By Paul Johnson

Me and the gang decided that Mexico was the place to climb, but we kept putting off making the trip because we still sucked at climbing, and we wanted to kick some ass before we got down there.

I was never really into all of the usual thanksgiving and Christmas tree bullshit. I mean, hey, it is good to see the family and all, but all the hype, it is like some god damned super bowl, or Batman forever, much ado about very little.

"it felt like the apocalypse with miles of semis, burning trashcans, and a wiry tension buzz that smacked of the predawn hours following a long LSD night"

Dave is not into that shit either, the eve of thanksgiving, and we were happy to just be getting the fuck out of town, and especially if it meant climbing some rock that would make our sphincter pucker like the vice grips. It sure smelled like Mexico, but it felt like the apocalypse with miles of semis, burning trashcans, and a wiry tension buzz that smacked of the predawn hours following a long LSD night.

We finally get to checkpoint Charlie where we were asked for our "permits", where upon we proudly displayed all the paperwork we were told to bring. The paper work meant nothing to these young gun slinging sheriff lobos as they chastised us for not knowing but a lick of Spanish. They promptly turned us around to Nuevo Laredo where our raw paperwork, in conjunction with a passport and credit card would elicit a permit from much friendlier government workers. This time, we circumvented the two-mile line of cars via the dirt shoulder despite the policia car with cherries a-flashing.

... Potrero cont.

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