鈥淭here鈥檚 too goddamn many climbers,鈥� I grumble to my wife, Nellie, as we drive up and down Colorado鈥檚 Rifle Canyon searching desperately for a place to park. The three-hour drive from Boulder has left me a little nauseous and grumpy. 鈥淚 feel like I鈥檓 at a fucking cargo van dealership,鈥� I say, as we pass an endless train of 4×4 Sprinters, shiny new Ram ProMasters, and the occasional Ford Transit, each taking up one and a half parking spots in the limited space that Rifle State Park has to聽offer.
Finally, after 30 minutes of patrolling the canyon, a Sprinter pulls out, leaving plenty of room for my trusty minivan. In fact, by blocking in the passenger side of the adjacent ProMaster, I鈥檓 able to leave enough room for another car to park next to me!聽 聽聽
It鈥檚 a typical peak-season weekend in the beautiful-from-afar鈥攂ut far from beautiful鈥攍imestone canyon that is Rifle. Which means hundreds of weekend 聽from the Front Range to the Western Slope and beyond are here to test their gym-honed tendons on the chossy, blocky overhangs that are, sadly, some of the best sport climbing we have in America. Much like the parking in Rifle, the warm-ups are limited, and we spend a good 30 minutes waiting for our turn to climb on the Meat Wall, home to聽the greasiest, most polished moderate sport climbs in the world.聽
As Nellie and I wait, I marvel at two couples spread out at the base, complete with babies in blinged-out luxury strollers, several dogs, and some comfy-looking camp chairs. It鈥檚 a far cry from the scrappy dirtbag cragging scenes I grew up with. I eavesdrop on their friendly debate over the pros and cons of the Sprinter versus聽the ProMaster. It turns out the ProMaster has a square interior and is easier to build out, and maintenance is cheaper and more widely available. I assume鈥攚ith no small amount of prejudice鈥攖hat the couples聽are probably in the tech industry in Boulder and raking in聽nice six-figure incomes.聽Having finished their warm-ups, the two couples maneuver back to their聽massive vans.
鈥淚 bet they have separate quarters in there for the housekeeper,鈥� I joke.
鈥淵ou鈥檙e just jealous that they can stand up in their van,鈥� Nellie says.
鈥淲e鈥檒l see who鈥檚 laughing when I pass them going 85 on the way back home in my soccer-mom mobile,鈥� I tell her.
And it鈥檚 true: minivans are fast these days! Apparently soccer moms need to get their kids to the game quickly, because my Dodge Grand Caravan hauls some serious ass and handles pretty nicely, too.聽鈥淢aybe I should go down there and tell them about #MinivanLife,鈥澛營 say.
I have to admit I鈥檓 also a bit emotionally attached. I鈥檝e held steadfast to Big Blue,聽my trusty minivan for the past five years, as I鈥檝e watched one friend after the next fall victim to the temptation of the massive tricked-out cargo van. Conversely, the build-out, or lack thereof, in my minivan is simple: I took out the four back seats and put in a mattress.聽 Nellie, myself, and our two mini dogs, Gus and Bernie, have gotten many a solid night鈥檚聽sleep in the back, and I have privacy inserts for all the windows.
For sure, the build-outs in some of the many聽vans I鈥檝e toured聽over the past few years have been slightly more luxurious than Big Blue. I鈥檝e seen Sprinters with showers and flat-screen TVs. I鈥檝e had people offer me fresh-baked cookies from their in-van ovens. Some of these vans have so many gorgeous wood panels and stainless steel fixtures, they make my town house聽look a little dumpy. 聽聽
If wings had popped out the sides and it had gone airborne I wouldn鈥檛 have been surprised.
