Giddy Up. I am all saddled up and ready to bolt through the tribal lands of Wyoming. The interior. Draw a straight line between Steamboat Springs and Lander, and that is the maze of backroads I will be crossing over the next three days. Roads with such names as CC RD 561, Big Rubber Rd and Three Forks Atlantic City Rd. Some seem to have two names. Some don’t have any name at all, and I have absolutely no idea if any of these will be marked with a sign. I will be sure to wear my tightest lycra bike shorts and flashiest cape when asking the ranchers which way to the promised land. The International Climbers Fest in Lander, Wyoming is my destination and its going to rock . . . pun intended.

You have no idea how excited I am to actually use these silly climbing shoes I have been carrying around since Telluride. To be surrounded by climbers, will calm me. Ever since I started this biking hobby, about a month ago, I have become overly nervous when someone from the biking tribe approaches me. He, usually a male, will stop to talk shop about my gearing ratio or some other two wheeled semantic detail that I have no idea how to answer. I seem to leave them disappointed with my apparent ignorance, but everyone can relate to the butt soreness. You can always talk to a biker about that. I am working on my biking vocab, but I fear I will never care what my seat post weighs when I am pulling a 70 pound trailer. Oh bikers. Not that climbers are any better. If I have to hear about another “sick splitter” (climber talk for “cool crack climb”) around the Indian Creek campfire, I might just start wearing lycra when I climb. Actually, I have tried that once and it was very funtional in off-widths. I digress. What I am trying to get at is that every tribe has their own language, and the key to this adventure lies in my ability to play it off like I speak them all. I am working on Biker, and I am about to get some practice with Rancher. Wish me luck. See in you three days.

Drew

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