Summer of '69 Syndrome

Climbing trip to Colorado (2012) from Kyle Sumner on Vimeo.

Summer of 2012, I headed west to Colorado. I did the same thing in 2013 and 2014, working for a backpacking guiding outfitter. In 2015, I headed west with my friend Josh. We had so much fun we did it again in 2017 and 2018. (I spent 2016 driving up, down, and around the Appalachians, climbing with anyone who would join me.) In the summer of 2019, I got married. That ruled. It still does. 

But the last few summers have looked different. 

One of the saddest tendencies of our species is the tendency to think that their best days are behind them. We all knew a guy still wearing his lettermen jacket years after graduation at the hometown bar. Maybe it's not the saddest, but it is pathetic. 

Let's call this desire to live in the past "Summer of '69 Syndrome." Named after, of course, Bryan Adams' baby boomer anthem that recounts the youthful bliss of summer. I like recounting those days too. It's fun. But the song repeats the line, "Those were the best days of my life!" Those were the best days of your life? Really? Nostalgia is a powerful drug and marketing strategy but come on, man. Get a life. 

My friend Leah and I worked together in Colorado, taking kids up mountains during some of those previously mentioned summers. We're neighbors now. She works with my wife, and her husband is one of my best friends. I'm at her house 1-2 times a week. We never really talk about "the glory days" because I think we're both in an unspoken agreement that the glory days are right now.

Wilderness Expeditions, Mt. Elbert, 2013

Yes, my summers look different. I sleep in a bed next to my life partner instead of a tent with my belay partner. I make my morning coffee in the kitchen rather than in the back of my truck. But I still use a Moka pot and I still get sweaty doing rad things and exploring beautiful places outside. 

Those trips dirtbagging and climbing around were amazing and I remember them fondly. They undoubtedly helped shape who I am. But instead of holding on to them like some kind of pearl of great price or faded letterman jacket, I try to let that adventurous spirit shape my life in this particular place: pushing myself to do hard things outside, coaching our school's rock climbing team, and exploring the creeks, cliffs, and hollers of the Cumberland Plateau. No, Mr. Adams, these are the best days of my life.

Summer 2022

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My friend Josh

Sometime before George Mallory made his third, final, and fatal attempt at the summit of Mt. Evererst a journalist asked him why try to climb the world's tallest peak. His laconic reply: "because it's there.” I think about that quote when I think about my friend Josh.

Several summers ago, Josh and I loaded up in my 2003 Toyota Tacoma for a two month road trip. We drove across the United States and then up the spine of the Rockies from New Mexico to Wyoming. The funny thing is Josh and I met maybe a month before that and had hung out at the local climbing gym at most three times during that span. I specifically remember one of those times being while he was working behind the gym’s front counter.

Here's what I knew about Josh at the start of our trip:

(1) he enjoyed climbing long, steep, athletic sport climbs

  (1a) he never shut up about the Red River Gorge

(2) he was friends with my friend Jamie

(3) he was willing to quit his job at the gym, pile into a truck, live on the road, and swap belays for an entire summer with a dude he met at the climbing gym a month ago.

Like Everest, Josh was there. And like Mallory's last trip up that mountain, Josh and I's relationship could have gone terribly. We didn't really know each other. We didn’t have to get along. We didn’t have to fill 13 hour driving days with conversation. We didn’t have to complement each other’s climbing styles or keep each other psyched. We didn’t have to become friends. But we did.

Since then, we’ve sumitted mountains, climbed a few classic routes, climbed endless amounts of choss, ran a 50K, and drove countless hours together. We've talked about everything from theology, spirituality, and politics to relationships, student loans, and health insurance all interspersed by a sparing amount of bathroom humor. Last summer, Josh was in my wedding.

Here’s what I’ve learned about Josh over the years: he is the ideal climbing partner — spontaneous, safe, and psyched. And he's an even better friend. He is a good man with a good heart. He feels things deeply and he loves others genuinely. He knows why he thinks and believes the things that he does and he seeks and explores the things which he does not. Except for the glaring exception of never buying a trad harness, he is willing to change. He is dedicated and determined. Josh does not meet a stranger. He is one of the easiest to talk to people I have ever met and I frequently watch with awe as he seamlessly engages with the folks around him. And despite his inability to promptly return text messages and phone calls, he is fiercely loyal. He's my friend.

