Musings of a gay climber who wishes he was in the New…

Reposted with permission from Owen, our displaced New England climber!

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So the good part about being in New York in the summertime is that, unlike summer in SF, I can wear tank tops all fucking day long. I went straight to day drinking from leaving the ex’s new apt and picked one up on the way to change out of my sequin dress. But that’s basically where it ends.

The bad part is that I’m not in The New, where it’s surely way fucking hotter, in every conceivable sense of the word.

I first found gay climbing via Flame and Flash as a total fucking noob. It was a year ago. Mikey reached out, and was patient while I had my little gong fest on a 10a in the gym. Then he gave me hard-on while he redpointed 13b. But I digress.

Never had I met as diverse and fun group of people than when I met the FnF guys. That of couse until I went to Bishop for HC West.

We arrived, stocked up on beef jerky, and headed straight into MY gorge (Yes they named it after me, and yes Rio, please go after the oral sex reference)

I met Chavez, and St Louis Crew and then headed to The Great Wall of China. Tim Ketting was actually wearing a harness (seriously, and not even the kind used to get railed). Rio introduced himself right after lowering off of Aurora (he was scared as shit and laughing his ass off), and Connor kept pushing me up harder leads so I could properly get my then twinky bottom lead head on right. We kept crushing for the next 4 days and raged the next four nights. I hung out with Thomas and Matty, crushed it with the heelhookers , Marlyand and Texas, and got into rescue mode for a near epic.

Somewhere between the acknowledging one of the trip’s defining memes (“Bird poop, don’t fall, gay climbing…”) and gorilla gay-bar-ing Rusty’s saloon, I realized that this scene was larger than fucking life.

We headed back to SF with quick stopover at Matty Lamos’ Mom’s house so we could have coffee and look at the hilarious high school photos on the wall (add 30 pounds and 6 inches of hair. Despite how hot he is now, those were pure. fucking. gold). I ended up in SF with torn hands, a shit ton of fond memories, and no STI’s. It was epic.

I promised myself I’d make to the New, and for reasons that only leave myself to blame, I didn’t get on top of my shit and make it down.

So as I sit here, refreshing Grindr and Adam4Adam, getting ready for a days worth of meetings all over a humid, schweaty, sticky Manhattan and read the Facebook posts, I’m filled with a warm chest full of… *sigh* regret.

I really wish I could have been there.

I try to explain to family and non-climber friends what this oddly named queer climbing thing is all about, and it’s honestly hard to put into words. They typically ask why we need our own climbing club, and if we’re that oppressed, or something. No, granted, Uh-Merica isn’t uniformly that accepting, but the question misses the point. What shocked me about Homo Climbtastic was how such a diverse group of guys and (yeah, fucking represent!) girls the sport of climbing attracts. Better still, how 50+ of us can unite in these random po-dunk towns where Sarah Palin could likely do OK at a book signing, and not only rage, but earn the respect and praise off the locals. Heads up Rick Stantorum, the gays are taking a big, slippery whipper into a town near you.

So for those of you that went, I’m jealous. And for those of you that are reading this but never did go, trust me, next time there’s a meetup, be it Rumney, the Red or fucking Red Rocks, you get yourself there.

Climb safe, crush hard, bottom powerfully.

Miss you all.

Owie

Oh My God Y’all Have So Much Fun!

Fair warning:  I’m writing this whole piece of fuckery on an airplane after having endured the gigantic titty fucking bullshit ass-rape that is an Asian airline check-in.  The woman in front of me saw a microwave on another woman’s luggage carrier and started screaming in Mandarin at her husband “See, we could have brought it!”  I bumped into some douche-tard’s luggage rack (which he thoughtfully placed in the middle of the walkway) and was accosted by said douche-tard, causing me to burn through the last of my self-control in an effort not to open his skull with his wife’s knock-off Louis Vuitton mirkin holder and eat the soft parts.

And that's how Mommy planes and Daddy planes make Baby planes!

Unfortunately, this trip to Asia has obliterated any chance I had of attending HC Summer Trip 2011, and to say that I’m fucking bummed would be a massive understatement.  On the up-side, I haven’t slept in 38 hours and I’ve been waxing nostalgic about my many many many (three) years of hanging with the boys and girls of HC, so I’m gonna’ lay down a piece of delirium-riddled memory glitter for you fuckers.  Remember, if something doesn’t sound right, chalk it up to the jet-lag.  That, or the gigantic bowl of congee I just inhaled after sprinkling something called “Tuna Floss” all over it…fuck…I think it’s giving me tracers.

I am not fucking kidding, this shit's amazing.

