Dear Friends,
It was 9:30 Monday morning when the lights went out under a clear, cloudless sky. There was a loud pop from my speakers before my computer shut down in a whir of spinning fans. A few seconds later, everything in my apartment connected to an electrical outlet was well and truly dead. I had already looked outside, but I looked again: no rain, no clouds. A power line might have gone down, but such things are rare in Florida, what with the lack of twisty turny roads and slippery slushy snow. Circling the building, my suspicions were confirmed: the power wasn't out; my power was out.
To make a long story short, it turns out that, though I've been paying an electric bill for quite some time now, I never actually performed the necessary steps to transfer the electricity into my name. And so it was that, eight months after I moved in, the electric company decided to turn off my electric despite the fact that I have paid my bill punctually for the duration of my stay, and furthermore opted to alert me of their dissatisfaction by ensuring that every meat and dairy product I owned would be spoiled and discarded.
Oh well. The milk was at its expiration date, anyway.
Irritation aside, I must admit that their tactics were effective. Within an hour of learning what had happened, I had transferred the electricity into my name and paid a sizable deposit, the purpose of which still eludes me. The nice lady on the telephone assured me that my electricity would be reconnected within forty-eight hours. I wanted to ask her what century she thought we were in; forty-eight hours without electricity? Instead, I thanked her and hung up. Thankfully, the company that provides my water is not as troublesome, and so I poured myself a glass and read a book until I was ready to go to work.
I returned that night to a pitch-dark apartment. I'm used to using candles, so light wasn't an issue, but I wasn't able to cook, either. I ordered Chinese and read by flashlight until I fell asleep. In the morning, I woke in a position that somehow restricted blood flow to both my arms. I sat up in bad and twisted my body to swings my limbs into positions that (presumable) would revive them. Soon both arms were being stabbed with hot needles, but I hardly minded, since I've always had a minor phobia of one night breaking a limb in my sleep and not knowing because the blood is cut off. The hot needles were more than welcome.
Refrigerators do not work without electricity; neither do water heaters. I was reminded of being in Haiti, compulsively glancing at unlit digital clocks and bathing with a washcloth and a bucket of lukewarm water. At that moment, I had a very strange realization. You see, when I talk to people about Haiti, it's not uncommon for me to describe it (somewhat reverently) as a "once-in-a-lifetime experience." Oddly, the first question I am asked is, frequently, "do you want to go back?" And at that point, I think to myself: what about "once-in-a-lifetime" did they not understand? Typically I offer a non-committal affirmative, maybe because I feel that's the answer expected of me. But really, how should I know? It wasn't exactly recreational.
So I was trying to reach the middle of my back with a washcloth, reliving any number of Haitian moments, when I realized: yes, I want to go back. Yes, I love that land, that people. And I was surprised by how happy that made me.
I got home tonight and the electricity was back on. I threw out half the contents of my refrigerator and checked my e-mail. But no matter how I try, I can't quite bring myself to regret the experience; after all, learning something about yourself is worth any amount of rotten eggs and uncooked chicken breast.
------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
FUN Update, February 29, 2008 - Making the Leap
Dear Friends,
I watched The Devil Wears Prada last night--chick flicks are the junk food of movies, and lately I've been on a bland diet of mediocre classic films--and the thing that drew my attention most was... the steak that Andy brings Miranda. It looked... amazing. Best-looking steak I've ever seen. So when I did my shopping today, I went to that little section of butchered red meat wrapped in white foam and saran wrap. I stay away from red meat except for ground beef--I love hamburgers, and neither concern for my health nor moral compunction has ever trumped that--but this time I strode with purpose to the rows of steaks. If such a steak as I had seen could be found here, I was determined not to miss it to save a dollar or two. I searched the labels for the highest price, and finally I found rib eye steaks for twelve bucks a pound, more than twice what the rest was selling for. Perfect. I threw twenty-dollars worth of meat on my cart, wondering how I was planning on eating three steaks before it went bad.
I cooked it up tonight with some mashed potatoes and garlic toast. It was... not bad. I mean, it was good. But not $12/lb good. It wasn't exceptionally juicy or particularly flavorful. Disappointment is too strong a word, but I won't be buying any more steaks. My red-meat quota will continue to be met by the occasional burger. Perhaps it's for the best.
I sure needed the protein, though. I was in the climbing competition tonight, and it could not have gone worse without breaking something. Halfway through, my right forearm went AWOL and I couldn't pull off a hand-foot match with a heel hook to save my life--a technique that just happened to be used on at least two of the routes I was trying to get. ...Frustrating. I did, however, have an epiphany while climbing a particularly troublesome route on an overhang.
I was half-way through the route, and I had made my way through the initial difficult section to a solid hold with decent footing. The next move was a long reach to a poor hold several feet to the left, and the chances of recovery from a failed attempt were pretty slim. I waited there for a few seconds, weighing my options and basically stalling, then suddenly realized that I felt very comfortable where I was. In fact, I felt so good about the hold I was on, why even move? Of course, there's not much purpose or direction to hanging around in the middle of a route, but at least I wouldn't topple off the wall in an uncontrolled fall in front of twenty onlookers.
