rebuttal - by Joe Josephson

Franki's Fact Fix
A rebuttal.

My Week With Franki
A few days later I found another empty bottle out on the back porch. That makes the end count an even 12 bottles in 6 days.
Where the Hell is Roscoe?
The bumper sticker wasn't actually in my house. They were at the legendary Grizzly Bar in Roscoe, Montana. You can also get a classic T-Shirt with the same saying. Franki is correct about the size of this quaint local on the East Rosebud River.
http://www.montanataverns.com/_tavern.asp?id=21
And for the record, the directions I sent Franki were directly from Google Maps. I didn't double check them, however. If I'd spelled them out myself, it would have worked since she got lost exactly where my spidey senses told me she would. But hell, I figured she's got graduate degrees in science, protects us all from terrorists and God knows what else, and should be able to figure it out. Guess not.

Franki says: my degrees are actually in engineering, rendering me worthless in situations requiring, oh, what do they call it, "common sense". And, there was a Roscoe bumper sticker in your dad's house. In the basement. Go ahead and look, I'll wait right here.

The cabin is at the end of the road surrounded by almost a million acres of the Absaroka/Beartooth Wilderness about 40 miles from the Northeast corner of Yellowstone National Park. Franki has it backwards about the cabin. The original part, built in 1924, is the larger part and the smaller addition was built in the mid 1970s. This newer addition is much easier to heat and the part we use in winter.

My Grandmother's name was Harriet. She hated anyone to use the word "Grandmother" or "Nana" or anything similar. It was always just Harriet.

Pushing the Bush
To be technical about it, Franki's crampons weren't exactly "hiking crampons." They are simply a bit older than the specialized ones now used for steep water ice. As Franki proved all week, they climb just fine and the over-hyped, new tricked-out versions that all these wankers use today.

The ice on Hellroaring Falls actually never got in the sun all day. It came close near the end of the day. It was just that warm out.

In regards to "not climbing rotty ice," the conversation went more like this,
"What do you do about climbing this chandeliery, hollow stuff?"
"You avoid it."

And finally. They aren't steel. 'Dems brass.

Franki says: my apologies about your balls. Hard to believe I have a dad who is a metallurgist.

A Tiny Trip to Tickle Town
Mmmm.... pretty accurate. However, I don't remember yelling, "god damn fucking fuck!" and "fucking fuck!" and "this is fucking bullshit fuck fuck fuck! fucking god damn fuck! ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! this is shit fucking fuck!" as quoted by Franki. I was more muttering about it. Stuff like, "I can't believe it."

Franki says: Uh huh. I guess you are forgetting the part where you were trying to take the lug nuts off the first time with that limp wristed wrench that came with your vulva. Because I'm PRETTY SURE you said the F word. And the S word. A lot.

When telling the story later, no less than two friends told me, "I thought that was your car out there on the Freeway. I stopped but you weren't around." Great small town I live in here.

In the wake of the "Tiny Trip" comment at the checkout, I was not imagining running Franki over. I was just too numb to find a pithy come back. I was just shocked.

Franki says: That was a pretty scary beast trying to tickle you. I actually felt bad for you for the first time that day.

Creamed Cooch
I never said or thought there is "no bush in Canada" although there are lots of big fluffy beavers.
http://www.zazzle.com/home_of_the_furry_beaver_poster-228447757655386102

Any respecting Bushman (or whatever the fuck he called himself) should have been able to handle 45 degree weather (7 degrees Centigrade for you Canuks) without a fire built in the middle of a bunch of dried out trees. In over 20 years of climbing in Canada (including more -40 days than I care to admit), I have never seen nor ever heard of anyone building a fire while ice climbing. What have people come to these days? Now that I think about it, no respecting "bushman" would ever actually call himself a bushman. That's worse than ice instructors saying to guys, "push your hips into the ice like you are making love."

With all due respect to the other "groupies," they were sincere enough and I don't think they actually followed us to Chico. It is simply the place to go after ice climbing in Paradise Valley or Yellowstone Park. It's like the must stops at Laggan's Deli in Lake Louise or Orvis/City Pool in Ouray.

Franki says: you're being nice now that they aren't trying to have sex with you.

Not the Kind of Ice we Like
G1 is technically called "Genesis." G1 indicates the lower cliff band while G2 is the pitch up the hill a few hundred yards. G1 is a wide cliff band with a wide variety of pillars and curtains offering great, if not convenient, top roping on steep ice. It is the most climbed piece of ice in between Ouray and Canmore.

Franki says: Proof I don't exaggerate in my blog. If I did, I would have called it G11. And, thanks for taking me on the Montana whore of ice climbs.

I never yelled at the climbers about their anchor. In fact, I can't remember the last time I yelled at anyone I wasn't married too. I politely asked the dude to not put his top rope directly through the quick link on the slings as a community service to all the people that climb here. He indignantly went on about how he always does that, as if I've never really climbed before. I dropped it and just focused on belaying Franki. But he kept at it and after a few moments piped up, "It would take a while before it wore through the link." He was fishing for a fight. I just ignored him. No yelling. I told him to "Have a good one" when he left.

My friends we ran into in the parking lot weren't sponsored by Coors. They are athletes for The North Face and where there on a gig taking corporate employees ice climbing. One of them, Peter Croft, I hadn't seen in years and I was reminiscing how the last time I think I say Peter we were drinking Coors together while waiting for a plane in Reno, NV.

I actually have a photo somewhere of Peter with a cube of Coors under his arm from that day. Unfortunately I can't find it. When we left, I asked Franki if she knew who that was and she said she didn't know who Peter Croft is. That is one of the reasons I like Franki.

