I felt like waking to the first day of fall. You walk outside one day and you know it's no longer summer. Specific date doesn't dictate the shift. It's not so subtle a combination of light temperature smell, moisture, and wind direction. And unequivocally reached adulthood. Those years were in the rear of your mirror. There was no point in wishing them back. Yosemite was calling. Just like it had been for the last 15 years. You get monkeys were waiting. So I kept going with the same dogged persistence of crash. With the same singularity and directive of an accelerator, pressed to the floor. Austin and I drove through the night. I took the final leg, considered stopping just before the park's interests, but kept going. We slid into the valley before dawn for tour buses filled the roads. 5 days later, when the gimp monkey's belly flopped onto the summit of el cap, exhausted, but full of smiles. I knew I'd match their energy. I'd given my home to tell that story. I don't.