I found a high foot, extended my body to the left, and dropped solidly into the crimp. It was a perfect move. A balance-y foot switch, a high mantle, and the route was done. Full points. I dropped down and moved on. But in retrospect, the moment seems very symbolic: I feel very comfortable in my life right now, but I'm not really going anywhere. It's probably time to take the move.
So I'm starting to take a few risks. I'm thinking about going back to school in the Fall. I've submitted a manuscript of poetry to be considered for publication. I'm looking into finally recording that CD of piano music I've always meant to make. We'll see what happens. I am, however, sure of one thing: succeed or fail, it's bound to be interesting.
------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
I watched The Devil Wears Prada last night--chick flicks are the junk food of movies, and lately I've been on a bland diet of mediocre classic films--and the thing that drew my attention most was... the steak that Andy brings Miranda. It looked... amazing. Best-looking steak I've ever seen. So when I did my shopping today, I went to that little section of butchered red meat wrapped in white foam and saran wrap. I stay away from red meat except for ground beef--I love hamburgers, and neither concern for my health nor moral compunction has ever trumped that--but this time I strode with purpose to the rows of steaks. If such a steak as I had seen could be found here, I was determined not to miss it to save a dollar or two. I searched the labels for the highest price, and finally I found rib eye steaks for twelve bucks a pound, more than twice what the rest was selling for. Perfect. I threw twenty-dollars worth of meat on my cart, wondering how I was planning on eating three steaks before it went bad.
I cooked it up tonight with some mashed potatoes and garlic toast. It was... not bad. I mean, it was good. But not $12/lb good. It wasn't exceptionally juicy or particularly flavorful. Disappointment is too strong a word, but I won't be buying any more steaks. My red-meat quota will continue to be met by the occasional burger. Perhaps it's for the best.
I sure needed the protein, though. I was in the climbing competition tonight, and it could not have gone worse without breaking something. Halfway through, my right forearm went AWOL and I couldn't pull off a hand-foot match with a heel hook to save my life--a technique that just happened to be used on at least two of the routes I was trying to get. ...Frustrating. I did, however, have an epiphany while climbing a particularly troublesome route on an overhang.
I was half-way through the route, and I had made my way through the initial difficult section to a solid hold with decent footing. The next move was a long reach to a poor hold several feet to the left, and the chances of recovery from a failed attempt were pretty slim. I waited there for a few seconds, weighing my options and basically stalling, then suddenly realized that I felt very comfortable where I was. In fact, I felt so good about the hold I was on, why even move? Of course, there's not much purpose or direction to hanging around in the middle of a route, but at least I wouldn't topple off the wall in an uncontrolled fall in front of twenty onlookers.
I found a high foot, extended my body to the left, and dropped solidly into the crimp. It was a perfect move. A balance-y foot switch, a high mantle, and the route was done. Full points. I dropped down and moved on. But in retrospect, the moment seems very symbolic: I feel very comfortable in my life right now, but I'm not really going anywhere. It's probably time to take the move.
So I'm starting to take a few risks. I'm thinking about going back to school in the Fall. I've submitted a manuscript of poetry to be considered for publication. I'm looking into finally recording that CD of piano music I've always meant to make. We'll see what happens. I am, however, sure of one thing: succeed or fail, it's bound to be interesting.
------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
FUN Update, February 13, 2008 - Being Happy
Dear Friends,
Eventually, you stop buying frozen pizzas in favor of long heavy tubes of ground beef and five-pound bags of chicken breast. You start eying expensive cooking implements with envy. You starting asking questions like, "does this trip to Publix constitute a complete nutritional palette?" and "will this box of Honey Nut Cheerios go stale before I finish it?" A moment of silence, my dear friends, for our lost innocence. May we all once again subsist, in some happy future, on pureed carrots and unsweetened applesauce.
On a similar (but less relatable) note, I've stopped using electric lights. Borrowing from the wisdom of my Haitian friends, I bought a handful of cheap candle holders and a couple pounds of dinner candles. I don't know if it saves me money, but a) I love lighting matches, and b) it's easier to focus when you can only see objects within a couple feet of the light source. There a mini chandelier in my dining room, and all the light bulbs are partially unscrewed except one so that it's not too bright when I turn it on. I'd find a similar solution for the kitchen, but my knives are too sharp for that.
Sometimes it's all I can do to survive. No matter how easy or difficult my life has been, there have always been times I have had to... maintain. Take a moment, breathe, wait for the next moment. Sometimes it helps to be equipped for those moments; I keep my dining table equipped with candles, a sketchpad, and a variety of drawing implements (though I'm a terrible artist). My computer has a Mellow playlist when I feel like moping to Iron and Wine and Sigur Rós. I keep myself stocked with comedies and chocolate chip cookies (various of my friends can attest to the magic of frozen homemade cookies).
