Here in the office, we have a lot of reading material — every issue of Climbing ever printed, for example. I’m psyched, cause I never have to experience the agony of a boring bowel movement. Plus, it’s handy when you’re writing an article about, say, the history of climbing World Cups in America, to be able to flip open to Jim Thornburg’s feature on the first and only such event, the Berkeley World Cup, back in 1990.

One of my favorite things to do with the unabridged set of back issues on our shelves is hunt for old Matt Samet articles. Since Matt sits about 20 feet from me, five days a week, I like to know what kind of wacky stuff he’s written over the years. I’m always amazed at how long the guy’s been cranking out cranky, hilarious prose on the topic of climbing (have you seen his intro to the original sport climbing guide to Rifle, Colorado?!)

My other favorite back-issue rainy day game is ad-hunting. For some reason, ads give you a direct, unfiltered view into the cultural milieu from which they came. Maybe cause so many ads are cheesy by nature (think car dealership TV spots). Some stuff I came across recently stopped me in my tracks.

“Oh, sweet! Is this for real?!” I exclaimed giddily when I flipped open to this page, touting the benefits of one Enduro Master, a machine that apparently uses a fan to offer resistance and is best operated standing up. But the machine is not as far-fetched as the topless, tights-clad Mullet Master at the helm. Then I realized something even cooler: I know this guy. (I’m not going to name names, but it’s totally Al Diamond.) I climbed with Al a few time in the Gunks. He’s a great guy, and tons of fun, but imagine how much fun he must have been when he had the mullet.