal's upper reaches. But damn... next time, let me know so I can tag along!

 

And you have my pants?

And you wore them better?

 

With apologies for posting the same photo three times....



We are all students of Rex Kwan Do.