While I acknowledge that life is wont to hover just North of bearable, I'm also starting to glimpse my own capacity for contentedness. My daily routine glows with a thousand joys, from a favorite song strumming from my beloved set of speakers to that five pound bag of chicken breast waiting for an oven, a sprinkle of lemon juice, and baby potatoes. There are times when I think the unthinkable: that if this were all there were to life... maybe it would be okay.
"Misery loves company," as they say; but maybe that's just because it's so easy to find. Draw a deep breath, smile painfully, and tell any stranger that life is complex. That love sucks. That boys are smelly. Your odds of getting a commiserating nod (except for the last, which might only work with the "Hello Kitty" demography) are high. But what if you were to say, "isn't life wonderful?" Suddenly you're just lucky and/or naïve. I think being happy and alone is hard to manage.
But possible, by the grace of God. I hope y'all are doing well (look at me, talkin' like a southerner); I am.
---------------------------------------------------
I'm working on a poetry anthology. Read and comment so I don't look like an idiot when I submit it!
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Eventually, you stop buying frozen pizzas in favor of long heavy tubes of ground beef and five-pound bags of chicken breast. You start eying expensive cooking implements with envy. You starting asking questions like, "does this trip to Publix constitute a complete nutritional palette?" and "will this box of Honey Nut Cheerios go stale before I finish it?" A moment of silence, my dear friends, for our lost innocence. May we all once again subsist, in some happy future, on pureed carrots and unsweetened applesauce.
On a similar (but less relatable) note, I've stopped using electric lights. Borrowing from the wisdom of my Haitian friends, I bought a handful of cheap candle holders and a couple pounds of dinner candles. I don't know if it saves me money, but a) I love lighting matches, and b) it's easier to focus when you can only see objects within a couple feet of the light source. There a mini chandelier in my dining room, and all the light bulbs are partially unscrewed except one so that it's not too bright when I turn it on. I'd find a similar solution for the kitchen, but my knives are too sharp for that.
Sometimes it's all I can do to survive. No matter how easy or difficult my life has been, there have always been times I have had to... maintain. Take a moment, breathe, wait for the next moment. Sometimes it helps to be equipped for those moments; I keep my dining table equipped with candles, a sketchpad, and a variety of drawing implements (though I'm a terrible artist). My computer has a Mellow playlist when I feel like moping to Iron and Wine and Sigur Rós. I keep myself stocked with comedies and chocolate chip cookies (various of my friends can attest to the magic of frozen homemade cookies).
While I acknowledge that life is wont to hover just North of bearable, I'm also starting to glimpse my own capacity for contentedness. My daily routine glows with a thousand joys, from a favorite song strumming from my beloved set of speakers to that five pound bag of chicken breast waiting for an oven, a sprinkle of lemon juice, and baby potatoes. There are times when I think the unthinkable: that if this were all there were to life... maybe it would be okay.
"Misery loves company," as they say; but maybe that's just because it's so easy to find. Draw a deep breath, smile painfully, and tell any stranger that life is complex. That love sucks. That boys are smelly. Your odds of getting a commiserating nod (except for the last, which might only work with the "Hello Kitty" demography) are high. But what if you were to say, "isn't life wonderful?" Suddenly you're just lucky and/or naïve. I think being happy and alone is hard to manage.
But possible, by the grace of God. I hope y'all are doing well (look at me, talkin' like a southerner); I am.
---------------------------------------------------
I'm working on a poetry anthology. Read and comment so I don't look like an idiot when I submit it!
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Friday, January 11, 2008
FUN Update, January 11, 2008 - Onward
Dear Friends,
It's been almost two months since you've heard from me. I thought of it many times, but not with the blend of motivation and inspiration that results in an update. News in my life is never very complicated, though, so let me give you the overview: my bike was stolen, I bought a new bike, I got run over by a car while on the bike (I'm fine), I fixed the bike, the bike got stolen, I went home for Christmas and had a great time, and I got a couple more shifts at work. So I'm basically in the same place as you last found me. I'm making more money (the extra shifts are brand new; my first extra shift was on Tuesday), but I don't have a bike so no doubt it will all be spent on the occasional necessity of taxi fares. Well, hopefully not all of it.
Oh, and I managed to get Sundays off, which is nice both because no buses run on Sundays (hence taxis both ways) and because I'd like to start going to church. I now work Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with doubles on Monday and Tuesday. That's a promotion just in the sense of having more hours, but it also qualifies me for medical and dental benefits. I feel pretty good about the situation.
I've always figured that once the various problems in my life got sorted out--once I have enough money, once I get the girl, once I have a car (or get a new one that doesn't break), once I find a good community--that I would thrive. That I'd work toward an ideal situation, and that sooner or later I'd get there and do wonderful things. I guess that just goes to show how young I am.
