Parts for car recovery and other

I walked around the tower.  It was multi-layered with rust colored rock and chalk, and at least three stories tall.  I gave it a good push and felt nothing.  Looking up directly beneath it, I saw that a large boulder sat on top of the tower, and the pulley was bolted into the side of the large circular boulder.  At the time I asked myself if I could trust the opinion of a coyote, but after running myself into the tower shoulder first three more times, I consented.  It seemed stable enough.  But that wasn't the only problem.  Unsurprisingly, I was in no way strong enough to pull myself up the rope in the bucket.  To do that, I had to be able to pull my own weight with the rope--and that just wasn't happening.  I got the bucket off the ground by an inch, and then fell back down.  After several more tries, my muscles screamed in pain, but when I looked back over to Duke, he just stared stoically.  I tried climbing another hour but nothing worked.  I wasn't budging the bucket.  At the end of the session, Duke shook his head and said: "Well, it looks like this was all for a heap of nothin. You ain't the one we're looking for after all."  This stung quite a bit.  The last two days, for the first time in my entire life, I actually felt needed for something, only to find the whole operation was the equivalent of a wrong number.  For the next few weeks we did nothing but go out to the rock and try to get to the top.  On the fourth day I moved the bucket a foot off the ground, and by the eighth I was moving it up about a third of the way.  It was a week later when I reached the top.  During this time, these two weeks of bucket boy training, Duke stayed silent.  He offered no advice and only laughed when I fell and spilled out onto the hard, cracked ground below.  I threw a dirt clod at him when he laughed, but it missed wide right.  "Connect with one of those and see...

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