Invisible Warriors

                        

That radiant smile on my shoulder belongs to Cindy Gray, my partner, my wife, and the best friend I've ever had. 

She's also disabled.

People who see Cindy smiling and laughing in pictures, out at the crag or on the trail, often say, "Wow! She looks great for someone with MS."

What they too often mean is, "How can she have a disability?" 

They don't see the incision scars from reconstructive surgeries to her lumbar vertebrae, the silver dollar sized lesion on her brain stem or the three dime-sized ones scattered over her brain.

Cindy takes a break atop the Gypsy Dome, Elevenmile Canyon, CO

They don't have any concept of the determination it took for her to regain use of one side of her body following a stroke in 2001, and have no clue about the titanium stents inside her skull from a massive aneurysm that nearly claimed her life in 2016.

Few of us can even imagine the incredible effort it takes for her to walk on a repaired patella and meniscus while coping with a sense of balance that can feel like she's on the deck of a ship in a storm.

Few comprehend the hours and days of pain; when Cindy hurts so bad that this former athlete and firefighter weeps in agony and frustration.

They don't see that every hike or climb requires two or three days of recovery, or know about the days that we set out for an adventure, but an unpredictable flare-up of Multiple Sclerosis ends everything before we set foot on the trail.

Not every disease or disability waves a red flag; not every sick or disabled person behaves in a way that announces their condition.

Ironically, many who campaign  for diversity, inclusion and awareness treat those battling MS and other chronic but invisible diseases with a lack of sensitivity and awareness that manifests as impatience and borders on downright rudeness.

Too often, I've turned around on a steep, narrow crag trail that Cindy helped to build, to find a party of climbers who've never done a minute of trail work crowding her heels and mumbling, not quite under their breath, about this person impeding their blind rush to pose for selfies on a route Cindy helped to bring into existence.

Take a minute to understand that, as well as those with obvious disabilities, this world is filled with people who don't LOOK sick but who overcome more challenges getting to the trail or crag than most of us will ever know in a lifetime.

Take another to repair the trails you walk, to replace dislodged steps and stones in the trail, even if you didn't create the damage. 

Make a conscious effort to keep walkways clear of ropes, packs, dogs and hammocks. What you consider a minor inconvenience is a major obstacle to those with mobility issues from neurological diseases or reconstructive surgery.

Remember that "those people" never asked for their lot in life; many were once as healthy as you.

The kindness you show today may someday be the kindness you need from others.

Edit to illustrate the capricious nature of her disability: since this original post on Facebook, Cindy suffered a compressed L3-4 disc when the prosthesis in her back broke loose from her spine and hip while walking across the kitchen floor. 

No warning, out of the blue after three days of casual hiking and climbing a new trad line in the Canyon.

She spent months walking with a cane and living with extreme pain, awaiting surgical scheduling. 

In February of 2020, the old support screws and plates were removed and new hardware installed to fuse the lower 15 inches of her spine.

In March COVID-19 shut down WV and much of the world.

After 14 months of rehab, Cindy began hiking and climbing again in April of 2021, and was once again slaying trout with the best of them.

On Friday, the 13th of August, after a wonderful day in the Canyon and evening of good food and conversation, out of the blue, Cindy woke at midnight to dizziness and nausea. After 7 hours of fighting the inevitable, we drove to Virginia, where she was admitted to the hospital for two days.

A week later, we celebrated our slightly delayed 10th anniversary with a 2.5 mile hike up a steep ridge and back down along the creek below, then prepared and enjoyed dinner in a perfectly preserved CCC cabin.

In September, Cindy began a new treatment for MS, and was excited by an immediate improvement in her energy levels and greatly reduced symptoms of the disease.

On Monday, November 8, eleven months after her first hospitalization, doctors determined that she has Ménière's disease, effectively bringing to an end her ability to participate in climbing, hiking, or trail work.

The end of an era in Smoke Hole climbing and stewardship

Despite it all, Cindy refuses to surrender to despair or simply succumb to any affliction; between her weekend days at the Franklin town library, she's still leaf peeping on the North Fork, picking up trash along Canyon roads, chasing trout in the South Branch and watching for her big feathered friends.

Life goes on.

Remember that there is far more in Heaven and Earth than your rush to the crags or convenient sympathy for the obviously disabled and challenged.

Invisible warriors walk among you, many of them the very reason for the places in which you live and play.

Open yourself to the lessons and inspiration they offer, the history they would share, if not for blind eyes and deaf ears.