See, the last year of my life has been pretty rough on me. I've lost a lot of confidence--mostly the confidence to which I had no right from the beginning. I've been broken enough times--that's a Christian term, I guess, but what I mean is that I have encountered situations that were simply beyond my capacity to handle--that I am no longer so eager to test my strength against the world. I have been isolated continually, deprived of the constant support of fellowship so that I always feel a little precarious. On top of that, God has systematically challenged every baseless belief and prejudice I have ever had--or if He hasn't, I'm sure whatever's left will be challenged soon. I hardly know up from down anymore.
I think the bottom line is that the money problems aren't going to stop; they'll change, but never stop. Relationships will never get less complicated, and I will never reach a point of perfect understanding. And since I've always wanted to do things with my life, I am left with one choice: to stop waiting; to move forward in spite of uncertainty and weakness.
Who knows, maybe I have it wrong, and in a year or so I'll send out an e-mail that says, "I have a perfect life! I have lots of money, I know what to do with it, my relationships are perfect, and I know everything!"
But probably not.
---------------------------------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
It's been almost two months since you've heard from me. I thought of it many times, but not with the blend of motivation and inspiration that results in an update. News in my life is never very complicated, though, so let me give you the overview: my bike was stolen, I bought a new bike, I got run over by a car while on the bike (I'm fine), I fixed the bike, the bike got stolen, I went home for Christmas and had a great time, and I got a couple more shifts at work. So I'm basically in the same place as you last found me. I'm making more money (the extra shifts are brand new; my first extra shift was on Tuesday), but I don't have a bike so no doubt it will all be spent on the occasional necessity of taxi fares. Well, hopefully not all of it.
Oh, and I managed to get Sundays off, which is nice both because no buses run on Sundays (hence taxis both ways) and because I'd like to start going to church. I now work Friday, Saturday, Monday and Tuesday, with doubles on Monday and Tuesday. That's a promotion just in the sense of having more hours, but it also qualifies me for medical and dental benefits. I feel pretty good about the situation.
I've always figured that once the various problems in my life got sorted out--once I have enough money, once I get the girl, once I have a car (or get a new one that doesn't break), once I find a good community--that I would thrive. That I'd work toward an ideal situation, and that sooner or later I'd get there and do wonderful things. I guess that just goes to show how young I am.
See, the last year of my life has been pretty rough on me. I've lost a lot of confidence--mostly the confidence to which I had no right from the beginning. I've been broken enough times--that's a Christian term, I guess, but what I mean is that I have encountered situations that were simply beyond my capacity to handle--that I am no longer so eager to test my strength against the world. I have been isolated continually, deprived of the constant support of fellowship so that I always feel a little precarious. On top of that, God has systematically challenged every baseless belief and prejudice I have ever had--or if He hasn't, I'm sure whatever's left will be challenged soon. I hardly know up from down anymore.
I think the bottom line is that the money problems aren't going to stop; they'll change, but never stop. Relationships will never get less complicated, and I will never reach a point of perfect understanding. And since I've always wanted to do things with my life, I am left with one choice: to stop waiting; to move forward in spite of uncertainty and weakness.
Who knows, maybe I have it wrong, and in a year or so I'll send out an e-mail that says, "I have a perfect life! I have lots of money, I know what to do with it, my relationships are perfect, and I know everything!"
But probably not.
---------------------------------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Saturday, November 24, 2007
FUN Update, November 24 - My Thanksgiving
Dear Friends,
I just returned from a three-day trip to Las Vegas over Thanksgiving, where I climbed with a friend named Timo. The standard itinerary for such a trip--gamble, eat, gamble, sleep, repeat--was swapped for one that took place almost entirely outside of Las Vegas proper, and instead centered on Red Rocks, a large valley surrounded by a mountain range with some of the best rock climbing that the west has to offer. It was pretty amazing. I didn't take all that many pictures (I forgot my camera on the first day), but the ones I did take can be browsed here. This trip was exceptional in that I did a lot of things I'd never done before, learning them because if I didn't I would die. Literally.
On the first day, I was sport climbing a route for the first time--sport climbing is when bolts are drilled into the rock face so that you can attach the rope to it with a quickdraw--when I realized that, despite being twenty feet above the last bolt, there were obviously no more bolts. If I dropped, I would fall forty feet and probably kill myself; my only choice was to finish the last forty-ish feet of the route. The reason I was sport climbing in the first place, by the way, was because the route was too difficult for Timo, my partner, who has significantly more experience outdoors. I happened to have a piece of trad gear (short for "traditional" gear) attached to my harness, and so I stuck it in a crack, and, hey!, it stuck. So I clipped myself into that and braced myself for the last stretch (which contained no cracks, and hence no opportunities to place gear, even if I had more).
Obviously, I didn't die. But I will say this: I have a good head for heights, but making a move when you know a mistake will drop you sixty or seventy feet is a good deal harder than making a move in a rock climbing gym with an eight foot fall and thick mats. Anyways, that was day one. Day two was even more exciting.
