Outdoor Social

We packed up our climbing gear into the back of the VW camper van and said ciao to Lago di Garda, the biggest lake in Italy, then headed south in hopes of a mountain biking paradise in Finale Ligure. Finale sits in northwestern Italy on the Mediterranean Ocean, near the border of France. From the information gathered from our biking obsessed friends, it was THE place to ride. We pulled into the bike shop that evening and booked some rental bikes and a shuttle for the following morning. After sampling some Italian wine, beer, pizza, pasta and gelato we thought to ourselves "carb loading right?" and went to bed. Crawling out of our van and brewing up some local roast with our Classic Perfect-Brew Pour Over we both noted that coffee was the best smelling thing in the van, that was getting a lovely odor of outdoor activity and small square footage. In classic tourist fashion, we arrived at the shop giddy in anticipation of the day's adventure. Collecting a couple of beauty Santa Cruz bikes we loaded up the shuttle at the blistering morning hour of 9:30 AM. Of course, the front seat was ours for the taking; we wanted to see everything. For a thousand meters up in elevation the road was windy and the drivers honked constantly as they drove around corners to avoid head-on collisions on the very narrow roads. Maybe the front seat was a bad choice. About halfway up our driver slams on his breaks, grabs a plastic bag from his feet and exclaims "Volpe!". Out he ran into the road, picked up a dead fox and stuffed it into a bag. Smiling he tucked the bagged fox somewhere out of view towards the rear of the van. Between language barriers and probably luck, we never found out why there was now a dead fox as a passenger on the shuttle. Some things are best left a mystery. The shuttle dropped us at Base Nato and we were ready to ride. With dirt flying from the grooves of our tires and bugs in our teeth we rode the classics. It was fast, flowy, technical and everything in between. It was all the hype and more. The sun shone on the views of the Mediterranean, and the trees protected us on the steep climbs back. After seven hours of impeccable riding, we finished near the bottom of a trail called Rollercoaster. A guided group also finished just behind us. Perfect, a little advice on the best way down is just what we needed. "Hey is there a way down that has a good view of the ocean?" We asked the guide. After a few less than optimal options, he decided with a smile that he was coming with us. But, and this is a big but, he knew of a trail but had never ridden it and maybe it was kind of sort of this way and may be very challenging but maybe it would be ok. After giving his tour a disclaimer a quarter of the group decided to take the road back to wherever they had come from and the rest decided “maybe” was good enough for them. Up the group pedaled, chatting and getting acquainted with each other along the way. Left here? Nope. Backtrack. Over this hill! Well, that took us in a circle. The group was getting tired as we approached the top of a hill where a classic Italian church awaited. The thing about Italian churches is there is always a cafe attached to them. The sweet cakes and hot espresso gave us newfound vigor. Asking the kid behind the counter if he'd heard of this elusive trail called "Caprazoppa" which in English translates to "the tired goat". He looked at us like we were a bunch of dumb tourists. "Follow the dots," the kid said as he pointed at three faded dots painted red on the rocks near the edge of a trail. Our new found guide started down the trail and decided that this kid could not be trusted. He wasn't a biker so it was probably a hiking trail. We took our last wrong turn for the night before the group decided to just follow the red dots down as the light was getting low. We greatly underestimated the kid! It was indeed the trail of "the tired goat" and not just any trail but an old roman walking trail including technical steeps, slick rocks and mind-bending turns that kept us hollering and laughing the entire way. We were biking on a trail thousands of years old. It was history and adrenaline-packed into one incredible singletrack. The mystical trail spit us out a road crossing away from the bike shop which was ideal. Ten hours of biking later and exhausted, we hobbled back to our beautiful camping spot, the parking lot of the bike shop. Luckily for us, everything in Italy is beautiful as we were parked along an ancient stone wall with a castle towering in the background atop the hills. Stocked up for a tailgate party for two, we poured cold Italian beer into our Adventure Stacking Beer Pints and sipped sweet and refreshing limoncello from our Classic Stanley flask. That night sleep came easy as we both shut our eyes to the imaginary sounds of tires on perfect dirt, realizing we got to do it all again tomorrow. Written by Sarah Kuipers ABOUT TYLER MORTON A seasoned snowboarder and brand ambassador chasing winter adventures fueled by a truck that runs on waste vegetable oil.

