VRG (a.k.a Very Radical Guys)
I live 20 minutes away from the noisiest, most obnoxious, sometimes dangerous but almost undoubtedly the best climbing in the country. It's called the Virgin River Gorge located on what they call the Arizona Strip. It's like no man's land, where you are more likely to stumble upon a dead body as you are a pretty cactus flower.
On one legendary occasion a female climber, who had been camping at the turnoff in the VRG, was taking a rest day sunbathing on some rocks. As the story goes, she felt like somebody was behind her. There was. A guy holding a gun and a roll of duct tape. Barefoot, she ran all the way to the freeway without looking back, gravel imbedded in her feet. The VRG is no place for the weak minded. You just never know when you will have to run from a perpetrator, catch a falling climber cradle style after you just lowered him off of his rope, or take a 30 foot digger after trying to get to the first bolt on the 11b warmup Brutus.
Most days at the Gorge consist of a grueling wind, frozen stump hands, and ringing in the ears from the wind and the jake brakes. But I had a rather pleasant day there this past week. It was a little warm therefore the men were stripping down, pulling hard and making me smile. My eye candy day may just keep me motivated for the upcoming harsher days at the Gorge.