And about lighting Franki's cigarettes, it's true. Indeed I was concerned about Franki keeping both hands on the wheel. But also, I had offered several times over the week to be her house/errand boy. I'm underemployed. I guess wasn't very good at lighting her cigs because she never answered me about my offer.

Franki says: Dude, all I need is to be accused of causing you to start smoking cowboy killers. I would be banned from all future Rock & Ice parties. Which, come to think of it, is not a bad thing.

Eggs
Pika doesn't chew on heads (http://www.kookycatguy.com/). He has this way of placing his paw on you and holding it there. It would be cuter-than-shit if it wasn't usually against some skin a bit more tender than most and his claws not so sharp. Plus, Pika is polydactyl like Hemingway's famous cats in Key West. Look it up. So I can see how it might have felt like chewing. It's a sign of affection as far as I can tell. That, or "feed me."

Unlike Franki, who brought only one pair of anything on the trip, I had an advantage. I had a clean layer to put on by Friday. So I didn't smell quite so bad, at least for a few hours anyway.
She has the route we did on Friday a bit mixed up. We climbed Mummy 2. Mummy 1 is lower in the gully and a very short WI 2. The spectacular routes we were looking up at far above us were Mummy III and Mummy IV (a WI 6).

Franki says: Maybe it has less to do with under exaggerating. Maybe I just can't count.

When writing guidebooks, and encountering established routes with no name (usually smaller routes that no one knows who did it), I tend to give them a name and a grade anyway. It never ceases to amaze me how people will not climb something if it's not in the guidebook. Put a name and a grade on it, and no matter how crappy it is, it will get regular ascents. This particular piece of snot pouring out of the moss over a big phallic dead log (now there is an image) is about 50 yards left of Mummy 2. I thought we agreed to call it "Combat Jack" not "My Legs Are My Albatross" although upon retrospect I think the latter is more fitting.

Franki says: You said it was too pussy of a route to call it "combat jack".

Franki forgot to mention the well-known bumper sticker I told her about that is frequently sighted around Salt Lake City. "I (heart) Mormon Pussy".

I didn't give Franki a Grivel T-Shirt although it has a Grivel logo on the front (they were a long-time sponsor of mine so I put it there as a shout out to them). It is a First Ascent Press T-shirt with Randy Rackliff wood block art work and a hit list of the best routes in Hyalite and the Beartooths. Buy them here if you want, http://www.firstascentpress.com/buy.html (scroll down to the bottom of the page). I only have a few left! Since it doesn't look like my career as a house boy is going to work out, I need you all to buy my shit.

Franki says: Oops. If it had been a hit list of your Montana groupies I bet I would have gotten the t-shirt story straight.

The wine was called "The Guilty".

I didn't find Physics course work boring. Not at all. There were two reasons I quit Physics and switched to Philosophy. First was that I sucked at Calculus. Thus I would end up scoring 50s and 60s on these bi-weekly exams. They were just brutal. But thanks to the Bell Curve I was a B+ student. The second reason was this was during the Reagan era. If you'll recall, physicists during the time in the Cold War tended to graduate to work on missile systems. The first day of one semester I sat there thinking, I'm learning half the material, am considered above average and my future will be going to work on WMDs. It wasn't my idea of a career (still isn't). I dropped all my science that very day.

I had to get some of those homogeneous, amorphous, white, pasty, convenience store dumpties because I wasn't sure if I had enough of the home-grown, neighbor eggs left. Turns out I had two left. Just what we needed. The ones from the Town Pump (Seriously that is what it is called. Now contemplate that one -- getting eggs at the Town Pump) are still in the fridge with their peeling, individual ".99" orange price tags and will probably go into the compost if I can soon score some more better ones from one of my friends with chickens.

Franki says: but are you going to write on them first? why not write "organic" on them and eat them. It will be just like the ones Jen decorated.

The Hot Cakes were perfect.

Franki says: concur, and I appreciated not being ridiculed because I don't eat the crust.

Shakey Jakey
Go ahead and make fun of my Volvo or my Vulva all you want Franki. Those heated seats are great way to keep the bucket of KFC warm on long road trips.

Franki says: What's KFC? Is that like Climb On balm? Could I put it on my injured rotator cuff?

The headdress is not worth much actually, other than sentimental value. It's pretty beat up and far from museum quality. My great grandfather was a lawyer in Billings and did work with the Northern Cheyenne tribe back in the 1910s and 20s. The native stuff was a gift to him and definitely shows the generations of family enjoyment.

And regarding the swimsuit, my text to Franki read verbatim, "I found your swimsuit this morn. I can say a chica left her panties. Nice..."
Franki, "How embarrassing :D good thing it was you who found it.
Me, "Oh ya! I have SOOO many other girls filing through that would discover it."
Franki, "Dude, are you wearing it right now?
Me, "When you get them back, the bottom might be a bit stretched out. If u know what i mean"
Franki, "Gross :D"

Franki says: wait until the crotch blows out, and then you can wear it climbing

I don't have a guest room in my house but for the record, I offered my room to Franki and that I would take the couch. I tried to insist but she wouldn't have anything of it. You can't accuse me of not being a good host.

And in closing, while you are at it, have your boys send over some "little groupies." I've been waiting for them to show up for years.

Thanks Franki for immortalization of the week. It was great fun. I miss you having you around.
Love,
The Kid

Franki says: so you're actually going to admit I'm older and wiser?
Back to the Sopranos. I hate you for getting me hooked.