I should have known things wouldn't go as planned when Timo and I completely botched the approach. Fifty minutes into the hike, we realized that our trail was taking us away from the Cat in the Hat, the route we wanted to do. The Cat in the Hat is a four-pitch climb, which means that it has four routes stacked on top of each other. One person leads a pitch, the other follows up, cleaning up the gear placed by the first, and then the next pitch is led, and so on. When the top is reached, each pitch is rappelled down. All in all, the Cat in the Hat is between four and five hundred feet of climbing.
We finally decided to hike across the rugged terrain to the start of the route, which essentially meant climbing up the huge boulders leading up to the face of the cliff. It was a lot less fun than it sounds with 150 pounds of gear between us. We finally reached the base, though, and ate a banana in celebration. It was in the low sixties and we were in the shadow of the mountain, so it was cold; still, we could see the sun hitting the mountain higher up, and we figured we would be warm once we got up high enough. Timo led the first pitch without incident, and I followed. The second went more or less smoothly, and the third as well. The only irksome detail was that the sun moved up the mountain faster than we climbed. Timo is a slow, methodical climber, and a long pitch took us well over an hour.
Three pitches and four hours into the climb, the troubles began--which was interesting, considering that we were feeling pretty good, having finally found the sun. It was a little after 2pm, and we had just run into another group of climbers that had started before us. I was to trad-lead the final pitch, the hardest of the four, so I had some fun getting together a full harness of gear, webbing, and carabiners. We waited a good hour for that group to make it up, which was frustrating because daylight only lasted until 5pm. In any case, I began the lead with a short traverse to the right, then headed up a crack. After just three or four pieces of protection, I felt the rope start to drag because of the way it was being pulled through the protection. At first it was hardly a problem--I've climbed with weights on my wrists and legs--but after eighty feet and eight pieces of gear, the rope started to feel really heavy. With every step, the rope got heavier, the gear-placing opportunities grew fewer, and the climb became more difficult. And I still had sixty feet to go.
Thirty feet from the top, I had to pause. The last opportunity to place was fifteen feet below, and there was nothing else in sight all the way to the top. The rope drag was around thirty pounds, and it felt like a hundred. The rock was slippery sandstone with sloped holds and sketchy feet. Suddenly, I had a pair of realizations almost simultaneously: firstly, that I couldn't do it. I couldn't make the moves I needed to with this kind of drag, knowing that, if I fell, paralysis would be an optimistic outcome. And secondly, that I didn't have any choice. There are still things I want to do in my life. The first realization was the least appealing, so I shoved it aside and latched on to the second. I breathed a prayer and began moving upward, willing my hand and feet not to slip off their holds.
I'm writing this e-mail, so obviously I made it to the top. I clipped into the anchor and belayed Timo up, all the while feeling grateful to be alive. By the time he made it up and we prepared to rappel down, the last dregs of sunlight were slipping behind the mountain. And I was freezing.
To our surprise and delight, we realized that our rope wasn't long enough to rappel down to the next anchor. Instead, we hooked up an intermediate anchor and rappelled down from there. I don't want to bore you with more details, but suffice it to say that the process of setting an anchor and rappelling two people down to the next takes about half an hour. By the time we hit the top of the third pitch, it was pretty near dark. We set up the next rappel as quickly as we could; this time, our rope was short by about twenty feet, but it was a reasonable down-climb. A few hundred feet up, sure, but not difficult. We had settled on down-climbing and were pulling our rope down when... our rope snagged. And for the life of us, we just could not get it un-stuck. So Timo and I were stuck on the side of the mountain completely unprotected, and with no rope. It was in the low fifties by this time, and my fingers were going numb. We shook and pulled the rope almost an hour before a pair of climbers saw our snag and unhooked it. Grateful, we down-climbed to the anchor and set up the next rappel. This time it was hardly a surprise when our rope turned out to be too short. Exhausting, cold to the bone, and generally frustrated, we joined the group above us and, using two ropes tied together, made it down to the bottom in another hour or so.
The grueling hike back, which took just under an hour, was also quite pleasant.
Timo and I packed our gear into the back, sat in our seats, and and started driving away. And suddenly I realized that I had a new reason to love rock climbing. I had an opportunity to face the nagging voice of "you can't do it," and came out on top. I was exhausted, miserable (did I mention that I had a head cold?), and sore, but almost deliriously happy. The kind of happy you only get when you feel you've earned it.
And that was my Thanksgiving. How was yours?
------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
I just returned from a three-day trip to Las Vegas over Thanksgiving, where I climbed with a friend named Timo. The standard itinerary for such a trip--gamble, eat, gamble, sleep, repeat--was swapped for one that took place almost entirely outside of Las Vegas proper, and instead centered on Red Rocks, a large valley surrounded by a mountain range with some of the best rock climbing that the west has to offer. It was pretty amazing. I didn't take all that many pictures (I forgot my camera on the first day), but the ones I did take can be browsed here. This trip was exceptional in that I did a lot of things I'd never done before, learning them because if I didn't I would die. Literally.
