  TALES OF NORTH CONWAY.... Dreaming of granite, splitter cracks, attacking with rattly fingers over manky psychological pro. Hit the roof, taped hands slipping, searching for purchase, swing one foot over the lip, left hand slips, as I fall, off-hands jam with right save me from 65ft onto soft iron. Plug in the TCU, say a short prayer, and dive into the 150ft. of slab, 30ft. runouts over 1/4" bolts, the gods must be crazy. There's no holds here, my mind screams as I regulate my breathing to stop my legs from shaking off of potatoe chip flakes. Movement as slow as shifting continents, singular focus clip a screamer in to the last bolt before the 45 foot runout to the anchors, movement becomes a blur, clip the hangers and relax, you've finally truly lived. 
