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Choss Gee
Trad climber
Wyoming/Utah
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May 12, 2009 - 10:33pm PT
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When..All Five of your dogs eat better than you do.
When..Your once state of the art sleeping bag doesn't even handle the duties of a mosquito net.
When.. There's more rubber on the soles of your feet than the soles of your best shoes.
When.. A bear box is considered a fine bivy.
When..You're worshipped by the trustifarians.
When.. Your bouldering brush also has hygene applications.
When.. You ring out your hair/clothes/skin when your chalk bag is running low.
When.. You go to the produce area of a grocery store for a shower (those misters are wonderful). Extra points if all of the fruits and veggies are discarded when you're finished!
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DanaB
climber
Philadelphia
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May 13, 2009 - 11:41am PT
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You wash out (not wash) your t-shirts and socks and dry them by hanging them on the rear view mirrors as you drive to the next crag.
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susan peplow
climber
www.joshuatreevacationhomes.com
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Topic Author's Reply - May 13, 2009 - 11:57am PT
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You know you're a dirtbag climber when you live in the pull-out just outside of the Yosemite Park boundery. The closest laundry facility is the pool located just down stream from the "Waste Water Treatment Plant".
Rumor has it your clothes were say, less than clean when done "washing" them.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Placerville, California
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Mar 16, 2012 - 07:12pm PT
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i had to rifle thru my haulbag contents
for a wardrobe and found
what appeared to be clean collar shirt
and wool sweater. my house is
a cool 50 so i sport the attire and
meet my wife for a beer at the main street
pub. i had just plugged in two dollars
worth of dead and was sipping thru
the pleasant head upon my beer
when my wife looks at me with that
sidewinder stink eye and asks,
what the f*#k is that smell.
the bar was warmer, maybe 70
and as my body began to warm up,
those little hibernating bacteria
within my shirts started to party.
all because my wife refuses to do my
laundry cause she always finds lag bolts
and such in the wash after my pants have been thru.
so i never do it and sometimes get desperate for digs.
...dream a million bucks but live fifty cents...
im never poor.
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fosburg
climber
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Mar 16, 2012 - 07:36pm PT
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Curious how Tucker lives "without paying rent". And yes, in my experience, he is the most hardcore Dirthead ever.
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ImplicitD
Trad climber
Boise
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Mar 18, 2012 - 12:15pm PT
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I used to think I was a dirtbag...but sadly, Im not and I know that now.
Like many professionals who climb, I go on vacation and pretend to be a bum. Its fun and, hell, Im proud of it. I bust out my torn dickies pants and torn wool sweater, stop shaving, start the party before noon (my crew calls it the sh#t show), and send sh#t (when not laying around talking about how hard I was back in the day).
Still, I do show up in front of the class, ready to teach, and realize that I have dirt under my nails or I forgot to shave or I accidentally wore that old torn sweater or (gasp now mom) I forgot to shower.
Thats right, Im a professional applying dirt bag techniques to further my quest for a life less ordinary and filled with passion and zest for life. I steal hot water from the student union for my oatmeal, pop into the Marriot Courtyard (on my way to class) to get some free coffee with that old room key I found when my parents stayed there, drive a 93 nissan beater, AND (ok this one will do it) still use a first generation number one camalot (but only when Im not planning on falling (ok, ok, yes color coded neutrinos on the modern camalots)). What's more I always advise young student climbers to quit school and live in a cave in the valley and get solid...skills you can really use in life.
So, to each their own and especially their own interpretation. Of late, Ive found myself pretending to be a dirt bag (on my school breaks (two months a year baby)) with wife (knock, knock, knock on wood here ) and an assorted entourage of coeds (Im married and thus safe) heading to the crag to climb...and who do you think is the ropegun baby? We call ourselves team NEON and our motto is "We put the wierd back into climbing."
Exactly, lower your standards a bit (setting myself up here for a heckle) and maximize enjoyment by the reinvention of an old construct.