In 2016 I dropped out of college. I moved to Atlanta, Georgia to pursue photography and filmmaking full-time. In June of that already hectic year, I was diagnosed for the second time with cancer. I was immediately admitted to the hospital and had an emergency surgery less than 24 hours after my diagnosis, for the second time. Post-surgery, we discovered I had a rare, vascular-lymphatic invasion. Basically, this means that cancer cells attached to my former tumor and were released into my bloodstream, residing in lymph nodes. They had potential at any moment to activate inside of my peritoneum, my lungs, and my brain. Around this time, a friend of mine told me she was traveling to the Matobo Hills of Zimbabwe, to visit some older friends of hers who ran a ranch there. Chris and Norma, the folks who run the ranch are an older, wildly selfless couple who use their profits to benefit the impoverished communities around them. For example, while we were there, they delivered hundreds of bicycles to students who travel about 10 miles to get to school to mitigate many dangers that the daily journey poses, like rape and kidnapping. My friends told me that this place was like some kind of rest-haven. “Just come with us and you’ll see. It’ll be the rest you’ve needed for a while now. Then come back, and tackle chemotherapy, refreshed and renewed." My first day of chemotherapy would begin during what would have been the first week in Zimbabwe. I decided two days before my departure that I’d go to Zimbabwe. My doctors and my family were pretty upset with the decision. I transferred the last $1,500 from my savings account for the plane ticket. I would come home with nothing. But I KNEW in my heart that I needed this. I needed the rest. I knew that I was about to go down yet another heinous road of Ativan nightmares, weeks of vomiting, and total anxious delirium. I needed this rest. I needed this preparation. I discovered two of the guys that I was traveling with, whom I had never met, happened to be experienced climbers. The first afternoon we spent on the ranch in the Matobo Hills, they asked me if I wanted to go climb with them. Towards the end of high school and college, I fell in love with kayaking, hiking, and camping. Climbing was kind of this thing I had always wanted to do and always wanted to photograph. I didn't know any climbers and I guess I always thought you had to live in the Western United States to be one. I was elated at the chance to finally climb as I held on to the back of a little red work truck as we bounced along the Savannah road to a giant slab of gorgeous grey granite. The first route they put me on was a 5.11 chimney on a top rope. Damn, was I terrified just 20 ft. off the ground on a taut rope. I was so scared of falling, I stemmed the chimney behind me with the back of my head until it bled as I screamed expletives before taking the rope for the first time in my life. I came down, and they lured me to another route, something super easy. I'll never forget the excitement that they showed me as I battled my way up what was probably a 5.7/5.8, screaming, "Yeah, Kenny! Come on!" with loud, pure, honest encouragement. The next evening we took the truck back out to another part of the park to a truly unique sport route that followed a ravine. It was on this route that one of my new friends, Landon, set me up direct to anchors to photograph down on the climber for the first time in my life. I noticed the sound of quick-draws on granite, rope sliding through them and sunset over the horizon. Up here, there was no room for work-stress. There was no room for questioning my decisions or my future as an artist. There was no room for cancer - only total presence. For the first time in so long my head was in only one place. I was present. I was scared, so excited I was laughing to myself, and totally made breathless by the beauty of the sun setting over the greens and browns of the hills that glowed in that last light. Riding back on the back of the truck, I remember holding onto the rack above as we drove through a smoother part of the road. The landscape was wide open in every direction. I will never forget the feeling of leaning back, closing my eyes, and feeling the perfect temperature of wind and air on my face. The hum of the little diesel truck, a spare tire bouncing around in the bed, people laughing in the cab. I knew I was in the right place. My soul was full, present. I whispered in my mind, as a prayer, "Thank You." I noticed that one of the climbers, Thomas, always had a classic green Stanley Vacuum Bottle sitting in front of him on the ranch. He'd open it, pour steaming coffee into the lid, and he'd just sit and wait for the next conversation to just happen. Something struck me deeply about that. He was really, really good at being present. He would listen like I had never noticed anyone listen to other people. He wasn't thinking about what he was going to say next while another person was speaking to him. And when they finished, he would think, like really think about what he was going to say. And when he didn't know, he would tell you he didn't know. He carried a peace about him that I hadn't ever seen in another person. For some reason, I noticed that Stanley Vacuum Bottle everywhere for those 12 days. In my head, it became an emblem for being present in a current moment. Every night we would all have dinner together and talk around a fire. One of those nights around that fire, Thomas asked me to share with everyone what I was going through, that I was sick. There was a distinct silence and quiet tears. Afterward, everyone stood around me. People spoke kind words to me, and some prayed. Chris, the owner of the ranch, who is in his 70's, belted out a Welsh hymn into the sky. My eyes were closed, my skin chilled and something shifted in the air. I came home, and I felt compelled to email Stanley and tell them some of the story. I told them that I had incredible experiences outside in my life and that I wanted to be a part of a team that got people as psyched as I was. A few weeks later they brought me on as a Brand Ambassador. We returned home on a Friday, and my chemotherapy was to begin on the following Monday. I told the doctor I felt that something had changed and wanted another scan before we began. I postponed treatment for a week, against their advice and had new scans taken. During an editing session at my co-working space in Atlanta, my doctor called me. I stepped outside to take his call, trembling with nerves. My tumor markers plummeted. The cancer vanished. I fell to my knees on the sidewalk in the Old Fourth Ward of Atlanta. That year, Thomas became my mentor on and off the wall and climbing took over a massive part of my life. Its taken me all over the world, (and even all around the Southeast. Turns out there's tons of climbing and a phenomenal community of climbers down here!). Thomas taught me that although having a life so engulfed in being outside has potential to be incredibly self-serving, that it didn't have to be. He taught me that by having shared experiences of joy outside, that you can serve other people, and serve the greater good of preserving these places that mean so much to us. Keep up with Kenny’s adventures by following him on Instagram. ABOUT KENNY GAMBLIN Kenny is a climber, photographer, and filmmaker based in Atlanta Georgia. Whether on-mountain or in-studio he seeks to find something universally true in the heart of human beings. Kenny is currently pursuing artist representation and remote video editing work to sustain a life of total immersion into the important stories he seeks to tell and experience.

