It is totally unfortunate that I came to know Stone Age under the circumstances that I was in.  When a group of friends and I got stranded in Albuquerque, New Mexico because of a broken down van , Stone Age Climbing Gym was the beacon  of shining climbing glory that got us psyched despite the grim situation we were in.

In the cold concrete world of Manhattan there isn’t much that satisfies climbers. I mean sure you can go to Central Park and piddle around on the little pebbles they call boulders, but to what end? I never got that much satisfaction from projecting routes with names like Sweat of the Rapist and turning down crack heads that ask questions like “So you’re climbing these rocks? You smoke rocks too?” Never the less there is one shining beacon in the grey mess of buildings, so like a mouse in a …