John talked about the current economic crisis. The news papers reported huge government bailouts, banks going belly-up, and foreclosures on any house with a mortgage. The Dow Jones took the biggest hit it had in decades. We were facing an economic crisis, John told me. I wondered if I would need to use my economics degree as we wound our way up the Icicle Creek road. As John continued ranting about the Fed pouring money into the market, we approached a large Ford pickup parked on the side of the road across from the Icehouse boulders. A knee was propped up against the window inside. Strange. Then I saw another knee spread apart on the big bench seat. Really strange. And then there was a guy between the knees with a smirk on his face. John stopped talking and his eyes turned into saucers as we drove past the couple humping in the truck. I started laughing. John did too. Soon we were busting up. We parked at the Sword boulder and got out, pantomiming a gynecologist examination. Ryan and Isaac pulled up behind us, stepped out, and immediately hopped into the joke. They too had seen the happy humpers. Crazy.
The bouldering at the Sword went mellow for awhile. Isaac, John, Ryan, and Jessica, when she showed up, all tried Zorro, a delicate problem up a large granite boulder. They worked through the vicious stemming but eventually gave it all up. They moved their pads down to the Prism, a balancey problem with a dangerous fall over a protruding rock. Erin, Isaac’s lady friend, came and we climbed a few of the easier problems on the other side of the boulder and then we slandered with Jessica. Suddenly, someone screamed. It sounded like Ryan, who yelps when he does a difficult move. A few minutes later, John ran over. “We’re out of here!” he said. He grabbed his car keys, and threw the crashpads together. Isaac had fallen five feet onto the rock below the Prism and fucked his ankle up. Ryan carried him to the car, we all piled up, and headed to the hospital. I rode with Erin and Isaac the ten miles to Leavenworth hospital. Isaac, moaned, cried, and moaned everytime the car bumped. Sprawled supine on the flattened seats of Erin’s tiny car. I tried to remind him to breathe, to focus on one little thing. I was not sure what else to say. We got to the hospital and dropped him off. He broke his fibula and destroyed his ankle. Later in the week he had surgery. He would not be able to climb for three or four months. Crazier.