Here's the deal: I don't like being cold. As someone who has literally built my whole life around traveling and camping in the world's most extreme environments, you would think this would be a huge problem. The reality is quite different, however. While I may not like the actual 'feeling' of being cold, I love being outside in the cold; and more importantly, being warm and comfortable no matter how low the temperature drops. Winter is an incredible time to be outside and knowing a few basic pointers can often mean the difference between fun with friends and frostbite. Cold weather camping should be an enjoyable experience, so keep it that way by following these simple, yet critical winter camping tips. Stay Warm, Seriously… Any discussion of winter camping should begin with an overview of layering. The concept of layering involves adding or taking off different layers of clothing as you heat up and cool off. The goal of any winter activity, surprisingly, is to not get too hot or sweat. Once you sweat, the warm insulating layer of air next to your body is replaced by heat sucking water (sweat). Therefore, I always wear a light moisture wicking base layer next to my skin to pull sweat away from my body. Next, I’ll add an insulating layer which can be another base layer or fleece. On top of that, I’ll add some type of windproof (and breathable) shell. Depending on my level of activity or the temperature I may add or subtract layers as necessary. Ice fishing in northern Minnesota? Six or Seven layers. Winter backpacking? Only two or three total. Take Care Of Your Feet For starters, it’s a good idea to have some type of winter rated boot. It’s important to keep the boot dry from the inside (sweat) or the outside (snow and slush). After that, I like to use a liner sock and then a thicker sock. Be sure that your boots don’t feel tight as it will cut off warmth-enhancing blood flow. You also lose a lot of heat through the soles of your feet and contact (conduction) with the ground. I always suggest using a good insole, and if you're hanging out in the snow for extended periods of time, stand on an insulated pad as well. Tents: Let’s Talk About Them… You’d be surprised at how much comfort (and warmth) the two thin little layers of nylon can provide while winter camping. If possible, use a four season tent which generally has less ‘mesh’ on the inner tent and therefore holds heat better. When choosing a tent spot use snowshoes, skis or your boots to tramp down an adequately-sized footprint on which to set up your tent. Exchange your summer stakes for larger snow stakes, pickets or things like poles or skis which you can use to make a ‘dead man’. I usually bring a small brush to clean off boots and clothes so no extra snow gets inside the tent (and melts). In base camp situations, I like to dig out the vestibule which can make getting in and out as well as storing gear and cooking much easier. Sleeping In The Cold Just like layering clothes on your body, you can do the same thing while sleeping. I generally use a cold-weather rated sleeping bag with a larger bag over it for additional insulation. Of course, you also need to insulate yourself from the snow and therefore need a winter-rated sleeping pad. I tend to use two pads in winter making sure one is a closed cell foam pad. Make sure you are wearing dry layers while sleeping and if you want an extra dose of extended heat, add fill up a water bottle with hot water and place it inside the bag at your feet. Lastly, for really cold nights, ensure that your sleeping bag is properly cinched around your face and head. What To Eat In The Cold The nice thing about camping in the winter is that you don’t have to worry about any of your food spoiling or going rotten. Still, food that freezes solid can be difficult to eat. Therefore, I try to choose foods that I can either eat easily when they are frozen or require little prep time. I try to portion foods and remove excess packaging ahead of time and pack each day’s meals together. In winter, I generally eat more calories than summer but always make sure I have a good balance of carbohydrates, proteins, and fats. Soup Is Essential For Winter Camping It may not sound like a big deal, but soup has saved my you-know-what on more than one occasion. Every day on my expeditions we make a soup in the morning in one of the Stanley vacuum food jars. At lunch, the soup is still hot (no matter how cold it gets) and we get an extra boost of energy and warmth. Philosophically, the soup provides a good halfway point throughout the day and we always look forward to ‘soup break’. Hydration Is Key Even When It’s Cold While most people focus on hydration in the summertime, it often gets overlooked in cold conditions. I travel on a schedule stopping every hour for a drink. Using any of the Stanley vacuum bottles to ensure your drinks stay warm and drinkable is paramount when you are winter camping. ABOUT ERIC LARSEN Eric Larsen is a polar adventurer, expedition guide, dog musher, and educator. He has spent the past 15 years of his life traveling in some of the most remote and wild places left on earth. In 2010 he became the first person in history to reach the world's three 'poles' within a 365-day period.