The Tree of Knowledge

Stone Works

There's a pair of bolt cutters I snagged out of Ryan's toolbox and a flash light in the white wicker basket of my TARDIS bicycle, neatly concealed beneath my lunch when I set out the next day.

I really have no idea what I think I'm doing here.

It takes about an hour to ride my bike to Stone Works, but I shave about a minute off of that every day, slowly building up my speed and endurance.

And apparently my bravery.

Or possibly my stupidity.

Recklessness is another noun that leaps to mind.

The padlock yields easily to the bolt cutters. I pull the chain off and creak the door open, shining my flashlight into the shadowy corners of the room.

It's pretty much how I remember it, just with a LOT more dust. We're talking about a one inch thick layer of it covering everything like a blanket. Some kind of critters have moved in and shredded the mats for bedding. There's an aquarium in the corner that used to contain a couple of goldfish and a sucker fish. Now the stagnant water has spawned black mold up each wall of the tank and, near as I can tell, the fish have rotted in there. It smells foul.

But it seems like all the equipment is mostly still here. There's even some old Gatorade in the warm refrigerator. I gulp one down while I investigate the shoe situation. I used to have my own climbing shoes, but Stone Works would rent shoes and other equipment to less avid climbers.

I find the size nine shoe bin behind the counter and pry open the dusty lid. What looks to be about fifty brown recluse spiders swarm out of the bin. I drop the lid and scramble backwards, leaping on to the counter.

Suddenly I don't want to touch anything in here anymore.

I chain the door behind me when I leave, hanging the broken padlock on the chain so it gives the appearance of being locked up.

The next day, I bring bug spray. A lot of fucking bug spray.

I spray the whole damn can into the size nine shoe bin and shut the lid, chocking the bastard poison spiders out.

The fish tank has to go next. I siphon the putrid water out with an empty Gatorade bottle bit by bit until its light enough to lift the tank. I dump the rest of the contents into the grass and leave the slimy tank outside the back door to rot.

To combat the lack of electricity, I start smuggling in candles. I'm limited by what I can hide in my basket under my lunch each day, but after a few trips I have enough to at least light the front room with the equipment and the bouldering climbs.

"Bouldering" just means short enough to probably not break your neck if you fall. A white line stretches around the room about eight feet off the floor. For kids under eighteen, the rule was your head couldn't go above the line. For adults, your feet. I think I'll go ahead and declare myself an adult, next birthday be damned. This is the kind of climbing you can do without a harness. You don't need a partner to boulder like you would to top rope or lead climb. Since I clearly lack for a partner, this is the room to tackle first.

Next, something has to be done about this dust. I smuggle out cleaning supplies in my basket and come home every day so filthy dirty Mara and Rebecca start to raise their eyebrows.

I'm losing the weight I put on, sweating it off in that stuffy, candle-lit room.

Slowly, but surely, I eliminate the dust bunnies.

I bring a needle and thread and sew up the torn up mats, cannibalizing some of the more foregone ones to fix the nicer ones.

I don't feel brave enough to open the size nine shoe bin again until a full week after I emptied the bug spray into it. The contents now reek of toxic fumes. I dump the whole thing outside the back door and let it air out. When that doesn't work, I come back with Febreeze.

Still wary of more spiders, I carefully dig through the equipment. I find a chalk bag and lots of chalk to keep my hands from sweating. I find a harness and carabineer so I can clip the bag on. Finally, I go through the size nine shoe bin. They're not in great shape, but I find a pair that fits well, just curling my toes slightly, like they should, with a small hole in the side of the right shoe.

A full month after I first followed the train track back here, I'm ready to climb.