In February, Josh and I planned on climbing 29 pitches to celebrate Leap Day but instead we stayed up late the night before, slept in, climbed some routes, drank coffee in between pitches, and talked. It'll likely be the last time we share a rope together for a long time. This spring, Josh moves out west as a travel nurse. But even if I never climbed another rope length again, I’d give thanks to climbing for having made me meet him.  

That's my friend Josh.

Summer Summary 2017 pt.II: Eastbound and Down

In July, my dad said goodbye to his mother. The whole Butterworth tribe returned to the family farm in Lynn Grove, Kentucky; we sang hymns and shared some stories. I was reminded of this Robert Capon quote from his lovely cookbook Supper of the Lamb: 

"Why can't the vast technological resources of America bring us up to at least the level of our grandmothers?" 

In the South, when people are good, we say he or she or they "are good people." Linda Butterworth "was good people" and she knew how to host company and throw a party. I hadn't hung out with my cousins in years, but in the hotel lobby we drank Cinerator, played checkers, and laughed a whole lot. "Mama B." would've loved it.

Butterworth Farm, Lynn Grove, Calloway County, KY

After the funeral Josh and I drove over to the Red River Gorge. It was the least I could do for Josh being a good sport for cutting his Colorado trip short and attending the funeral of an old lady he never met.

There are few things I love more than waking up in the cool, dark morning air for an alpine start. It's hard to convince southern climbers to partake in this mountain practice UNLESS they're planning to climb 28 routes for their 28th birthday. And I was psyched to belay Josh for another year on another birthday challenge.

Miguel's Pizza, Slade, Powell County, KY

Here's how it went down: 

• 28 pitches (5.1-5.10b)
• 20 sport routes
• 8 trad routes
• 13.08 miles hiked
• 1 Miguel's Pizza with chorizo, avocados, and extra cheese

This is the only picture (and incidentally, the only route I climbed that day) I got of Josh in the process: #yolofreesolo on "Kate's First Trad Lead." Don't ask what grade it is, it doesn't matter. Okay, it's 5.1. 

"Kate's First Trad Lead," Muir Valley, Wolfe County, KY

After Kentucky, it was to Nashville to attend my girlfriend's brother's wedding. There were free margaritas and there was this girl. It was awesome. 

Nashville, TN

After the wedding, I stayed in Nashville for a bit for some very solid date-days. Becca and I looked at some fancy aboriginal art, ate some super delicious tacos, and climbed some chossy limestone. Kings Bluff is where I did my first lead-climb and Becca did her's while we were there!  

Kings Bluff, TN

July started off the same way it did last summer: at the Obed. This time, with Eli and Julia and their friends. It rained... a lot. But we squeezed in some climbing and a lot of laughs. Climbing with Eli is a rare treasure since he went back into the military. Apparently learning how to fly helicopters in Florida keeps him from climbing very much. He still on-sighted 5.10 in the rain though. Here, Julia charges up a soggy and steep warm-up at Little Clear. 

Little Clear Creek, TN

The rest of July was spent chasing shade at Pep Boys, Sunset, and Deep Creek. And I convinced Andrew to drive up to the Obed back to Little Clear for some good ol' clips and whips on steep jugs. I day-flashed some things I on-sighted years ago and I hung on some things I on-sighted years ago. That swimming hole though...

Little Clear Creek, TN

At the end of it all, I took Becca way down south to see my homeland. My folks made fish tacos, grilled shrimp and clams from the Gulf; locally raised sausage; corn on the cob, potatoes, and fried okra from the garden. I took Becca to one of my favorite places -- the Wacissa River.

I spent a lot of weekends canoeing and camping along this beautiful spring-fed river and it was so fun to hear her coo about alligators and  how clear the water is.
 

Wacissa River, FL

She didn't hate it...

Big Blue Spring on the Wacissa River, FL

*fin.

Summer Summary 2017 pt.I: Westward Bound

My trip west was under peculiar circumstances this year. Three days before my month-long adventure I found out my grandmother had a severe brain hemorrhage. Because of an unexpected rally, my father gave me his blessings to go ahead and go -- with the foreknowledge that I could be coming back home at any point. So after my last day of work I hopped in my Tacoma and headed west.

I stopped for a kush bivouac in Boonville, Missouri before pounding it out across Kansas and on to Salida, Colorado. Dirtbag road trip pro tip: Pilot Stations > Wal Mart parking lots. 

Pilot Travel Center and Convenience Store, Boonville, MO

Not all campsites are created equal....

Banks Gulch Trailhead, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

After a couple days bouldering and milling around Salida and BV I headed up to Denver to meet up with my friend Barrett. We soloed the Second Flatiron in the AM and then drove up to Torreys Peak that evening. We ascended Torreys via the Kelso Ridge and it was a rad day in the mountains! (Read about it here.) 