It鈥檚 not that I don鈥檛 see the attraction. Eight years ago, when I was still living on the road full-time, I definitely couldn鈥檛 afford a kitted-out cargo van, but it would have made my life a little easier.聽Tragically, now that I can afford the down payment on a Sprinter, I just don鈥檛 need it anymore.聽In fact, not owning a Sprinter has become a point of honor for me, and you can find me at Whole Foods trying to talk my bougie聽climber friends out of buying them.聽 聽
You see, I鈥檝e always been a bit of a grumpy, hold-out ascetic when it comes to my vehicle. Through most of my extensive dirtbag career in Yosemite and Joshua Tree, I lived out of Silver Lightning,聽a reliable 1989 Toyota Camry. (May she rest in peace.)聽Only now that I鈥檓 a relatively successful, married, older professional climber have I begrudgingly opted for the comfort of a vehicle I can sleep in.
And since I embarked on #minivanlife, it鈥檚 been pretty damn glorious. Big Blue has seen me through some epic times, from big walls in Zion to first ascents in Yosemite to my first 100-kilometer flight in my paraglider. Big Blue got me there and gave me a place to sleep, and for that I am grateful. Would a Sprinter have intrinsically changed anything? No. (Also: How much comfort do you really need? I can sit up in Big Blue;聽do I really need to stand?)
It鈥檚 not that I blame today鈥檚 climbers, necessarily鈥攊t鈥檚 just that I think聽they鈥檙e getting a little soft. And I see these kitted-out聽homes-on-wheels as a symptom of that.聽Everyone wants to boulder and sport climb, but no one wants to run it out above RPs聽anymore. Everybody wants to go to Rifle for the weekend, but nobody wants to pitch a tent or sleep on a pad.聽
After warming up at the Meat Wall, Nellie and I moved to more difficult climbs down the canyon, and, as is the tradition in Rifle, we both got our asses kicked whipping off of our projects.聽That evening we slept comfortably in Big Blue, climbed the next day, and then headed back to Boulder so that Nellie could get back to work. We ripped along the highway聽at 15 over the speed limit the whole way home, passing an endless parade of converted utility 鈥渃limber vans.鈥澛�
As we pulled into the Boulder city limit, the three-hour drive almost behind us, I saw the mother of all four-wheel-drive Sprinters, decked out with all kinds of after-market racks and add-ons that made the vehicle look like, well, one of the most badass vans I鈥檝e ever seen. If wings had popped out the sides and it had gone airborne I wouldn鈥檛 have been surprised.聽聽
We pulled up closer and I looked at the license plate: it read Camp4.聽I couldn鈥檛 believe the irony.聽Camp 4, a walk-in campground in Yosemite, the very emblem of dirtbag culture, plastered onto the license plate of an extremely expensive, borderline-ostentatious camper van聽almost certainly owned by someone that was as much a dirtbag as Warren Buffet.聽鈥淎rrrggh!鈥� I screamed, waking Nellie up from her slumber. 鈥淕ive your Sprinter to a real dirtbag!鈥�
鈥淗oney, Relax,鈥� Nellie told me. 鈥淚t鈥檚 not that big a deal.鈥澛� 聽聽
And she was right. It wasn鈥檛 a big deal.聽The poor folks had probably worked really hard for that van, and for all I knew the vehicle was their home. (Though I doubt聽it.)
As I left the most baller of all baller vans in my rear view, the foam in my mouth receded聽and my breathing returned to normal, but I had only become more resolute in my anti-Sprinter campaign.聽I turned to Nellie and started preaching.聽鈥淲hen did it become normal for climbers, who have roots in dirtbagging frugality, to drop upwards of $100K on a vehicle?鈥澛燦ellie smiled at me, realizing, perhaps sadly, that if I could help it, we would never own a Sprinter.
In the last miles home, I started calculating the number of weekends your average climber could spend in a motel right next to the canyon if they didn鈥檛 spring for the Promaster, and came up with over 700 weekends.聽So, to the weekend warriors with full-time jobs who are considering buying a Sprinter or the like, I鈥檇 like to dissuade you:聽think of all the money you could save for that trip to Spain, or that nice rack of cams you have been lusting after!聽And think of聽the parking spots you鈥檒l聽save in Rifle.