Thank you, Miss Pinkpants, for a decade spent cleaning up over half a ton of trash on Canyon area roads, of sponsoring, organizing and participating in over a dozen trail work events, feeding hundreds of hungry volunteers, putting up new lines, helping to rebolt old ones, and sharing your wisdom and experience with a new generation of young climbers.

It's no exaggeration to say that the last decade has been a milestone in the history of women, disabled climbers, and climbing in the USA, as well as a grand adventure of mishaps, lessons, magic and discovery that changed life forever for this Southern boy.

Thank you, my love.

MG

Cindy and Mike Gray: New Routes and FAs 

2009-2019

West Virginia: Franklin Gorge, Smoke Hole, Reed’s Creek and Germany Valley 

1. In Your Footsteps 2/28/08

2. Going on a Bender 8/24/08

3. Little Eagle 10/16/08

4. Fledgling 10/16/08

5. Really Bad Eggs 10/17/08

6. The Last Laugh 12/08

7. Feels Like the First Time 2/12/09

8. Like a Wirgin, Captain 2/12/09

9. Teeth of the Dragon 4/12/09

10. Orange Dihedral 08/09/09

11. Internal Dialogue 09/27/09

12. Thieves in the Temple 10/19/09

13. Second Rule 12/14/09 MF/CB 

14. SuperNatural 12/30/09

15. Winterharvest 01/18/10 

16. Flying Below Radar 04/01/10 

17. Hootenanny 05/05/10

18. Mixed Blessings 06/22/10

19. Gypsies 

20. River Song

21. Horse With No Name 

22. A Walk in the Park 

23. Blessed River

24. Infamous

25. Raindancer 08/18/10

26. Bridgeburners 11/14/10

27. Chasing Ghosts 12/24/10

28. My Silver Lining 

29. Castles Made of Sand 07/10/13

30. Nightshade 07/12/13

31. Ghosts of Christmas 12/25/13

32. Little Khumbu 06/23/14 

33. Jack in the Pulpit 07/05/14

34. Synergy MG/CG/JP 01/17/17

35. Pink Kung Fu 02/04/17

36. West End Girl  02/02/17

37. Windwalker 03/08/17

38. Ecstasy Loves Company 06/09/17

39. Pernicious Twits 07/08/17

40. Nick of Time 08/25/17 w/BB

41. Colors of the Fall 09/28/17

42. MPP 11/15/17

43. Fire on the Mountain 11/22/17

44. The Smoke Eater 11/30/17

45. New Kid on the Block 12/13/17

46. Let It Be 10/14/18

47. Afterglow 12/18/18

48. Take It To the Limit 01/01/19

49. Not Very Sporting 03/25/19

50. Running Against the Clock (est. w/MH) 04/26/21

 

Arizona: Northern Ga’an Canyon 

51. Pink Cadillac 03/18/12

52. Three-toned Gs 03/19/12

53. Fisher King 10/4-5/12

54. Working Class 12/08/12

55. Gypsy Conditions 12/25/12

56. Resolution 02/04/13

57. Stoneblind 02/04/13

58. Troll’s Shoulder 02/04/13

59. Trolls Under the Bridge 02/04/13

Colorado: Elevenmile Canyon

60. Gypsy Road 08/28/15

61. Tenuous 08/29/15

62. Owl, My Calves Are Burning 08/30/15 

63. Gypsy Rain 09/06/16

64. Calle Esposa 09/16/16 

65. Li’l Sumpin’ Sumpin’ 09/25/16

Unsung Heroes; The Early Days of Smoke Hole Climbing

Unsung Heroes

The canyon that stretches from the hamlet of Upper Tract to the riverside community of Cabins is unlike any other, at least for the handful of climbers I came to know and love as friends.


Smoke Hole is where so much began and where so much ended, where inexperienced fear gave way to discovery and adventure, where solitary experience became community and lifetime friendships, where naïve trust became realistic expectations and personal limitations a matter of choice and willingness to go for it.


The two guys below were largely responsible for fueling the positive aspects of our transformation; Chris Riha is the belayer with the Boreal Aces and Izod colors, while Troy is the leader in purple.




Chris was a friend of Germany Valley legend Sandy Fleming, and was one of the most energetic, positive climbers I ever met, always encouraging us towards our better angels, trying always to commend ethics over convenience.

Chris undoubtedly holds the record for belay hours logged on a single line in Smoke Hole, because I know he spent a week without food or sleep lashed to a tree and fed intravenously while pretty much everyone in Harrisonburg tried to send Shattered Illusions.