"Kelso Ridge," Torreys Peak, Clear Creek County, CO

Kelso whipped me into shape for a week working back at Wilderness Expeditions. It was a blast -- albeit eventful week -- taking these kids from Alabama up one of Colorado's tallest mountains. We saw a mama bear and cub, had two moose wonder through camp, and a glissade "rescue" for a kid who slipped and slid down a snow slope. It wasn't bad, but to a 17 year-old kid from Alabama... he must've been scared. Anyway, Shavano is beautiful and the students were cool.

Colorado Trail, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

mountaineering is sexy, Mt. Shavano, Chaffee County, CO

After eating my body weight in Moonlight Pizza at least twice, I headed to Boulder to meet Paul. We hiked up the East Face North Side of Seal Rock before I picked up Josh from DIA. The Seal is classic! The fourth pitch finger crack is the epitome of 5.fun.

"North Face East Side," Seal Rock, Flatirons, CO

Josh showed up and we had a few days to squeeze in as many classic easy pitches as we could before I had to head back for my grandmothers funeral. We played in Boulder Canyon and the Flatirons before heading to Colorado Springs and then on to Kentucky. 

"North Face Center," Cob Rock, Boulder Canyon, CO

Climbing in the Springs was... interesting. Fanny packs, wide brim hats, obese RV campers everywhere. We were even asked to explain our gear to a group of Asian tourists. Josh was peeved but I embraced it as a part of the Garden's experience. Our roles interestingly reversed. That's the price you pay for desert towers in city limits. 

a sea of fanny packs and wide brim hats, Garden of the Gods, CO 

"North Ridge," Montezuma's Tower, Garden of the Gods, CO

Oh, and I got a mullet. 

An Introspective Trip Report from Kelso Ridge

photo by Barrett

Kelso Ridge of Torreys Peak (14,267 ft) is a neophyte mountaineer's dream route. In May and early June the friendly third class rock scramble provides a moderately-challenging-for-mere-mortals rock and snow ascent that can either help you hone your alpine skills or prove how miserably out of mountain-shape you are. When I contacted my buddy Barrett about climbing Kelso, I had planned for the former but was more successful at the latter. 

I met Barrett in 2013 working at a backpacking guiding outfitter in Salida, CO. He is a Texas flatlander who relocated to Colorado last year after college and has made a life for himself playing in the mountains, learning the ways of the backcountry, and making ski descents of some pretty cool lines. I am a mediocre rock climber from Tennessee who -- despite working three summers backpacking in the Colorado high country -- greatly underestimated my lung and leg muscle capacities. 

The adventure began as we drove to the trailhead the night before. Caught in the grey area between winter and summer, Barrett's truck got stuck trying to make a way through the snow on Forest Road 189 somewhere between the two seasonal trailheads. By the time we dug it out, we accepted our longer hike, and fell asleep in the back for a 4:00AM courtesy call a la Aesop Rock's "Rickety Rackety." 

almost there...

We hiked the remainder of 189 in the dark and caught the morning's alpine glow as we entered the valley. For this southern boy, the crunching of snow under my boots was romantic. It hearkened of the documentaries I watched as a kid about mountaineers on Everest. My inner child felt like I was walking in their footsteps. I did not yet know that hours later the firm snow I felt so fondly of would turn to mooshy mash potato quicksand that I would hurl curses at as I sank to my knees and sometimes my waist.

it's early...

At the saddle between Kelso Mountain (13,164 ft) and Torreys Peak, the entire route can be seen: a dragon's back of snow and rock that passes two towers between 12,800 and 13,200 and finishes on a knife-edge just below a final steep push to the summit. And it was at the saddle that I realized my Black Diamond Cyborg crampons did not fit my La Sportiva Trango boots (I'm from Tennessee!). Thankfully, they fit Barrett's boots and Barrett's crampons fit mine. 

