Throwback Thursday: Mark Flood – The TOUGHEST man you will ever know

So, I have this buddy who is by nature and temperament a hard-man. Sweetest guy in the world, super humble, would give you his last dollar in the pocket, the shirt off his back – salt of the earth sort of a guy. Seriously. This same friend is also physically and mentally toughest person I have ever personally met. I have only seen him mad twice and thankfully neither time was at me. I was very happy about that. Flood is one of those Old Testament, walked forty years in the desert and killed and army with a mule jaw bone sort of guy. Really, really.

All my climbing buddies and I TRY to get together once a year and spend a week in the mountains. One year (maybe 2009), Mark couldn’t come and it was the most relaxed trip ever – soft beds, video games and *GASP* a rest day! We all talked about how Flood would have hated the wasted time when he could have been wedged into some shitty, moss filled crevice, 40 feet above a manky piece of protection, giggling with glee. At the time, “Chuck Norris” jokes were just getting popular and while sitting at a bar one evening we started telling Mark Flood true-isms. At one point these two girls who had over heard us, came over and asked with willful intent if Mark was at the bar or in town. Dr. G looks them up and down and slyly says, “Nah baby, your would KNOW if HE were here…” They got all giddy. True story.

Anyway, the list below is some of what came out of that evening and 10 or so follow-up e-mails after the trip.

Mark Flood uses Tabasco Sauce for eye drops.
As a child Mark Flood ate transformer toys in vehicle mode and shat them out transformed into a robot.
Mark Flood’s penis is so big that it has a penis of its own and it is still bigger than yours.
… doesn’t open no can of whoopass. He makes his own with farm-fresh eggs and dehydrated onions.
… can get Blackjack with just one card.
… once screwed up his knee, purely for the sake of winning the Special Olympics.
… can sneeze with his eyes open
… once fucked a sheep ‘till it was a sweater
… once took a lead-fall so big that his clothes burned off on re-entry
… uses a rattlesnake as a condom
Mark Flood’s penis is so TALL it has never been mounted without the use of oxygen.
… eats live Billy-goats as a light mountain snack.
… started a pirate mutiny in the south china sea.
… is hung like a woolly mammoth.
… keeps live cobras in his sock drawer.
… once snorted cocaine off Jenna bush’s titties in the oval office and made W watch.
… has a +92 Ape index.
… secretes Serin gas from his rectum.
…once used a spork as an ice axe and tire chains as crampons.
… whittled his own skis.
… can write in beautiful Victorian script cursive ambidextrously with his feet.
… once killed and gutted a grizzly bear with toenail clippers to have a warm place to sleep
… carries a pack so heavy he can rightfully call Atlas himself a pussy.
… always has sex on the first date. Always.
… is capable of lactation.
… once took a bubble bath with Rosie O’Donnell and made her straight.
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse actually live in Mark Flood’s nutsack
Mark Flood makes his women wear gaiters and crampons to bed.
… can eat a hammer and poop nails.
Mark flood can climb any 14er using only echo location
Mark flood can play “the devil went down to Georgia” better than Charlie Daniels AND the Devil using a violins
strung with his pubic hair.
Mark flood pulled so hard on Castle Rock in Eldorado Canyon that the climb is now 12.3 feet shorter.
… makes MacGyver look like Steve Erkel.
… does not procreate – he breeds…
…  raped Blackbeard for using Argh! in an incorrect grammatical supposition.
… once climbed to heaven and he did it all in one linked pitch.
Mark Flood once stated “The double rope system is for newbie’s. I only climb using a sextuple rope system!”
… can piss directly into gale force winds and not get a drop on himself.
Mark Flood has to live in the Midwest because his gravitational field screws up the tides.
… felt that the ‘Jolly Mark” was egotistical, so he let some fruity guy named Roger take the credit.
… is no longer allowed to climb at Indian Creek because his hand jams have widened all the cracks.
… simply decided to start producing spider silk from his anus so he no longer had to use ropes.
… only dates climbers because only they have the necessary grip strength to give him a hand-job.
… is not afraid to climb any route but all climbing routes are afraid that Mark will climb them.
… once gave a new meaning to peak enchainment when he added Mt Elbrus, Long’s and Pikes to his key chain.
… feet are sooo big he doesn’t need snowshoes.
Mark Floods’ dick is so big that the AAC listed an all female ascent the latest American Alpine Journal
… can literally talk to snakes
… is so energetic that routes get tired of HIM.
… climbed every peak west of the Mississippi in two days with only a Mars Bar, the September 1980 issue of Playboy, an ice axe, 1 box of Pop-Tarts, and a can of tuna.
… masturbates to pictures of used climbing gear and Alpenglow.

