It may have been March (I couldn’t ever know for sure) in the mid 1980’s, nestled in my bed, covers pulled up and I was getting ready to close my heavy eyes for the night. Before the room went dark, save the four-inch light beam that shone through my door from the single bulb in our hallway, my mom was faithful to pray with me. One particular night I remember her asking me if I wanted to pray. “I don’t know how to start,” my small voice revealed concern that maybe I’m just

“Faster or slower?” I shouted over the sound of the rushing air circulating through the 3.6L V6 powered Traverse, our chariot which...

It was my first and only trip to Bloomington, Indiana and my excitement for some adventure surged through my veins, making every conversation a hopeful guide to a beautiful piece of rock, tucked away for the locals. Bert and I loaded up his gear samples for work, each registered and categorized in his mind (and I’m sure on paper, somewhere), our mountain bikes, and climbing gear of course. I’d only been a climber for a few years at this memorable slice of history in the tal