I love the National Geographic. For the past, oh I don’t know, years my dear mother has given me a subscription for Xmas. Of all the things I’ve received over the years, this subscription is by far my favorite gift. Nothing else gives me the ability to learn about such a wide range of topics and contains top notch literature and photography. All these things have been my passion for quite some time.
This month’s issue arrived at the same time as my Dirt Rag. As is not my custom, I read the bike mag first. Mostly to see if they had improved their game, which they had. Despite a few typographical errors, they are at least at an acceptable level at this point.
When I got around to reading the Nati I quickly found the content to be, as always, stimulating. One of my newly revived passions is climbing, and they rocked that one out of the park by covering the final ascent needed for the first woman mountaineer to climb all 8,000 meter peaks without oxygen. It was a kick ass story. And then I hit the story about the Titanic.
I am intrigued by the story of this ship. The flamboyant expectations of the design of the ship and the absolute failure in reality of those designs reminds me of how flawed we humans are. I have to laugh. Much in the same way I laugh at most natural disasters. I’m cynical by nature.
James Cameron, the dude that filmed the move, The Titanic wrote a story for the magazine detailing his exploits exploring the wreckage with his robots amongst other shit. Interesting? absolutely (not so much his story as the whole coverage of the wreck).
I bring this up only because of what that film signifies for me.
The film came out when I was in high school. As you all remember I’m sure, before the film came out we were all tortured by the theme song played over and over and over and over again. And then played again and again and again and again. I can’t be sure, but I think Sunny 93.5 played that damn song every hour for at least 18 months. After a few months of this torture, I couldn’t take it any more and I took a vow. I would not see the movie in protest over how overplayed that song was.
I cannot hear Celine Dion’s voice without beginning to twitch. It takes at least three psychologists and a shit load of medication to bring me back.
I have never seen that movie. And I will never see that fucking movie.
Is it a good movie? I couldn’t tell you and I don’t care. To quote one Captain Sparrow, “There are things a man can do and things a man can’t do.” Well, I can’t watch that movie.
In college, I even turned down a girl and her promises of many physical pleasures if only I would watch that movie with her. I don’t recall her name and I never watched the movie.
Sometimes a man has to take a stand. There are things that are more important than simply doing or not doing, but are a protest of everything that is good and right in the world. These things, these protests are few and far between, but they are worthy of our attention and worthy of our adoration. My protest is against that damn song. I tell you it is a worthy cause.
Sir Prattipus has coined a new Alliance.
As I mentioned above, I have found a revived passion for climbing in the past few months. My arms don’t work any more and all I can think about is getting back on the rock as soon as possible.
There is a moment when a perfectly ridden rock garden takes on a quality of Zen. Your mind is not thinking. Rather, your instinct takes over and you simply react to your surroundings, guiding, bouncing and steering around and over the rocks. This is a feeling that I love about riding. That connection to one’s surroundings. Knowing that if it goes wrong, you are fucked beyond belief and then to let go and watch as your body simply does what you hoped it would. It’s that same feeling that makes me love night riding.
Climbing is this at almost every moment. I found that I had a growing fear of heights, something that took me by surprise this past year. I’ve never been woozy or experience vertigo before, but I’ve had nightmares that keep me awake for hours on end because I keep falling off ledges that I didn’t fall off. If I watch a video of a big wall climb, my palms are sweaty and I can hardly control my anxiety.
Yet recently when I’ve climbed, that anxiety doesn’t exist. It’s like cleaning a rock garden. My mind takes over and I focus so intently on the task at hand that there is nothing else. Just me and the move that takes me up.
The Mooseknuckler Climbing Alliance. As Shelby said, there are plenty of mooseknuckles involved when you put a harness on. I like it.
P. L. and R.