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Partners from faraway places, walmart muffins, and moments of intense gastro-intestinal distress

After a much briefer hiatus, here comes a brand spankin' new life update. Although I'm still in the Salt Lake City vicinity, American Fork is old news. It was fun, historic, and humbling, but partners weren't plentiful (anyone sensing a theme of this trip?), and the climbing all ended in a masochistic layback roof crack. So the van was packed up on a whim, and pointed south to the promised land, otherwise known as Maple Canyon. Yeah, that's right, the place with the cobbles. Cliffs made out of millions of smaller rocks. No friction whatsoever. Routes with twenty plus draws, and more kneebars than even the laziest of sport climbers could find in Rifle. I'm terrible at this stuff. No power required, nothing tweaky in any sense of the word, just straight overhung endurance. Though the first week or so was somewhat frustrating, things have begun to look up as I've started to learn the style, and gotten used to being constantly (and I mean constantly) pumped.

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