final destination. How 'bout setting the emergency brake?"
Tristan smiled and slid the van's door open. A blast of cool, damp air rushed at his bare chest and face as he jumped out and began searching through the tall grass for appropriately sized rocks. Less than a minute later he was shoving the two he'd found beneath the back tires of the van.
"Okay! Ease off it!"
The brake lights went out and before the tires had fully settled in against the rocks, Darby jumped from the van and ran full-speed past him toward a cathedral of a cave fifty meters away. He watched as she scrambled up a ten-foot tall boulder and stood gazing at the gray sand stone that undulated in front of her.
"This is it," she said excitedly as he climbed up the coarse boulder in his bare feet. About halfway up, he was reminded that the skin on his soles was more used to argyle and leather than to stone and dirt these days.
"This is it," she repeated as he came alongside her.
Tristan surveyed the intimidating stone wall in front of them and decided that it looked like a Dr. Seuss nightmare. Black and gray rock rose from dense undergrowth in a wave that probably averaged thirty-five degrees overhanging for about the first sixty feet, then kicked back to virtually horizontal for another forty or so. From where he stood, the cliff looked almost featureless he couldn't make out much more than the occasional door jamb-width edge or two-finger-wide hole. He craned his neck and looked overhead at the imposing stone roof above them. The hand- and footholds on that section were hidden, but he could see brightly colored nylon slings dangling from the roof every ten feet or so.
Called quick draws they were the things that climbers would hook their ropes through when they were on the route. Not just any climber, though.
By the looks of it, there were probably only a handful of men around the world that would even have a chance of making it to the top.
And only a couple of women, one of whom was standing next to him.
"How hard?" he asked.
"In the end, I think it'll go at a fairly stiff fourteen," she said, dropping into a full split on top of the flat boulder and starting to stretch.
That confirmed it. The hardest climb in the world had a difficulty rating of easy fifteen.
"Jesus, Darby ... what're you gonna call it?" All routes up a rock face had a name just like all routes down a ski hill had a name.
"I'm leaning toward "Disco Girl and the Mutant Strain."" He laughed and shook his head.
"Like I said, you're one weird chick.
You warm up, I'll go grab the gear."
Tristan jogged back down to the van and began rummaging around in the various backpacks and duffels it contained. He glanced back up at Darby through the side windows just in time to see her gracefully rise from the splits to a perfect handstand. She tilted her body to one side and tentatively lifted her right hand off the rock. She stayed like that for about five seconds and then crumpled onto the boulder.
He tried not to laugh loud enough for her to hear, remembering the acrobat from the Cirque de Soleil who had developed a terminal crush on Darby a few years back during a climbing trip near Vegas. She'd been trying to duplicate the guy's one-armed handstand ever since.
"Which shoes do you want, Darb?" he yelled through an open window.
"Stingers, please.
He grabbed the pair that looked like a couple of mutant yellowjackets, stuffed the rest of the gear in a pack, and started toward the cliff. By the time he got to the base, Darby was pacing back and forth beneath the route.
He knew better than to talk to her at this point, though a comment on the quickly worsening weather was on the tip of his tongue the wind had picked up and was kicking dust into the air in swirling clouds. He tossed the climbing shoes and a harness onto the ground in front of her and started to uncoil the rope.
Darby muttered quietly to herself as she struggled to pull on the shoes that were at least two sizes too small
Tristan smiled and slid the van's door open. A blast of cool, damp air rushed at his bare chest and face as he jumped out and began searching through the tall grass for appropriately sized rocks. Less than a minute later he was shoving the two he'd found beneath the back tires of the van.
"Okay! Ease off it!"
The brake lights went out and before the tires had fully settled in against the rocks, Darby jumped from the van and ran full-speed past him toward a cathedral of a cave fifty meters away. He watched as she scrambled up a ten-foot tall boulder and stood gazing at the gray sand stone that undulated in front of her.
"This is it," she said excitedly as he climbed up the coarse boulder in his bare feet. About halfway up, he was reminded that the skin on his soles was more used to argyle and leather than to stone and dirt these days.
"This is it," she repeated as he came alongside her.
Tristan surveyed the intimidating stone wall in front of them and decided that it looked like a Dr. Seuss nightmare. Black and gray rock rose from dense undergrowth in a wave that probably averaged thirty-five degrees overhanging for about the first sixty feet, then kicked back to virtually horizontal for another forty or so. From where he stood, the cliff looked almost featureless he couldn't make out much more than the occasional door jamb-width edge or two-finger-wide hole. He craned his neck and looked overhead at the imposing stone roof above them. The hand- and footholds on that section were hidden, but he could see brightly colored nylon slings dangling from the roof every ten feet or so.
Called quick draws they were the things that climbers would hook their ropes through when they were on the route. Not just any climber, though.
By the looks of it, there were probably only a handful of men around the world that would even have a chance of making it to the top.
And only a couple of women, one of whom was standing next to him.
"How hard?" he asked.
"In the end, I think it'll go at a fairly stiff fourteen," she said, dropping into a full split on top of the flat boulder and starting to stretch.
That confirmed it. The hardest climb in the world had a difficulty rating of easy fifteen.
"Jesus, Darby ... what're you gonna call it?" All routes up a rock face had a name just like all routes down a ski hill had a name.
"I'm leaning toward "Disco Girl and the Mutant Strain."" He laughed and shook his head.
"Like I said, you're one weird chick.
You warm up, I'll go grab the gear."
Tristan jogged back down to the van and began rummaging around in the various backpacks and duffels it contained. He glanced back up at Darby through the side windows just in time to see her gracefully rise from the splits to a perfect handstand. She tilted her body to one side and tentatively lifted her right hand off the rock. She stayed like that for about five seconds and then crumpled onto the boulder.
He tried not to laugh loud enough for her to hear, remembering the acrobat from the Cirque de Soleil who had developed a terminal crush on Darby a few years back during a climbing trip near Vegas. She'd been trying to duplicate the guy's one-armed handstand ever since.
"Which shoes do you want, Darb?" he yelled through an open window.
"Stingers, please.
He grabbed the pair that looked like a couple of mutant yellowjackets, stuffed the rest of the gear in a pack, and started toward the cliff. By the time he got to the base, Darby was pacing back and forth beneath the route.
He knew better than to talk to her at this point, though a comment on the quickly worsening weather was on the tip of his tongue the wind had picked up and was kicking dust into the air in swirling clouds. He tossed the climbing shoes and a harness onto the ground in front of her and started to uncoil the rope.
Darby muttered quietly to herself as she struggled to pull on the shoes that were at least two sizes too small
Similar Books