Thats right...hoot hoot ...thats right ImplicitD in the house Uh Uh Go Implicit Go Implicit its your birthday...everyday....being hardcore is way too overrated.
And props to Tucker, whom I met once (he asked me why on earth I hiked all the way up to Half Dome when there is a rather large roadside crag down the street), for without him we would have no reference point. He and Chongo are my dirtbag heros and will, inevitably, be the characters in bedtime stories for my kids...something to strive for when one turns eightteen.
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Pollock Pines, California
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ah'v this sturdy habit
of pissing into empty bottles.
this tendency stirs of my
validated fears of epiditimitus,
which is a terrible and painful infection of the testies.
so whenever i gotta go, i go,
and i usually just find whatever empty container presents
itself...
(once it was my friend's bong, but that's another story...)
so i often find bottles full of piss,
just kicken about my confines.
twice my wife has taken a pull
from innocent looking water bottles,
only to get a too-salty-treat, but that's another story...
i've taken to leaning into wee pulls from
my piss cup, just a swill here and there,
cause im training my physiology to endure
urine on the intake,
cause i've been, too,
too often in times where
my piss is the last means of hydration up
against desperation.
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KP Ariza
climber
SCC
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Your only pair of shorts smells worse than a round of Red Hawk Cheese.....thats been sitting in the sun....for two weeks.
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dogtown
Trad climber
Cheyenne, Wyoming and Marshall Islands atoll.
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Can you out-dirt-bag Tucker Tech; no!
2. You only own one pair of shoes ( Besides climbing);..sandals only.
3. You climb in a swami only....(Leg loops are for sissys) yes!
4. You never have paid for rent. Yes!
5. You lived in a cave for 5 years. my basement Yes!
6. You have done back to back walls without bathing in between. Yes!
7. You only bathe every month or two. Yes!
8. You never comb your hair. have no hair Yes!
9. YOu have only been to the doctors twice;...both times others took you there because you were unconscious. Yes!
10. YOu haven't been to the dentist in over 30 years. No.
11. You don't own any underware. no
12. You don't carry water in your climbing pack, or on climbs;....only beer.No
13. You use lounge chairs "borrowed" from the lodge and convert them into porta-ledges for El Cap routes. No!
14. You jumar with the haulbag on your back as you clean aid pitches while soloing walls. What? Nut bag not dirt bag!
15. All your clothes you own were given to you . yes
16. You have lived on less than 1000 a year yes .
17. Thirty f*#k-in years ago
18. You gotta admit I’m close
19. Love to all dirt bags & Surf bums for we have a life!
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briham89
Big Wall climber
san jose, ca
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...you eat leftover bacon off tourons' plates in the lodge. Definitely done that a few times
You eat with a nut tool because you don't have a spoon or fork
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Norwegian
Trad climber
Pollock Pines, California
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you look at the apostrophe
as an a3 placement
upon which you hang
possession,
and youre happy when it
blows,
and then most of them
other diction pitches
up life's toil
you just skip the
grammatical hook
and run it out
happily without proper
pro.
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nutjob
Sport climber
Almost to Hollywood, Baby!
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I haven't expressed appreciation for Norwegian observations in a while; that last was an interesting one!
You know you're a dirtbag climber when someone else on Supertopo started a thread to collect money for you or host a fundraiser.
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Gorgeous George
Trad climber
Los Angeles, California
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NECESITO POCO,
Y LO POCO QUE NECESITO,
LO NECESITO POCO.
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rlf
Trad climber
Josh, CA
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When Tucker is the only person who will climb with you...
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kennyt
climber
Woodfords,California
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You can't post on supertopo cause yer busy climbing!