On the first day, I was sport climbing a route for the first time--sport climbing is when bolts are drilled into the rock face so that you can attach the rope to it with a quickdraw--when I realized that, despite being twenty feet above the last bolt, there were obviously no more bolts. If I dropped, I would fall forty feet and probably kill myself; my only choice was to finish the last forty-ish feet of the route. The reason I was sport climbing in the first place, by the way, was because the route was too difficult for Timo, my partner, who has significantly more experience outdoors. I happened to have a piece of trad gear (short for "traditional" gear) attached to my harness, and so I stuck it in a crack, and, hey!, it stuck. So I clipped myself into that and braced myself for the last stretch (which contained no cracks, and hence no opportunities to place gear, even if I had more).
Obviously, I didn't die. But I will say this: I have a good head for heights, but making a move when you know a mistake will drop you sixty or seventy feet is a good deal harder than making a move in a rock climbing gym with an eight foot fall and thick mats. Anyways, that was day one. Day two was even more exciting.
I should have known things wouldn't go as planned when Timo and I completely botched the approach. Fifty minutes into the hike, we realized that our trail was taking us away from the Cat in the Hat, the route we wanted to do. The Cat in the Hat is a four-pitch climb, which means that it has four routes stacked on top of each other. One person leads a pitch, the other follows up, cleaning up the gear placed by the first, and then the next pitch is led, and so on. When the top is reached, each pitch is rappelled down. All in all, the Cat in the Hat is between four and five hundred feet of climbing.
We finally decided to hike across the rugged terrain to the start of the route, which essentially meant climbing up the huge boulders leading up to the face of the cliff. It was a lot less fun than it sounds with 150 pounds of gear between us. We finally reached the base, though, and ate a banana in celebration. It was in the low sixties and we were in the shadow of the mountain, so it was cold; still, we could see the sun hitting the mountain higher up, and we figured we would be warm once we got up high enough. Timo led the first pitch without incident, and I followed. The second went more or less smoothly, and the third as well. The only irksome detail was that the sun moved up the mountain faster than we climbed. Timo is a slow, methodical climber, and a long pitch took us well over an hour.
Three pitches and four hours into the climb, the troubles began--which was interesting, considering that we were feeling pretty good, having finally found the sun. It was a little after 2pm, and we had just run into another group of climbers that had started before us. I was to trad-lead the final pitch, the hardest of the four, so I had some fun getting together a full harness of gear, webbing, and carabiners. We waited a good hour for that group to make it up, which was frustrating because daylight only lasted until 5pm. In any case, I began the lead with a short traverse to the right, then headed up a crack. After just three or four pieces of protection, I felt the rope start to drag because of the way it was being pulled through the protection. At first it was hardly a problem--I've climbed with weights on my wrists and legs--but after eighty feet and eight pieces of gear, the rope started to feel really heavy. With every step, the rope got heavier, the gear-placing opportunities grew fewer, and the climb became more difficult. And I still had sixty feet to go.
Thirty feet from the top, I had to pause. The last opportunity to place was fifteen feet below, and there was nothing else in sight all the way to the top. The rope drag was around thirty pounds, and it felt like a hundred. The rock was slippery sandstone with sloped holds and sketchy feet. Suddenly, I had a pair of realizations almost simultaneously: firstly, that I couldn't do it. I couldn't make the moves I needed to with this kind of drag, knowing that, if I fell, paralysis would be an optimistic outcome. And secondly, that I didn't have any choice. There are still things I want to do in my life. The first realization was the least appealing, so I shoved it aside and latched on to the second. I breathed a prayer and began moving upward, willing my hand and feet not to slip off their holds.
I'm writing this e-mail, so obviously I made it to the top. I clipped into the anchor and belayed Timo up, all the while feeling grateful to be alive. By the time he made it up and we prepared to rappel down, the last dregs of sunlight were slipping behind the mountain. And I was freezing.
To our surprise and delight, we realized that our rope wasn't long enough to rappel down to the next anchor. Instead, we hooked up an intermediate anchor and rappelled down from there. I don't want to bore you with more details, but suffice it to say that the process of setting an anchor and rappelling two people down to the next takes about half an hour. By the time we hit the top of the third pitch, it was pretty near dark. We set up the next rappel as quickly as we could; this time, our rope was short by about twenty feet, but it was a reasonable down-climb. A few hundred feet up, sure, but not difficult. We had settled on down-climbing and were pulling our rope down when... our rope snagged. And for the life of us, we just could not get it un-stuck. So Timo and I were stuck on the side of the mountain completely unprotected, and with no rope. It was in the low fifties by this time, and my fingers were going numb. We shook and pulled the rope almost an hour before a pair of climbers saw our snag and unhooked it. Grateful, we down-climbed to the anchor and set up the next rappel. This time it was hardly a surprise when our rope turned out to be too short. Exhausting, cold to the bone, and generally frustrated, we joined the group above us and, using two ropes tied together, made it down to the bottom in another hour or so.
