mouse from merced
Trad climber
The finger of fate, my friends, is fickle.
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Oct 15, 2018 - 07:31am PT
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Altamont, Friday night bonfires, just a bunch of inebriates going at it for as long as we could. I passed out and awakened long after sunrise to a desolate landscape of smoldering fires and broken bobwire fences, empty bottles and so forth...but not a single human being.
Only the traffic sounds from I-5 and maybe a blackbird calling.
I saw the speedway, the entrance wide open. I headed that way, took a piss behind the door on the right, out of view of just who I don't know.
As I came round the door to enter the speedway, there was my hitchhiking companero, Jones, beaming at me, and saying he'd found the sales crew from The North Face on Telly, that they had HASH, and wondered where I was.
Jones and Stones and TNF to the rescue. Oh, and they had food and water and a ride back into Berkeley. We were golden.
[Click to View YouTube Video]
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