12th Night in Portland – 2013

A few weeks ago we drove down to Portland so that I could to do some off-site work for my J-O-B and took an extra day (on or dime) to both visit friends and attend an evening of the SCA’s 12th Night celebration – Being married to a trained costume designer means that one goes to these sorts of evenings.  Our friends have closets (yes, I meant to be plural – as in 4 closets) filled with period costumes and accessories.  My wife dressed me in a couple of different outfits until she was certain that I looked the part and then I went and waited downstairs for a couple of hours while the ladies prepped and primped like a good little puppy.

I agreed to this foray for three reasons:

  1. Happy wife, happy life…
  2. There was booze promised to me.
  3. There was to be a “huge” vendor area where all sorts of cool stuff like swords, and bows, and armor, and axes and like items would be sold and traded.

Now, the mention/rumor of armor and swords takes be back to being a 9-year old at my very first Renaissance Faire (the REAL Penn and Teller performed that year).  I wanted a “real” sword and a chain mail hood so bad that I would have licked the bottom of a Port-a-John seat for them at the time.  My son is now enamored with the same period of history, I live vicariously through him and thought that he would get a real kick out of the pictures of armor and swords

I was a little disappointed: no swords, one real armor dealer and sales area was lined with stalls that catered to the ladies fabric, buttons, capes, cloaks, furry hats, jewelry, etc…), but I did end up getting a few good pictures to send to The Ruminator and we ended up watching the fencing melee/tournament.  Helmets, steel swords, shields, daggers, very cool.  He would have been all in!

The rest of the event was good and the detail of some of the costumes was amazing.  Some of those folks put months and months of work hand sewing outfits just for that one night.  Our evening ended with a game of Cards Against Humanity – I won – and we stumbled home just after 1:00AM.

a true polymath

My friend, Dr. G, is a true renaissance man – a polymath, if you will.  I shall count just a few of the ways:  He has a BS & MS in Electrical Enginerding, is an MD specializing in Emergency Medicine, is a eloquent wordsmith, has MAD rock-climbing skills, is a fine builder and designer, and is an artist par excellence.  He has done a number of paintings over the years that I have really liked: the Red Nude hanging behind his couch, the naked running man in his Little Rock living room, a tiny sketch of a falling leaf “doodled” in a guide book margin, etc…  On a climbing trip last summer we stopped in at his place to recuperate, reorganize our gear, stock up on food, and drink beer.  While getting a tour of his Arts & Crafts bungalow (with a similar floor plan to our, though much larger) , I spotted a 3’X4’ canvas peeking out from behind a t-shirt in an upstairs bedroom and I was drawn to it.  The painting is a climbing self portrait, of sorts.  It is viewed from inside a wide crack, high up the side of some unknown wall.  He is trying to wedge a #4 BD Camalot into the crack in what would appear , by the sweat running down his face and by the intensity in which his brow is lifted , a last ditch effort to protect and anchor his progress after a long scary run-out.  We have all been there whispering, “please hold, please hold, PLEASE hold…”  while standing on a manky knob of choss, 50’ above the last placed piece of gear, and thinking about how bad it is going to hurt when you pop off and take a slide down the wall, stopping abruptly on a ledge or the not so cushy ground.   I stared at it for an unseemly amount of time and took a number of digital pictures of it before it was once again covered and leaned against the wall.  I thought about it that night as I lay in my sleeping bag and have thought about it often since then, having a digital copy running through the “my pictures” slide-show whenever my home or work computer goes to sleep.

I was recently at his wedding, which was a lesson on how nuptials should be done – full of laughter, good food, fine booze, and class to spare.  The morning after the big “do,” I caught Dr. G in a moment of weakness – right after he had signed a huge check paying for the event hall rental and while his head was still foggy with the glee of his wedding night.  I mentioned the painting and how much I liked it, how great it would look at my house, and how his new bride didn’t really feel that it fit with her choice of decor ( a complete lie on my part).  Before I could say another word he looked at me and said “it is yours.”  Uhhhh…  OK…  He was serious and even tried to make sure I really wanted it.  Fvck yes I wanted it!  I went 2 hours out of the planned route to pick it up at his house.   When I got the painting down stairs I teared up and cried.  I felt like a big ol’ titty-baby.  I sniffled as I loaded it up and called him again to say ‘thank you.’

I have looked at it for a while since I have been home and it makes me happy.  I smile remembering his face contorting while miming eating a stack of Oreo Cookies in the Wind River Mountains of Wyoming when we were starving for something other than dehydrated packaged food, how he sings a Jimi Hendrix song while crack climbing, and I fondly remember the time Dr. G caught me on the biggest climbing lead-fall I have ever taken.  More than anything though, I look at this canvas and think about the investment of time it was for a man with so many interests and responsibilities, the hours he spent crafting the pallet and studying his own face and hands.  I feel humbled by his friendship, talent, and generosity.