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Don Paul
Big Wall climber
Colombia, South America
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George - aquí está el artículo completo, para que le citó solo el título:
Será porque tres de mis más queridos amigos se han enfrentado inesperadamente estas Navidades a enfermedades gravísimas. O porque, por suerte para mí, mi compañero es un hombre que no posee nada material pero tiene el corazón y la cabeza más sanos que he conocido y cada día aprendo de él algo valioso. O tal vez porque, a estas alturas de mi existencia, he vivido ya las suficientes horas buenas y horas malas como para empezar a colocar las cosas en su sitio. Será, quizá, porque algún bendito ángel de la sabiduría ha pasado por aquí cerca y ha dejado llegar una bocanada de su aliento hasta mí. El caso es que tengo la sensación –al menos la sensación– de que empiezo a entender un poco de qué va esto llamado vida.
Casi nada de lo que creemos que es importante me lo parece. Ni el éxito, ni el poder, ni el dinero, más allá de lo imprescindible para vivir con dignidad. Paso de las coronas de laureles y de los halagos sucios. Igual que paso del fango de la envidia, de la maledicencia y el juicio ajeno. Aparto a los quejumbrosos y malhumorados, a los egoístas y ambiciosos que aspiran a reposar en tumbas llenas de honores y cuentas bancarias, sobre las que nadie derramará una sola lágrima en la que quepa una partícula minúscula de pena verdadera. Detesto los coches de lujo que ensucian el mundo, los abrigos de pieles arrancadas de un cuerpo tibio y palpitante, las joyas fabricadas sobre las penalidades de hombres esclavos que padecen en las minas de esmeraldas y de oro a cambio de un pedazo de pan.
Rechazo el cinismo de una sociedad que sólo piensa en su propio bienestar y se desentiende del malestar de los otros, a base del cual construye su derroche. Y a los malditos indiferentes que nunca se meten en líos. Señalo con el dedo a los hipócritas que depositan una moneda en las huchas de las misiones pero no comparten la mesa con un inmigrante. A los que te aplauden cuando eres reina y te abandonan cuando te salen pústulas. A los que creen que sólo es importante tener y exhibir en lugar de sentir, pensar y ser.
Y ahora, ahora, en este momento de mi vida, no quiero casi nada. Tan sólo la ternura de mi amor y la gloriosa compañía de mis amigos. Unas cuantas carcajadas y unas palabras de cariño antes de irme a la cama. El recuerdo dulce de mis muertos. Un par de árboles al otro lado de los cristales y un pedazo de cielo al que se asomen la luz y la noche. El mejor verso del mundo y la más hermosa de las músicas. Por lo demás, podría comer patatas cocidas y dormir en el suelo mientras mi conciencia esté tranquila.
También quiero, eso sí, mantener la libertad y el espíritu crítico por los que pago con gusto todo el precio que haya que pagar. Quiero toda la serenidad para sobrellevar el dolor y toda la alegría para disfrutar de lo bueno. Un instante de belleza a diario. Echar desesperadamente de menos a los que tengan que irse porque tuve la suerte de haberlos tenido a mi lado. No estar jamás de vuelta de nada. Seguir llorando cada vez que algo lo merezca,pero no quejarme de ninguna tontería. No convertirme nunca, nunca, en una mujer amargada, pase lo que pase. Y que el día en que me toque esfumarme, un puñadito de personas piensen que valió la pena que yo anduviera un rato por aquí. Sólo quiero eso. Casi nada o todo.
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Mark Force
Trad climber
Cave Creek, AZ
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Feb 14, 2013 - 11:07pm PT
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To clean my palate from a recent "to dirtbag or not to dirtbag" post bump
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Mark Force
Trad climber
Cave Creek, AZ
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Feb 15, 2013 - 12:26am PT
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I know I can't be a dirtbag because I'm posting this off my iPad!
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Spider Savage
Mountain climber
The shaggy fringe of Los Angeles
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Feb 15, 2013 - 12:43am PT
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You sleep in a phone booth curled up in a fetal position on the floor because there is a raging wet blizzard going on and you don't even think of owning a tent. Oh, and one of the glass panels is kicked out so you find a soggy remnant of a cardboard box to cover it and put your back against it to hold it in place.
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