Happy Father's Day!

The wife said I could do whatever I want today; but I don't think copious amounts of alcohol at the strip club were actually sanctioned activities, so I figured a nice hike with a bit of climbing would be better for my overall health and well-being.

C-hill is relatively unremarkable here in Carson, the main feature being a landmark letter C that spontaneously metamorphosizes into whatever two digit number represents the majority of graduating high school seniors that year. You can approach it via 4x4 trail and a long uphill hike, or paved road and an equally long uphill hike. The dog and I elected the long uphill hike.
It's really only a mile or so; but with a pack full of climbing gear and 90 degree heat, it felt much more like 10 miles of high school gymnastics hell redux. How anyone can convince a group of graduating high school seniors to hike up there as a cohesive unit AND manhandle a bunch of rocks into something resembling a legible twin digit numerical sequence is beyond fathom. I digress.
Anyway, after sweating up the beaten path, we found ourselves at the base of a short crack (nothing is terribly tall up here; just enough to fall off and regret not having life insurance, three pads, and a Spock's rocket boots) which I'd seen some time ago. I racked up, tied the dog (and the rock) to the end of the rope, and proceeded to climb, or at least I've convinced myself it resembles climbing.
Some 8 whole feet later, I found myself convinced that a. This rock is made of grease! The two-finger pocket is not enough for me. b. I am not a bad-ass rock climber. I just play one in my own mind. c. Friable rock that goes 'pop' when you touch it does not a cool and collected mind make. d. French free is nearly as good as French fries. In the case of only one, however, do you want to eat it.
I pulled on gear through several feet of the crux, including a crap, tipped out dual stem #4 camalot that made me regret leaving the big 6 in the car, and brass nut on a flared out crystal just to be able to brag about my brass nuts. Man, they're tiny, and I don't play with them enough.
Continuing to ascend the route (free, mind you. Nobody got paid!), I managed to pass the loose block o death at the top to find it's been done before, and somebody kept the hangers. Two bolts, probably RDA et al. I had finally climbed the damn thing with all the style and grace of a drunk cat in a moving van on a cobblestone street with potholes.
The rest of my fathers day was actually spent in the presence of my wife and children, partaking in family-friendly adventures flying kites, fishing, bbqing, and reading bedtime stories. Hope the rest of you thoroughly enjoyed your day too!