The knife's edge is the technical crux of the route in summer but in snowy conditions it was quite congenial. Instead, the exposed traverses below the two rock towers on wet, crumbly rock proved most difficult. But I've also never climbed rock in crampons before so maybe its not so bad. 

the first of two steep snow traverses

Barrett surveys the knife edge

The actual crux, of course, was my general lack of acclimatization and physical preparation. I had no idea walking in snow would be so tiring. Barrett blazed in front of me while I huffed and puffed my way to every nearest flat spot I could find. Leaning on my ice ax to catch my breath, I wondered what happened to the dorky, try-hard, first-year backpacking guide Barrett I remembered and I realized he'd actually tried hard enough to become a bonafide mountain man. I would've been proud but every ounce of energy I had was used in trying not to keel over in the fetal position, tears frozen to my face, wondering why I never went to the beach in the summer.

kick stepping is hard

at the top

After enjoying some summit Tecates and swapping summer objectives with some other climbers we postholed our way to the saddle between Grays and Torreys to begin our glissade back to the valley where more postholing would eventually lead us to our car. I'm not proud of how I handled this descent. I think I may have even attacked the snow with my ax at some point. I cursed the gods, the snow, myself, and even Barrett (for being "better" at postholing than me). It's probably a good thing Barrett was so far ahead of me; I was an angry pilgrim walking back down that valley and it wasn't becoming. 

and it was at this moment that I began to think bouldering wasn't so dumb after all

Climbing -- whether we're bouldering, trad cragging, or mountaineering -- reveals a lot about us. If we don't learn from our experiences, what are we even doing? Here's what I learned about myself on Kelso Ridge: I don't handle sucky situations well when I'm not in charge. 

I've been in plenty of planned sufferfests and unintentional epics -- situations that sucked or were scary or both -- but I'm usually the person who planned the trip, or chose the route, or got us off the route. In these scenarios, I have to have a positive attitude. "I got us into this mess. I'll get us out and it'll be okay." 

But the uncertainty of not being in charge, not being the planner, not really knowing what I'm doing... I didn't handle that very well. Which is crazy because when in life are you ever fully in charge? When in life is there ever absolute certainty about almost anything? I've got a lot of growing to do.

Summer in the Southeast

It had been five years since I spent a summer in the South. It's hot. Like, really hot. And humid. Somewhere I read a clever acronym about summertime in the South: Snakes, Humidity, Ivy, and Ticks and it's pretty accurate. But the climbing is still oh-so good. You just have to wake up early and chase that shade. I surprised myself and climbed outside almost everyday that it hasn't rained. And since the great state of Tennessee was in a drought, that was most days.  

Summer comes pretty early in the Southeast. Come May, you're sweating just walking from the parking lot to your workplace. My workplace is a high school, so things are beginning to wind down and Daylight Savings Time means I can find time between preparing final exams to get out after school and on the weekends.

Jackson enjoys the movement on "Ethiopia" (5.10+R) at Suck Creek's Roadside Wall

On May 27, I turned in the last of my end-of-the-year paperwork and drove to the New River Gorge with new and old Chattanooga friends. Memorial Day meant the masses had come from all over and the crags felt a lot like a mega-gym at peak time. But the hordes could be avoided by climbing harder than usual on "less than classic" routes which, in turn, meant a lot of fun. 

Abi avoids the crowds by warming up on an unnamed 11 at Summersville Lake

Sydney and I catch the sunset after deep water soloing at Whippoorwhill 

I had intended to spend the whole month of June at the New but had trouble finding partners after the Memorial Day crowds deserted the gorge. Even though 48 hours of deep water soloing and margarita drinking was fun, it was not how I wanted to spend the summer, so I drove back to Chattanooga where I could have consistent partners. 

Sunset Park is without a doubt, my favorite crag in the Chattanooga area and second only to the Obed, my favorite place to climb, period. Andrew (the chemistry teacher at my school) and I have taken advantage of our summer vacations and the crag's shady west-facing cliffs to run through the south-end's classics, as well as some "no-star" moderates. Onto the northside!

Andrew follows the money pitch on Sunset's classic, but seldom travelled, "Northwest Conversion" (5.9)

Sydney beats the heat at Lake Nickajack

Summer bouldering? In the Southeast? Yes, we have that too. Some might say that Alabama's greatest gift to climbing is its boulders. But those who say that usually flock to the Heart of Dixie in January and February, when friction is prime. But down in the Little River Canyon is a treasure trove of water-marked boulders you can get all hot-and-bothered on. When you do, cool off in any number of swimming holes and soak in the gorgeous natural beauty of the place. 

Jamie gets ready to commit to an Alabama top out in the Canyon

Similarly, North Carolina's Linville Gorge offers some some spectacular water-smoothed quartzite boulders in a truly remarkable setting. I love the gorge for its big, airy, and wild multi-pitch but it was rad to experience the place from a new perspective. The bouldering is every bit as adventurous -- maybe more so -- as the towering cliffs above them.

