Here's the Pitch; Striiiiiike 2

TOP: Relaxing streamside on day 1

BOTTOM: Tony, Bob, and Lumpy at hike start

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So, as my last sabbatical adventure, I decided to trake another crack at Mt Whitney, the highest peak in the continental US. Whitney is in the Sequoia's, a stupendous mountain range out in middle CA. Last year we took at crack at Whitney, but didn't make it due to injury, speed, and weather.

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I'd always thought that the only way to go after Whitney was via a multi-day hike from the west side, up the mountain, and back out the west side. The "typical" tourist route is drive to the east side to 8k feet, and then do a mad sprint to the summit, and then back down in one day. To me, while that was indeed an accomplishment, it kind of took away from the beauty of the area, and the John Muhr-esque nature of hiking in the Sierra's.

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Last year we launched with a team of 6, which was logistically a lot of work, and increased our risk. This year I decided to just launch with 3, which turned out to be myself, my longtime friend bob (formerly ROC, now Minneapolis), and Tony (formerly KC, now SanDiego). Flatlanders all, not exactly the best training for a big mountain hike. They had trained specifically for the hike, while I hoped to get by with my leftover acclimation and conditioning from the MEX-CDA bike trip, plus some moderate hiking with Kathy on our last road trip. Mark that concept under "bad idea".

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The trip started on a down note. I was pretty worn out from being on the road for 6 weeks. Then, I had 2 airplanes cancelled...surprisingly that was USAir, the airline that makes GM look like a competent car company. It was 24 hours before I was finally able to get out west, so that was a PIA. Then, Kathy's mom went into the hospital again (to unfortunately die later in the month), so I considered cancelling outright (but Kathy encouraged me to go so I went forward).

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In a tribute to the competency of our airport homeland security personnel, I was detained for having a bag of peaches with a couple of ice cubes inside to keep them cold. Seem that ice cubes COULD be composed of water, which COULD be a liquid, and therefore a bomb making composite. So, while they unpacked and scanned my whole carry on, the couple of ice cubes melted, and so now I was trying to smuggle a liquid onto a plane and I was declared a terrorist. Well, not formally declared, but certainly treated like one. Finally, I was able to get cleared, and headed to my plane...only to have another 12+ hours pass before I landed in Fresno. Delays, tarmac sitting, mechanicals, weather, missed connections..ah, it was just a fun day in paradise trying to get through a 5 hours flight!!!!!!

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Upon arriving in Fresno, it was a blistering (and rising) 107 degrees; here we go back into the depths of hades to melt into puddles. I rendezvous'd with bob (tony was still inbound) and we hit a local marie calendars (one of the few chains I really like) where an outstandingly hot Mex-o-MILF fell in love with bob and tried to take him home; all the more humorous when you know what a clark gable bob is with the ladies. We'll be laughing about that one in the years to come.

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Tony finally arrived and we elected to walk to the grocery for our last minute goods. The grocery that was, in the words of the desk clerk, 2 blocks away. So, after about an hour of walking, we realized that "blocks" must be the spanish word for "counties". We grabbed our last minute goods and went back to the hotel to parse out the food and pack. Tony, under bob's direction, had bought enough food for a battalion, and again, our packs were way too heavy. But, being the young, virile studs that we are, we elected to do with it. NOTE TO SELF: Not young, not virile, not a stud anymore. Don't forget this again...

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The plan was to drive from Fresno (100 ft vertical) to the start (8,000 ft), then hike day 1 to 10,500 ft. Day 2 was up and over Franklin pass at 12,ooo+, then all the way back down to the river at 6,000, then basically 3 days to get back up to the whitney summit at 14,000_ ft. Drink a beer, then repeat in reverse. It was brutally aggressive, but again, being the young, virile studs we were, we felt we'd blow through it. RE-READ NOTE TO SELF ABOVE...

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Well, it turned out that the drive alone took hours longer than we expected. Tony was a bulldog, but at 10mph up windy, dirt, non-guardrailed mountain roads you could only go so fast. We ended up getting to the trailhead hours late, but figured that since we were young...(you know the rest) we could just plow through it and still make our expected campsite for the evening. And, off we went.

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"Young, virile, studs...NOT" Lumpy out