The grueling hike back, which took just under an hour, was also quite pleasant.
Timo and I packed our gear into the back, sat in our seats, and and started driving away. And suddenly I realized that I had a new reason to love rock climbing. I had an opportunity to face the nagging voice of "you can't do it," and came out on top. I was exhausted, miserable (did I mention that I had a head cold?), and sore, but almost deliriously happy. The kind of happy you only get when you feel you've earned it.
And that was my Thanksgiving. How was yours?
------------------------
See pictures of my apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Thursday, November 1, 2007
FUN Update, November 1 - Rear Derailleurs: Revisited
Dear Friends,
Ever kept a journal? Ever been writing and accidentally skipped a page? Well... oops. Accidentally skipped a month. But now I'm back for the lovely month of November to remind you that I'm alive. All sorts of fun things are happening, not least of which is my birthday next Tuesday. Big 21--time flies.
I had a cool experience yesterday. I just bought a new bike because my Mongoose had no brakes, a broken front wheel, and a flat back wheel. The new bike is quite a bit nicer than the older one, but it was in bad repair. The rear tire was flat, the seat post and handlebars were rusted into the lowest position so that only a midget could ride comfortably, and the rear dérailleur--there it is again!--was bent out of shape so much that it would catch in the wheel spokes in first or second gear. But it was the only bike that looked like it was in decent shape, so I bought it and took it to the bicycle repair shop to see what could be done.
"Sorry," said some college-age punk who worked there, "looks like the post is seized in there; you'd need to buy a new post, buy this and that, and do somersaults in lava." Or something like that. Basically, he told me it was cost a couple hundred to repair it, and that I should take the bike back. A thirty-something guy standing behind the counter occasionally threw in quips about pawn shops, which wasn't really helping. I knew I didn't have the money to buy another bike, and pawn shop bikes are sold as-is, so I told them to replace the tube on the back tire. Here, the thirty-something guy jumped in.
"Looks like the seat post is...backwards." And sure enough, it was. So he took off the seat and we tried to twist the post. No luck. Then he pulled out the biggest wrench I've ever seen in my life. It was over two feet long and must have weight almost ten pounds. He put as much leverage as he could behind the wrench and pushed on the handle with two people to keep the bike in place. The post moved about a millimeter. College-age punk guy, thirty-something guy, and I worked for about ten minutes on this post until finally we could tap on it with a hammer to get it out. It looked like it had been rusting since the eighteen hundreds. They put some grease on it, stuck it back on (the right way, this time), and reattached the seat. One problem down, ten to go.
The handlebars were easier, but only some what so. Before long it was good as new. They went in to replace the tube in the back tire and meanwhile poked and prodded at the rear dérailleur. They tightened this, loosed that, and used all sorts of weird tools to get the body back in shape. Within fifteen minutes the bike was shifting like a charm. Both tires use a bizarre inflation mechanism, so I asked them to bring the front tire to the right pressure, too. It took them all of twenty seconds.
My bike was fully functional. I was thrilled. But I was also broke, and rent was about to be due, and I was really dreading that bill. He rang up everything and handed me a bill for... $11.76. $5.49 for the tube, $5.50 for labor, plus tax. I asked thirty-something guy if I could tip them, and he smiled and said no. Happy to be of service and all that. There are few things more touching than the kindness of strangers. I even thought well of college-age punk guy, as I walked out.
The End.
Also: a German engineer who went with me on my climbing trip asked if I would come with him to Red Rock, Nevada on another trip over Thanksgiving weekend. He travels a lot for work, so he said he could cover airfare and hotels, which means all I would have to pay for is half the rental car cost. He also owns all the gear we'd need, so we wouldn't have to rent. So. That's an awesome opportunity that I have coming up soon.
For the moment, my life is going pretty well. Money is really tight right now, but when isn't it? So. That's my life as it stands. Hopefully my next update won't take another month to write. God bless you all.
------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Ever kept a journal? Ever been writing and accidentally skipped a page? Well... oops. Accidentally skipped a month. But now I'm back for the lovely month of November to remind you that I'm alive. All sorts of fun things are happening, not least of which is my birthday next Tuesday. Big 21--time flies.
I had a cool experience yesterday. I just bought a new bike because my Mongoose had no brakes, a broken front wheel, and a flat back wheel. The new bike is quite a bit nicer than the older one, but it was in bad repair. The rear tire was flat, the seat post and handlebars were rusted into the lowest position so that only a midget could ride comfortably, and the rear dérailleur--there it is again!--was bent out of shape so much that it would catch in the wheel spokes in first or second gear. But it was the only bike that looked like it was in decent shape, so I bought it and took it to the bicycle repair shop to see what could be done.