Using word of mouth and screenshot topos, Jamie and I slogged through 1,400 to 1,600 feet of bushwhacking and boulderhopping straight down into the gorge to find a High Country heaven.
I can't wait to come back.

A very fun boulder in the Wonderland sector

Jamie cut her multi-pitch teeth at Table Rock -- eight pitches of 5.fun climbing culminating with the super fun, mega classic "North Ridge." Here she shotguns a well-deserved Busch after topping out while the "uh-oh clouds" storm across the valley.

The North Ridge (5.5)

A year ago, Josh and I traveled around the Mountain West climbing rocks together. I was guiding a trip on his birthday so I made it up to him with a PBR. This year, I earned my buddy-points by belaying him on 27 different routes for his 27th birthday. It was hard. It was ugly. There was grunting, cursing, aiding, hanging, and of course, sending. It was awesome. At the end of the day, this is what joy looks like.

Josh at the end of a birthday sufferfest.

#dirtbagswag whips 007: My 2003 Toyota Room With a View

Josh makes some tailgate coffee in Diablo Canyon, New Mexico

Toyota Tacomas go with rock climbing like Black Diamond cams, dirty Carhart pants, and empty cans of PBR. On any given weekend, you'd be hard pressed to not see one of these fine products of Japanese engineering at any given crag in the United States. And for good reason too. They're dadgum near bullet proof, they hold their shelf life longer than canned yams, and they get pretty good gas mileage to boot.

For the climbing bum, it doesn't take much to make one of these vehicles inhabitable: a camper top and crashpad will do. But dirtbag savants have created all kinds of sophisticated truck bed sleeping apparatuses to enhance the slumber experience. I kept my methodology simple, imitating a popular tripartite system with a removable top platform and plenty of storage space along the two sides.

With the top platform in place, the bed can sleep two comfortably above the wheel wells. Slide the platform out and down and one can sleep down low with ample headroom for sitting up or for stealth camping in Wal Mart parking lots.

I dropped $360 on the Craigslist camper shell and about $100 for the bed platform materials. That's less than $500 for a mountain front room-with-a-view whenever and wherever I want. No reservations required. I can't put a price tag on the simple joy of falling asleep to the dim light of the moon, the cool breeze blowing through the screened windows, and the sound of wind in the trees. Or waking up with the sun, crawling out of my truck, brewing up a cup of coffee on the tailgate, and thumbing through the guidebook to find a place to climb that day. Those are memories that last a lifetime.

If climbing is my conduit for travel, then my truck is the means by which I experience these beautiful places. Many of which a non-climber would never see or feel. When is the last time a non-climber hiked up to the beautiful, geologically perplexing, cobble stone conglomerate walls of El Rito? Or wandered past the roadside overlooks to take in the monstrously steep sandstone cliffs of the wild and scenic Obed River gorge? I spent the past summer driving up the Mountain Standard Time Zone from Diablo Canyon, New Mexico to Ten Sleep, Wyoming. The big mountains and deep canyons are nice but I'm glad to be back in the South; waking up to fleeting fall foliage, foggy mountain mornings, and Cumberland Plateau sandstone.

A room with a view, whenever and wherever I want.

Wild Iris, Wyoming

whip specs

make and model: 2003 Toyota Tacoma Pre-Runner
moniker: pootermobile 2.0
under the hood: 2.7 L DOHC EFI 4-cylinder
gas mileage: 19-23 mpg
dirtbag mods: casette tape adapter, camper shell, bed platform, BF Goodrich All Terrains, and a "Namaste Y'all" bumper sticker

home is where you park it. 

#dirtbagswag whips 006: Caleb's B2500 & The Making of a Dirtless Dirtbag

#dirtbagswag

Caleb James is the anti-dirtbag.

He is always clean.

He hates being dirty.

He openly hates dirt.

He hates sleeping in it.

He hates being covered in it.

He perpetually makes fun of me for my dirty fingernails, greasy hair, tattered and unwashed clothes. I don't know how he does it, but after a week in the mountains, Caleb looks like he just got out of the shower.

In fact, if you saw Caleb in the wild, your first thought would most likely be, Man who let this insanely good looking John Stamos-Rob Lowe hybrid with cheek bones like granite and back muscles like a sack of potatoes out of the super-top-secret underground-Calvin-Klein-underwear-model-laboratory? 

But don't let his dashing good looks and disdain for dirt fool you. Caleb loves mountains. And he loves the freedom and feeling he gets when moving vertically in their midst; whether in the Southeast or the Mountain West, either steep jug hunting or thin ice climbing, whether on foot or the sharp end of the rope. So he's always just dealt with the dirt.

