I am growing older. As we speak. I am a fairly fit 36 year old who thinks he is somewhere in the range of 16 to 23. Unlike most of my old partners of climbs gone by I still wake up stoked to climb. You know your stoke has outlived your contemporaries when your partners are getting so young they have to skip class to come out and climb with you or they say "Who?" when you mention Pearl Jam or Chris Bonnington. I need more Advil than I admit and my hairline is beyond visible in the mirror no matter how hard I point my chin down and look up.....I just.....can't....quite....see...it.

The secret to youth is not new sticky rubber, Red Bull or Hip Hop....though I indulge in each of these more than my wife would like me to. No, The secret to youth can be purchased for around $19.00.

It's chocolate in color and curly and radiant and robust. It give me wings. It is the OVERSIZED AFRO WIG. Children run in its presence and women find themselves inexplicably drawn to it. It makes blue runs Black Diamond and 5.5 at least 5.9. I took it out for a stroll this morning and thought you might like to see it in action.

Lets do it.

Alpine start from Fresno because we all know that summers in Fresno are about as friendly as a Yuppie at a Suburban Bay Area Starbucks. You better be off your route by 9am or risk the wrath of a sun so hot it will give an armadillo melanoma.
Power up on Powdered Donuts and Peets...A winning combination. Little known fact, 2-2-4 Trimethylmaltoactivedextromalate, the active ingredient in common powdered donut dust, is the same compound used to strengthen industrial grade plaster. It is also a powerful catalyst in exothermic reactions and is traded and sold in vast quantities to meth labs. I should know....born and raised in Fresno. We approach by the subtle glow of a skinny moon. Hoot owls hoot. Bats skim the earth gorging themselves on chubby August skeeters. Things move and twitch in the dry summer grass. The rattlers are out so watch your step Kid. The rock looms above us, massive, inviting, stoic in the warm night.
The AFRO gives me strength. Its powers course through me. It shows me the way through the black. I'm 16 years older than The Kid but he struggles to keep up. It's either my lifetime base of alpine fitness or the fact that he is deathly afraid of snakes and creepy crawlies in general, but I stop often to let him catch up. Kids are lightweight these days. Its up to the older generations to show them The Way.
We arrive at the base as the first glow of a new day begins to think about peeking its head over the High Sierra directly behind us.
Pitch one falls quickly. Two pieces in 160 feet. The AFRO tells me to skip the bolts and place a nut then run it out like Shaft would to the anchor.
I bring up The Kid...this is really his first multi-pitch route ever and he is groovin'.
Upwards we soar. A thousand hands have been here before, but how many full scale Afros has this crack seen? Not many methinks. Not many.
I make The Kid lead a pitch so I can get a good photo of The AFRO in action. Good Job Kid. Nice composition and lake of camera shake. Your Mom would be proud.
We blast through the rest of Tollhouse Traverse in style. The route doesn't even think about putting up a fight. Not with the AFRO on board. No snagged ropes, no belay clusters, I even run out the section above the crux mantle all fifty feet to the bolts because Its not me behind the wheel but three square feet of brunette shiny, flowing mane. Ron Burgandy would be proud.
(By the way, I forgot my ATC so I used a six oval carabiner brake for the first time)
"Thank you Tech Tip #245"

We tag the summy and straight up rock a summit pose.

Back to the car as the oven dings! 95 degrees before 9am. Love it.

You know, a lot of people cluelessly rag on Fresno. Sure we got some of the nation's worst air, a staggering teenage pregnancy rate and the majority of the nations methamphetamine production, but I love this place. I can trout fish before work, climb before church and ride my dirtbike to the store for red meat. I got great friends, a classy 1920's house in a chill neighborhood and more family camping within an hours drive than you can shake a stick at. I don't trust hardcore liberals, tapwater I can't smell and people who have been born and raised in any city over a million people. Tollhouse rock doesn't amount to a hill of beans compared to the vastness of Kings Canyon, Shuteye, and The Valley, but this is OUR stone, and this morning, Tollhouse Traverse and its 5.5 action is OUR beans. Speaking of beans.....I DARE YOU....I FREAKING DARE YOU....to find a better breakfast burrito than Taco Grande in North Fresno.
You know its good when you are the only two white guys in the joint and the only two not on a lawn crew. These are my people. This is our reward. I go with the Chorizo, potato, cheeze and frijole, while The Kid mans up and orders the Chile Colorado. He will regret it later but this morning he is my hero. Death Red Chile Colorado for breakfast? Are you mad son?!!!!!!
We spend the rest of breakfast discussing Hayden Kennedy's work on the Bachar Yerian and Alex Honnold's insanity. Some days I wish I was nineteen again....but this morning I am very much content to head home, take a nap, then waste the day away swimming with the wife and kids. "Stay Classy Fresno. Micronut, Channel 47 News, signing off. "