Star-spangled dangle at 555 feet 5 inches

It was dry out and very grey at 6:45 this morning.  The forecast said no rain until after 8:00 am, so I looped a leg over my bike for the 7-mile cruise to work, which is just lovely by the way, 2/3 of it on paved paths.  I wanted to see the climbers on the monument who were scheduled to check out the earthquake damage while dangling from ropes.

I got there about 7:15 am and the clouds were just starting to rumble as a couple dozen photographers with tripods and a dozen more tv-satellite-news trucks were neatly set up to film the excitement.  Park police guarded the nearer grounds.  But no sign of any climbers.  Maybe I should say hammerers.  Though absent at the moment, they are surely quite experienced climbers, but armed with geological rock hammers (the Post says mallets, whatever) and intending to bang on each block to see if it rings pure like a sound stone should, or if it sounds dead and broken.  They plan to look for cracks, missing mortar, anything astray.

Staring up at the old monument (our American Cheops?) is something I never seem to tire of.  I could have lingered awhile, but several sprinkles splattered sparingly, soon to be followed by a skittering shower and not-so-distant thunder.  I parted, picking up the pace, pedaling past the poor and perhaps perturbed paparazzi previously prepared for pretty pictures, and soon to be pelted with presidential precipitation--astride the Potomac.  Ten blocks later, the rain huffed into a medium-sized deluge and I was still five minutes from my building.  But that was sufficient to drench every square centimeter of the frontal parts of my wardrobe.  I had to hide behind my desk for half the day.  Now I see why the other guys bike to work in their spandex.  Guess it's time to stash an emergency change of clothes at the office.

The bigger storm was supposed to hit tonight.  At 5:00 pm, however, it was sunny out, so I braved the bike ride home, stopping on the way once again to crane my neck at the monumental  monument.  This time four climbers (two men and two women, I learned later) were hanging off what appeared to be no more than a lasso at the tippy-tippy-tippy top, like ants--like little runts of the ant family--effortlessly clinging to a light pole.  It was quite a sight with the sun shining between cloud layers.  We'll see what the reports say about their nose-to-stone and ear-to-hammer observations.

I watched for nearly an hour, straddling my bike and imagining how I might manage the ropes and the gear on such a perfect pinnacle.  Yes, I would love that job.  And I'd do it for free.  I'd even pay them $1,000 to haul me up there for an hour--and fifty bucks more if I can take my bike.

--Traveler

Where did the summer go?

I'm nearly stunned (well, not really) to see that I haven't posted here for four months.  It could be that I've been having way too much fun trailsterizing, though I wish I could say I was slamming two boots down the AT all summer, trekking gluttonously.  Or it could be that I've been procrastinating.  Probably--no definitely--it's been more of the latter than the former, unfortunately.  In any case, I will get my staff busy on a few short posts to highlight some worthy summer adventures along the Right Coast.  And I'll see too if I/we can scribble up a spicy end to my previous post on a trip done way back in May.  Old Rag was such a joy I did it again (the easy way) in August.  I also picked up a new camera some months back, so will soon litter this fine blog with copious pics of the Rag and the great outside.  Cheerio.

--Traveler