Caleb does it all and he looks good doing it.

That is, he dealt with it until he found his 1996 Dodge B2500 conversion van at a dirtbag deal in Salida, Colorado where he works in the summers. He drove it back to Chattanooga, Tennessee where he studies outdoor education and business; sets boulder problems in the campus climbing gym; fixes bicycles; and takes Greek-lifers top-roping at Rocktown, SUPing on the Tennessee River, and leading ski trips to North Carolina.

Caleb has swagged out his van into a full-on dirtbag adventure mobile complete with bed, gear storage, and an enormous roof rack. But he hasn't sacrificed his penchant for the aesthetically pleasing either. "Tito" is decked out with interior mood lighting, shag carpet, and a Nintendo 64.

At the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, students often mistake his van for an ambulance. And while that mistake would have made sense in the early 90s, Caleb's Dodge conversion van is, in fact, a lifesaver of sorts because now he doesn't have to sleep in all that dang dirt anymore.

whip specs

make and model: 1996 Dodge B2500
moniker: "Tito"
under the hood: 5.2L V8
gas mileage: see above
dirtbag mods: safari sized roof rack; DIY paint job; shag carpet yanked from his parents' old house; 12" Kicker subwoofer; Nintendo 64; eagle hood mount (sits on the spare tire cover). The bed comes with the van.

Caleb graduates in May and plans on dirtless dirtbagging across the United States before returning as a guide for the summer in Colorado. I'm hoping to meet up with him in the mountains at some point. You can catch him and Tito at a crag near you, but remember to kick the dirt off your shoes before you do.

#dirtbagswag whips 005: Kyle's Mighty Morphin' White Ford Ranger

Kyle emanates the #dirtbagswag spirit

For those of us who remember the every-movement-over-exaggerated, gratuitously-electric-guitar-laden-soundtracked, live action children's television series, Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, few things were as egregiously epic and anxiously anticipated as Tommy Oliver's revelation as the White Ranger. Together with his talking ninja saber, "Saba," the White Ranger summons Tigerzord and finally defeats the evil Lord Zedd and his minions (or at least, that's what I learned from wikipedia). 

Or who could forget Tommy, the White Ranger, skydiving -- on a snowboard! -- in the opening scene of Power Rangers: The Movie? (That, I actually remember.) Basically, Tommy was a total bad astronaut and was asked by Zordon to be the new leader of the Rangers , completely usurping power over Jason, the Red Ranger, who was a total poser anyway. Ivan Ooze and his Ectomorphicon Titans never stood a chance. 

Like most of our goateed, bleached tipped, spiked haired heroes of the nineties, Tommy Oliver faded into obscurity. Or, according to the internet, became a washed-up, poorly tattooed, mixed martial arts fighter doing appearances at sci-fi, comic book conventions. But the legend of the White Ranger lives on, forever a figment of our childhood nostalgia. And, of course, as my friend Kyle's 2008, white, Ford Ranger. 

Tommy in the Rockies 

Kyle bought his truck used from a commercial fleet; meaning it has no bells and whistles or fancy thing-a-mabobs. It's just a truck, as a truck should be. And he has driven it to climbing destinations all over the United States. He has to, because he lives in Florida. The Power Rangers needed Tommy to create the Ninja Falcon Megazord and fly Ivan Ooze outer space to his cosmic end. Likewise, Kyle needs a Ranger of his own to get to higher elevations. And it's a beautiful thing.

After a multi-week, cross country road trip with little to no rain the whole time, it finally deluged in Colorado Springs and Kyle learned the hard way about not having a truck bed top. Back at home, Kyle set Tommy up with this sweet dirtbag rig that keeps him and his girlfriend snug and dry during the cool, wet, southeastern climbing seasons and stores all of his climbing gear and vegan friendly kitchen.

Kyle and Tommy spent the summer in central Florida, working on a farm and learning about permaculture. But not without going climbing at the Obed first. And rumor has it he wandered out west again too. You can watch a beautiful and short travel video of a climbing trip Kyle, Tommy, and myself took a few years ago HERE.

Tommy at the Obed

Whip Specs

make and model: 2008 Ford Ranger
moniker: "Tommy,"  AKA "Dirtbag Dragon," AKA "Piece of Trash"
under the hood: 4.0 L SOHC V6
dirtbag mods: truck bed cover, shelving unit, raised platform bed with essential storage cubbies underneath.

#dirtbagswag