This is the Shorts, in your listening to the Dirtback Diaries, a duct tape and beer production,

with additional support from New Belgium Brewing, Kuat Racks, and Patagonia.

Last weekend, my boyfriend, Jason and I, had dug deep as we tried to escape the clutches

of Mount Williamson's notorious George Creek route.

The Virgin Canyon lies unscored by trails and visitors, presenting a virtual time warp

to any hiker who dares navigate its unbridled terrain.

It lived up to its reputation as we descended from the summit after a 15-hour day, exhausted

from the 8,000 feet of gain and Lizard outfining, heat, mosquitoes, and dealing with a broken

trekking pole.

We tried to outrun the setting sun, only to find ourselves caught in darkness, pushing

through a brush-choking by dimming headlamps.

A couple hours later, we rejoiced as we realized we had arrived back at the trailhead.

We sprinted to our Jeep, tumbled inside, and kicked off our shoes.

We were exhausted, beaten, and cold, and yet somehow elated, empowered from our tussle

with California's second tallest fortiener.

It was 9.30 pm on a Sunday night, and I could feel the pool of the civilized world start

to tug at my wits.

We had hundreds of miles to drive home, and in less than 10 hours, our alarms would beckon

us to wake for work.

It's time to turn the hourglass.

Drive back home.

Alternate reality entered.

...