OK - not that hill. Rock climbing was my passion before drag racing and before flying. My climbing partner, Ken, has not lived in So. Cal. for more than a decade so our adventure opportunities have dwindled over the years.

Taquitz is a 1500 ft rock outcrop in the mountains above Idyllwild California. It's one of the world's premier climbing spots and the birthplace of free climbing. In our thirties and forties we were there every other weekend during summer months.

I told Ken that I'd really like to climb it one more time - as the day is coming that the skills and stamina required will be behind us. It had been twelve years since we last climbed at Taquitz. Since then an artificial heart valve has left me with diminished aerobic capacity. Just making it to the base of the wall, a 1 hour slog up a very steep scree slope, was in question. That's the trouble with after market parts - they're not as good as original equipment. There are no speed parts for the body.

Moving slowly and conservatively we made it to the base of a 900 foot classic called Finger Tip Traverse. It's a climb we had free soloed in younger years.

We were the only sixty year olds on the rock. There weren’t any fifty year olds either. Nor any forty year olds. Every team I saw were twenty somethings. We realized that we no longer fit into the scene there and vowed that the next time we showed our face we would have some ink.

The climbing was glorious. The exposure is hair ball. Ass in the wind hundreds of feet above the deck. Gotta do it to appreciate it.

As I pulled over the top I was overwhelmed with joy and sadness. Despite that we vowed to do it again in another twelve years we both know that's not gonna happen. This would be the last time. There will be lesser adventures but Taquitz is just too tough.

Three hours of dragging ass got us back to the car. Whipped puppies.

Screaming feet. To appreciate climbing shoes imagine ten puppies around a five puppy bowl. Those are your toes. Taking them off does not relieve the pain as the vanquished blood now gets its revenge. The throbbing means they only hurt 50% of the time however.

Father time is a bitch.

The next day was race day. I was waxed. A fist full of Tylenol masked Saturday's youthful exuberance. KOH first round I went to the line with my Terminator delay button set incorrectly. My RT was 0.493.

The attached graph shows the BG double pumper's jetting is excellent. The air/fuel ratio on the cruise to the track was 13.9 to 14.3 - perfect. The WOT AFR at the track is hugging 13.5 - again perfect for my car.

The RPM wobble is getting worse. It swings 500 RPM top of second gear. That can't be good. John Pandeles suggested I get a front end alignment and try to eliminate the two finger pull before I jump to any conclusions about the tires being bad. That's good advice - I'll take it.