Influencer II
- 2,192
- First Name
- Mike
- Last Name
- Johnston
- Member #
25039
- Ham/GMRS Callsign
- KN6OIW
@Viking1204 you raise a valid point, and it has been costing me a measurable amount of sleep during this version 3 journey. As I said in my original post, this whole mess started with the 90 second deploy machine [a Gazelle].
That said, while I genuinely enjoy my RTT, I absolutely despise the criminally undersized ladder it demands I scale twice a day (at least). I have nearly died on that thing more than once, usually during a pre coffee descent when my motor skills are still legally questionable. It is less ladder and more aluminum suggestion of a ladder, and it has no regard for human life. And then there’s the sheer audacity of RTT manufacturers having the sack to brag about the luxurious comfort of a two inch mattress. Two inches. For fuck’s sake, no woman on earth would buy that argument, so why in God’s name do we keep nodding along like it’s a Tempur Pedic miracle?
Now, to be fair, the Gazelle makes a compelling case. A cot is objectively more comfortable than those thin, shit grade mattresses, and the extra room to maneuver feels downright civilized. I cannot, in good conscience, mount a serious argument against that kind of comfort. The problem for me, of course, is that I live in the desert. And while I enjoy coffee, I do not particularly enjoy sharing it with diamondbacks and scorpions the size of watermelons. For longer adventures a tent is a flimsy, laughable suggestion when stacked against a grizzly bear. A modern day velociraptor with fur, claws, and a deep, personal disrespect for anything that wanders into its backyard. Going to sleep smelling like hot dogs and whiskey is basically the same as soaking yourself in honey for these bastards and ringing the dinner bell. A flamethrower I have summized, however, would not add much weight to the overall situation.
So I keep dreaming of a better ladder system, something stable, humane, possibly designed by someone who likes living, yet I keep circling back to the brutal, undeniable practicality of the Gazelle. And there I remain, stuck between convenience, comfort, and the ever present possibility of death. Either by ladder, snake, or bear. This will certainly take more whiskey to deduce.
That said, while I genuinely enjoy my RTT, I absolutely despise the criminally undersized ladder it demands I scale twice a day (at least). I have nearly died on that thing more than once, usually during a pre coffee descent when my motor skills are still legally questionable. It is less ladder and more aluminum suggestion of a ladder, and it has no regard for human life. And then there’s the sheer audacity of RTT manufacturers having the sack to brag about the luxurious comfort of a two inch mattress. Two inches. For fuck’s sake, no woman on earth would buy that argument, so why in God’s name do we keep nodding along like it’s a Tempur Pedic miracle?
Now, to be fair, the Gazelle makes a compelling case. A cot is objectively more comfortable than those thin, shit grade mattresses, and the extra room to maneuver feels downright civilized. I cannot, in good conscience, mount a serious argument against that kind of comfort. The problem for me, of course, is that I live in the desert. And while I enjoy coffee, I do not particularly enjoy sharing it with diamondbacks and scorpions the size of watermelons. For longer adventures a tent is a flimsy, laughable suggestion when stacked against a grizzly bear. A modern day velociraptor with fur, claws, and a deep, personal disrespect for anything that wanders into its backyard. Going to sleep smelling like hot dogs and whiskey is basically the same as soaking yourself in honey for these bastards and ringing the dinner bell. A flamethrower I have summized, however, would not add much weight to the overall situation.
So I keep dreaming of a better ladder system, something stable, humane, possibly designed by someone who likes living, yet I keep circling back to the brutal, undeniable practicality of the Gazelle. And there I remain, stuck between convenience, comfort, and the ever present possibility of death. Either by ladder, snake, or bear. This will certainly take more whiskey to deduce.

