He wielded the pool cue like a scepter. I stepped through the back door of the Turf Bar into the smoke--- and Randy Travis--- saturated realm that is his kingdom. The other Regulars craned around to see who came in. "What in the hell happened to you?" he drawled, through a huge grin, as he too spun to see the newcomer.
"I ... I had a bad day?" I stammered, adding the question for some reason, as I realized my hands and forearms were wrapped in dirty white tape and I was, well, filthy. He roared laughter and finished his shot without a glance like we'd grown up together here in Sundance and had always been friends. Larry and Greg were right behind me, hungry and beat, looking for some chicken fried steak, a chef salad and a half-pound burger after our first day on Devil's Tower. With 1 beer, 1 Coke, 1 root beer and waters all around.
We decided his name was Cliff and Rule #1 at the Turf was that everybody knew and loved Cliff. And Rule #2 is that if you don't happen to know Cliff, refer to Rule #1. We loved Cliff.
*** Rule #1 on the Devil's Tower perimeter trail is that everybody loves Larry. He's bigger than life surrounded by Japanese or German or senior citizen tourists as he explains the basics of multi-pitch rock climbing like a shaggy professor of rock and rope. Greg suggested, and I agreed, that Larry has a "grizzled elegance" that attracts people. Greg and I would find ourselves alone on the trail with Larry far behind delivering one more good humored lecture and getting his picture taken. There are Three Questions: "Have you been to the top?" "What's up there?" "How long does it take?" He generously answered each like it was the first time he'd heard it.
Once off the asphalt we are on our own humping up the boulder field disappearing from view until we are sighted again through binoculars high up on the technical sections. Now just anonymous little human splashes of color inching slowing upward against the massive backdrop of porphyry phonolite, split into hundreds of tenuous looking columns, bundled together by friction and gravity. Each is about the width of Leonardo's span with cracks between suited to gently jamming your hands and feet or shoulder or knee and pulling yourself up. The tower looks like it is splitting apart before your eyes - yet a column probably hasn't fallen for 10,000 years. Up close you can't appreciate the scale and concentrate only on moving the next ten feet, finding a "bomber" hand jam, protecting the potential fall, and finding the next rest stance.
*** Cliff is getting to know us between pool shots and doling out grief to everyone at the bar. His sister-in-law walks by and he pokes her playfully with the cue and asks "hey, you married?" Back at our table, he can't believe we three are sober and drinking Coke and root beer after a day of hard climbing. Greg, the youngest, is having a beer but us older guys have neither the liver nor the metabolism to both process alcohol and climb like we are 36 years old. I just want to get enough fluids to maybe pee sometime this evening after 8 or 9 hours in 90 degree heat.
"Are you drinking straight Coke?" Cliff asks me with a huge grin of disbelief.
"Well, no. It's mixed with water."
Cliff roars and makes another lap around the bar. "they're drinkin' Coke. And water!"
Larry and I try to explain that we are getting old and have to take it easy.
Cliff says "Well I'm 46 and look at me!"
So I flash him my new AARP card and Cliff doubles over in laughter, snatches the card and runs up to the bar and shouts "He flashed me an AARP card! AARP! That's the funniest thing I've ever seen!"
*** Greg pipes up: "Guys, since we are in full disclosure I have something to tell you that I've never told anyone."
Poor Greg had been thrust, like a new guest star, into the 20th season of the Dan and Larry show. He would have been 15 or 16 when it first aired in about 1989. Like a couple of retired vaudevillians, the old gags are still as fresh, or as stale, as ever. Each of us comfortable either joking, small talking, or sitting silently at a belay. Now we'd been climbing for two days, hard, up and down the tower getting to know Greg and the new triangular team.
A four-pitch moon-light rappel the first night was beautiful yet a little stressful for the first day out and we, of course, had no head lamps. Larry and I have been in these situations before. It's fair to say I've never been more tired, hungry, thirsty, or sore than on Rainier, or the Grand Teton with Larry. Greg knew the way to the rappel bolts, otherwise we'd have spent a couple hours trying to read the guidebook and wandering around the dark summit looking. What we didn't know is that in a couple of hours we'd meet Cliff.
The climbs were longer and harder than we remembered and we were all adjusting to the scale of the monolith. Sustained, 140-foot pitches are common on Devils Tower and maybe 3-5 times longer that a typical climb back in Minnesota. We'd decided along the way that climbing, in fact, helps men talk about their feelings. There are apparently two of them: One, I'm scared. And two, I'm feeling good. And one changes to the other with the merest bit of gravel rolling under foot or the click of a carabiner. That and Larry and I competing to see who felt older -- both of us in our sixth decade and climbing as hard as ever.
"I believe that I have a hemorrhoid," Greg continued, serious as, well, a hemorrhoid. Larry and I became the sober sages of all things medically embarrassing, supporting this poor lad as he enters the real world of adulthood, shifting from bun to bun. He was now a regular on the show. We assured him they go away quickly ( ha!) and weren't prone to recurrence (ha ha). We needed more tape for protecting our hands from the abrasive cracks, so a drug store trip was in the near future, and with the tape a "preparation" of emollient, shark liver oil, and cortisone. Somewhere back in Sundance Cliff roared with laughter, thinking about that AARP card.