Went down to New Hampshire this past weekend, with the milliner, to do some climbing. We headed to Rumney, packing the car with foam mattresses, chairs, pillows, espresso maker, all for two days of “roughing it.” Ageing has its privileges. Also, it sure is sweet getting to the border and, when the guards see us, don’t even bother asking for ID, we look that harmless.
Anyhow, I quickly realised that I’ve gotten weaker since I was last there, and had a difficult time getting up climbs I used to dance on. In fact, at one point I remarked that, gosh, it was nice that the first tie-in bolt on one climb was high up, because if I happened to fall at least I wouldn’t hit the ground. After which, I make a few moves and go flying off.
After that, we decided to call it a day, and drove into town for supper. On the way back, we drive up to a duck on the road. Not dead, mind you, just a duck holding its ground. It ain’t moving. We edge the car closer, and still it just stands there. Cars are now backing up behind us. So, I get out of the car, walk up to the duck and try shoo’ing it out the way. The little cluck just turns around and quacks at me! “Dude, you’re not making me look good in front of the partner. A bit of cooperation here, mkay?” It finally decides to move, still quacking its displeasure at me. I get back in the car, with the milliner laughing her head off at me. For revenge, I think I’m gonna make me some magret this weekend.