You never realize how involved getting into and out of an automobile is until you have severe back pain. My back had certainly felt bad before, after long days of skiing the bumps or after a hockey game that should have been called the Royal Rumble, but this injury topped them all. Tears welled up as I discovered that my back muscles moved subtly, in hundreds of directions, with each bend, twist, or stretch. I could stand straight or lie down with relatively minor discomfort, but sitting was total agony. Clearly this wasnít, as my partner wished, going to heal by the next day.

Since I was able to walk and because I though that I would be able to climb in a couple days, we put off deciding to leave. We would give my back a couple days of chilling at Todd’s place and then see how I felt. It was a good plan, there was still hope. I have recovered quickly before, I can do it again. Neither of us wanted to have to pack up, make the 24 hour push home to the front range of Colorado and walk away from the route. As far as seeing a doctor, my uneducated opinion was to rest for a couple and then see what was up, after all neither Mike nor I had the energy to go back to our high camp to remove all of our gear anyway, we had to rest.

This situation was a bit different because Mike can be very quiet and to himself when he is stressed. It happend once before on the day we freed Touchstone in Zion. He was unable to do the crux moves and continued to fall, he was extremely frustrated and got really quiet, this was one of those times. So as usual, I was left to do all the talking. Again because I did feel a bit better (due to rest and not healing) I was positive that I would feel good enough to at least belay while Mike did the route. It was the least that I could do. Mike without words silently tried to accept my faith.

Getting into and out of the truck proved to be painful, but I devised a system. I had to make sure that the seat back was down, that I swiveled on my butt, and that I stayed as straight as possible when lifting my feet off the ground. The stiffer I remained the fewer shockwaves of pain that shot through my system. After a few attempts, I almost looked normal doing this maneuver — other than moving with the speed and agility of a 95-year-old.

After a few days of watching Todd Skinner first ascent movies and eating (we were actually crashing at the legends Yosemite home) On a very sad side note I am extrememly sad to see my hero pass. I was seeing zero improvement, so I made the call to get back to the road: my home, my sanctuary, my friend. The place that even when I was stranded with a broken-down vehicle, felt right. The place where Iíve had the deepest conversations with my best buddies. The place where Iíve shared my thoughts and dreams and secrets.

Now, however, facing a 24-hour marathon back to Colorado with a throbbing back, I feared those endless miles of sun-baked asphalt. Even on a good day this stretch is epic. Highway 6 through the Nevada nothingness taxes me, period. Its vast expanses of dried up wasteland broken up by the occasional dead or dying old mining town can put the finest long haul driver into a peaceful sleeping bliss while behind the wheel. Even though you are occasionally excited by seeing what you know is a virgin rock outcrop that would be a great sport climbing crag, sullenly you come back to the present and realize that no one in their right mind would ever go there. Now I had to do it with a heavy conscience because we were unable to complete the route (I was moving to Europe in a few days), and I was A CRAP travel partner because all I wanted to do was sleep and take pain medication.

Even though I was able to cautiously drive, I only took the easy stretches and nothing in the dark. When I wasn’t driving I found myself struggling to get comfortable in my once throne and found no success eventually turning the seconds to hours. Every attempt to find solace in a new sitting or lying position was in vain, so I tried to groove to the tunes, no success. The only thing that filled my thoughts was the route. When will I return? Will I be able to remember the intracit sequence through the crux? Did I hand drill the pitch poorly? Is it too run out? Will I be fit enough? Will Mike do the route without me? Will someone see the route and climb it before us? Will this whole journey have had no purpose? Will I be alright to teach at a new school, to international students, in a new country and new city in a little over four weeks? What the hell was I thinking not resting enough before this trip? The endless pile of questions allowed for little talking on the dull desert drive home. We rarely stopped and when we did we only realized that we were a long way from home.