From Albert Camus, to René Char,

“The older I get, the more I find that you can only live with beings who liberate you, and who love you with an affection that is as light to bear as it is strong to feel… This is how I am your friend, I love your happiness, your freedom, your adventure…and I would like to be for you the companion you are sure of, always.”

I'm ----- ---------, General Manager at ---------- -------- Super Ford ---- ---- ---- ----. We are still VERY INTERESTED in purchasing your vehicle and we have an easy way for you to get a quote completely online. All you need is your License Plate or VIN Number to get started.

Nice email, and I'm sure you are, but no. No no no.

i hope death is like being carried to your bedroom when you were a child & fell asleep on the couch during a family party. i hope you can hear the laughter from the next room

Source: (though I think this tweet is gone) https://twitter.com/petfurniture/status/1355363007950446593

At dinner time tonight, I noticed that everyone across from me was in four layers. For each of them, the top layer was a puffy jacket. Surprised by this, I asked S if he were cold. No, he said, he felt fine. If he took off the jacket, however, he'd be cold.

I was sitting there, quite comfortable in a t-shirt and my long-sleeved t-shirt hoodie. And with the sleeves pulled up to my elbows.

As someone who has always run cold, running warm is an interesting curiosity.

I know that I can go short sleeves until 16˚C if I'm moving and minimal wind. I know that 15˚ is when I put on the long sleeved t-shirt, if I'm not moving, and 12˚ is when I do wear if moving, not in sun, or if there is wind. I know that climbing up the mountain, I'm in a t-shirt, long-sleeved hoodie t-shirt, and an R1 Patgonia fleece, and I'm just fine down to 8˚ no wind. Hell, if Baker is any indication, I'm good down to -2˚C with those three layers, and likely still sweating at the end.

What I didn't know, and hadn't realized, is that my heat lingered into stillness.

Either that fat adaptation thing is working, or high altitude is working some seriously strange numbers on my body. Those hot flashes earlier this year meant nothing to the raging heat I produce these days!

Also, the soup is consistently good on this trip.

While waiting for the rest of the team to return from the Cotopaxi summit, I wandered around inside and outside of the lodge after I caught up somewhat on sleep. In the lodge, there is a wall of crocs, each pair, if you can match them, available for anyone to wear:

Day hikers come up to the lodge, which is awesome. Hike up to the lodge, kick off your shoes, have some tea or hot chocolate, maybe a sandwich, head back down. A lovely afternoon adventure.

And while I appreciated the wall of available lounging shoes at the lodge, I have to say I have made better choices than the one I made when I decided to wander out to walk along the ridge and take a picture of the mountain in these:

I mean, just how much stability was I looking for in a shoe?

Answer: more than these provided.

I managed to aggravate my left hamstring (the on-going 17 year saga thus far) on the walk around the ridge to see this:

The valley floor, however, is what inspired me. The winds pushing me away from the edge were telling me that I was figuring out these mountains, keep going. They had my back.

That, and a good beat, say LP's Lost on You, seemed the best choice to make.

And not those crocs. Hod, that was a bad choice.