So yeah, I remember looking all over for an LGBT rock climbing group.  I came up with the old Stonewall climbers group, noticed that not a fucking soul is on there, and chalked it up to experience.  Finally, I stumbled across the Homo Climbtastic group on Facebook and decided to hook up with them in West Virginia that July.  I recruited a couple other Austin climbers, rented a mini-van, and started planning the trip…I guess I could’ve gone alone, but I had no fucking idea who any of these people were.  HC was un-fucking-known…I think Rowland was kinda’ shocked that other people were gonna’ show up for this junk show, too…so I felt better knowing that I’d have people to climb with in case nobody else came.  Or if I found out that HC was Ashton Kutcher’s way of punking me back after that unfortunate glory-hole incident.  Sorry Demi, I thought you knew about it, girl!  Call me, bitch…

This is what you get when you do a Google image search for Ashton Kutcher Glory Hole. It'll have to do.

We were also worried that the climbing would be a little too aggressive for some of the members of the Austin crew.  Alyson and I both led 5.11-ish pretty easily back in Austin, and Maddy could lead around 5.8 at the time, but we all had ropes and gear and verve and magical pixie dust and hopes and dreams and prick us do we not fucking bleed or whatever…Goddammit, keep it together, girl…just keep cool…bring it down a notch…I need a nap, y’all.  I need a nap so fucking bad.  Yeah, so we finally decided that fuck it, we had two relative newbies with us but dammit they were our newbies, and we’d take care of them.  And we did.  I don’t recommend showing up without having ever climbed before.  I almost wrote “unless you’re amazing hot” but do you know something?  I think even amazing hot brand-newbies who show up at an HC trip are probably not going to have a wonderful time…seriously, y’all can laugh all you want, but I really do think that Homo Climbtastic is first about have fun climbing, and after that it’s what the fuck ever else happens.  And taking care of someone, while possibly emotionally fulfilling, is not how we want to spend our vacations.  Now, if you’re a good belay and at least know how to clean a route, then Goddammit you better show up ‘cause someone will let you hop on a top-rope as long as you agree to clean the route or belay them up.  I’m just saying this isn’t the best place to show up with new gear and have someone teach you how to use it.

I conned Alyson, Lorig, and Maddy into agreeing to come with me in the end, and as we packed Alyson’s vegan food (that shit is fucking BULKY) I got the skinny from my climbing partners.  They’d held a lesbian/gender queer caucus without me, evidently, and the result was that we were not going to fucking camp with the rest of the gang since we were pretty sure we would be the only group not having a gigantic orgy and keeping everyone up all goddamn night.  We were going to camp somewhere without showers and bathe in a fucking river or something.  I guess the point I’m trying to make here is that the Austin posse rolled up in to Miss West Virginia fully prepared to be all by ourselves for the entire goddamn trip, thank you very fucking much.  Well, that and this dude I was dating at the time only let me go on the condition that I would be surrounded by lesbians the whole trip.  Yeah, that relationship didn’t last.

Lorig was our late-night trucker and pulled the graveyard shift from Texarkana to about Memphis…I’ll never understand how she does that shit…but we rolled into Fayettesville, West Virginia after a full 26 hour drive.  I convinced everyone that we at least needed to give the HC people a chance, so we rolled up to the hostel and kinda’ crashed.  All of our tough talk was some bullshit when we realized we were fucking tired and fucking hungry, so we pitched camp in the back of the hostel telling ourselves that we’d go find a more rugged camping experience the next day.  Or something, fuck it.  Rowland, Mikey, and CPowell all showed up a little later that night and came back to say hi, but since Austin was so fucked up from the drive we weren’t very good company.  Well, that and we had no idea who these people were.  I later learned that Mikey took a gigantic fucking leap of faith, too, in flying from SFO to Atlanta to meet up with Rowland for the trip.  CAS, as it happens, wouldn’t have known a soul if someone hadn’t asked her to pick up Ryan, at the time a complete stranger…point being we were all taking some pretty big chances on this deal.

Over the next 8 or so hours, Homo Climbtastic Summer Trip 2009 took shape.  The Canadian crew showed up, CAS rolled into the hostel with Ryan, Michigan came in early one morning I think with the Jon’s and Chavez, then New York showed up with Robbie (Hi Robbie, we miss you!).  There were more, of course, but an amazing thing happened to the Austin crew…our aggressive separatist stance melted away, and as we experienced HC in all its glory, we were forever changed.  Climbing with the group all day, dinner at Pies & Pints, then impromptu pole-dancing lessons in the common area at night…I just don’t know how it gets any fucking better than that.  2010 was more of the same, except in 2010 we all knew one-another and were able to promote the trip a little better, so more people could show up without worrying that we weren’t real.

And so, my darlings, I hope that HC Summer Fagtastic HomoErotic Climbings Throbbing Hot Wet Lip Fuck 2011 (Jesus Christ, who named this fucking trip??) is as wonderful for you as the last several years have been for me.  I’ve never met anyone who went on this trip and came away wishing they hadn’t, and I’ve never seen anyone show up by themselves who didn’t find someone to hang out with.  The climbing is amazing and you’ll have a fucking blast, but I think the most amazing thing about these trips is the realization that you are part of a community when you show up to be a part of Homo Climbtastic.  The Austin crew drove back to Texas with the very real sense that we were not alone, and that we wanted to continue to be a part of whatever the fuck this was.  I hope you’ll sign up and go on the trip.