Chris was there to belay and clean gear when I sent a dozen 5.10 lines at Franklin in a single day. Chris once hiked up Second Mountain carrying all three of our backpacks because he was training for an excursion out of country.

Chris drove to Seneca to meet me for a moonlight ascent of the classic 5.7 Green Wall. When I realized my headlamp and spare batteries were toast and moonlight was four hours away, Chris was game when I said we'd climb by starlight and waited half an hour for my eyes to adjust before I led us up three pitches of perfect hands and fingers without artificial light.

When I hit bottom after months on the road, living the dream out of a backpack, riding luck and my thumb to the next classic line, dumpster diving, and discovering a secret America with an amazing assortment of gypsies, one of whom stole every scrap of clean clothing, cash and food I had, it was Chris who sent a hungry, homeless Virginia boy $250 via the Flagstaff Western Union on Christmas Eve.

When I came home and tried to hand it back to him, it was Chris who almost punched me in the face for the first and last time, before commencing plans to use me shamelessly as a ropegun on a trip to the Wind Rivers.

When I smashed my knee without insurance after coming home from six months on the road with no job, it was Chris who, I suspect, covered the majority of my bill to get the collection agencies off my back. 

For years after the group went their separate ways, Chris continued to stay in touch; when I flew into D.C. one stormy Christmas Eve, it was Chris who came and ferried me home from the redeye lounge, Chris who fed me a sumptuous breakfast before he handed me the keys to his truck and said "The tank is full, go see your family and Merry Christmas."

I haven't seen Chris in too many years.

Gonna have to do something about that, soon.

Troy Johnson was the grandson of the Berdeaux family, who owned and ran Endless Caverns in the Shenandoah Valley, but you would never have known his family had a dime more than anyone else to meet him. He lived in one of the rental cabins as campground manager and drove a beater truck or gas efficient small car the entire time I knew him.

His uncles were veteran cavers with whom Troy had crawled miles underground, and it was through that medium that he met Mike Artz and Ed Begoon. I climbed with Ed and his partner George Powell quite a bit back then, and was invited to a massive bonfire party at Endless where we met the wiry, energetic wunderkinder who would open his heart and home to a tribe of knuckleheads. 

We camped at Endless, usually for free, explored the Blue Ridge skyline behind his home, fished and hiked, grubbed with Troy when he fixed enormous feasts and paddled around the Caverns pond by moonlight. 

It was with Troy that I was invited by Darrell Hensley to explore and develop climbs in the lost garden of Smoke Hole Canyon and with Troy that I put up my first route there.

Whether you climbed lead or top roped, if it was 5.5 or 5.12, Troy was a great partner on trad or bolts, patient, supportive, encouraging, self-effacing, going out of his way for partners and friends at all times. 

Up before dawn, Troy led us up the long and winding trudge into the awe-inspiring backcountry of Old Rag, sandbagging us onto gruntfests and spotting highball boulder problems on granite nubbins.

Troy worked at the ski resort on Massanutten Mountain, where he shredded on the ski team and is renowned as a great guide, employee and friend who loved to jam some serious tunes when things got hectic.

I have a picture of Troy grinning in rainbow tights, leaned against the wall of the JMU Music Building where we would often 'builder' on sweltering in-town afternoons. That's Troy in a nutshell, making silly look good, the impossible look easy, and laughing through it all.

Troy's life took a hard turn in 2003 when he was ejected from his car in a head-on collision on his way to work. Mike fisher and I were on our way home from a weekend of climbing when we got the news and drove straight through to UVA, where we became frequent visitors until Troy was released.

The fight back to anything like a normal life has been a journey of years, and like any route, has had cruxes and falls. I wish I could say I have been there for him every step of the way, but few of us are the heroes we wish we could be. 

Today, Troy lives in Virginia Beach, where he is a Zen master in the art of extracting large fish from any body of water, and the myriad ways to convert them into fare fit for human consumption.

With my wife Cindy, he remains one of the most inspiring examples of courage in the face of adversity that I know.

We all know heroes; friends and strangers who go out of their way for no better reason than to to pay it forward from a place of plenty, to hold themselves accountable, if only for a while, to a standard that we can be better, all of us. 

To fail is to be human, to overcome defeat, to try to be more is inspiring and to succeed, divine. To spend as much time and love lifting up others as we do in pursuit of our own dreams is the highest path we can aspire to walk.

It is important to acknowledge and remember; we stand on the shoulders of giants.

These are the unsung heroes of Smoke Hole Canyon; I'm just the guy who was lucky enough to climb with them and call them my friends.