"Sorry," said some college-age punk who worked there, "looks like the post is seized in there; you'd need to buy a new post, buy this and that, and do somersaults in lava." Or something like that. Basically, he told me it was cost a couple hundred to repair it, and that I should take the bike back. A thirty-something guy standing behind the counter occasionally threw in quips about pawn shops, which wasn't really helping. I knew I didn't have the money to buy another bike, and pawn shop bikes are sold as-is, so I told them to replace the tube on the back tire. Here, the thirty-something guy jumped in.
"Looks like the seat post is...backwards." And sure enough, it was. So he took off the seat and we tried to twist the post. No luck. Then he pulled out the biggest wrench I've ever seen in my life. It was over two feet long and must have weight almost ten pounds. He put as much leverage as he could behind the wrench and pushed on the handle with two people to keep the bike in place. The post moved about a millimeter. College-age punk guy, thirty-something guy, and I worked for about ten minutes on this post until finally we could tap on it with a hammer to get it out. It looked like it had been rusting since the eighteen hundreds. They put some grease on it, stuck it back on (the right way, this time), and reattached the seat. One problem down, ten to go.
The handlebars were easier, but only some what so. Before long it was good as new. They went in to replace the tube in the back tire and meanwhile poked and prodded at the rear dérailleur. They tightened this, loosed that, and used all sorts of weird tools to get the body back in shape. Within fifteen minutes the bike was shifting like a charm. Both tires use a bizarre inflation mechanism, so I asked them to bring the front tire to the right pressure, too. It took them all of twenty seconds.
My bike was fully functional. I was thrilled. But I was also broke, and rent was about to be due, and I was really dreading that bill. He rang up everything and handed me a bill for... $11.76. $5.49 for the tube, $5.50 for labor, plus tax. I asked thirty-something guy if I could tip them, and he smiled and said no. Happy to be of service and all that. There are few things more touching than the kindness of strangers. I even thought well of college-age punk guy, as I walked out.
The End.
Also: a German engineer who went with me on my climbing trip asked if I would come with him to Red Rock, Nevada on another trip over Thanksgiving weekend. He travels a lot for work, so he said he could cover airfare and hotels, which means all I would have to pay for is half the rental car cost. He also owns all the gear we'd need, so we wouldn't have to rent. So. That's an awesome opportunity that I have coming up soon.
For the moment, my life is going pretty well. Money is really tight right now, but when isn't it? So. That's my life as it stands. Hopefully my next update won't take another month to write. God bless you all.
------------------------
See pictures of my new apartment and of work. (Look for the album labeled "Apt #1614" and "Poker Room," respectively.)
View the FUN Archives.You can contact me by replying to this e-mail. To send letters or packages, use the following address:
Dan Kaschel
4747 W Waters Ave., Apt #1614
Tampa, FL 33614
My new phone number is 813-313-6573.
Peace,
Dan
Friday, September 28, 2007
FUN Update, September 28, 2007 - Brevity
Dear Friends,
One or two of you may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I've been a little antisocial over the last few weeks because of some unresolved conflict that I had with a friend. But it is resolved now--for the better, I hope--and so here I am to report on my life.
It continually amazes me how little can happen in a month. I'm basically in precisely the same place that I was a month ago, except that...
I spent a few minutes trying to think of something different, and couldn't. That's my life right now, predictable as an atomic clock. I work and go rock climbing. For the moment, I am willing to accept that no news is good news and hang tight. After a few months, though, I might go stir crazy and pray for some cataclysm to spice up my life. For the moment, the only thing I have is a climbing trip that I'll be going on in a couple weeks. I'm going up to Chattanooga, TN to do some top-roping and bouldering. It's not cheap, but I really need a change of pace, if only for a few days.
Incidentally, my tentative plan is to fly to Michigan for Christmas for about a week. If I were to guess at the dates, I'd say December 20th to 27th.
That's it. Hope you're all well. If your life has been interesting recently, jot me a note and fill me in. God bless,
Dan
One or two of you may have noticed that I dropped off the face of the earth for a while. I've been a little antisocial over the last few weeks because of some unresolved conflict that I had with a friend. But it is resolved now--for the better, I hope--and so here I am to report on my life.
It continually amazes me how little can happen in a month. I'm basically in precisely the same place that I was a month ago, except that...
I spent a few minutes trying to think of something different, and couldn't. That's my life right now, predictable as an atomic clock. I work and go rock climbing. For the moment, I am willing to accept that no news is good news and hang tight. After a few months, though, I might go stir crazy and pray for some cataclysm to spice up my life. For the moment, the only thing I have is a climbing trip that I'll be going on in a couple weeks. I'm going up to Chattanooga, TN to do some top-roping and bouldering. It's not cheap, but I really need a change of pace, if only for a few days.
Incidentally, my tentative plan is to fly to Michigan for Christmas for about a week. If I were to guess at the dates, I'd say December 20th to 27th.
That's it. Hope you're all well. If your life has been interesting recently, jot me a note and fill me in. God bless,
Dan
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