Since we’ve been on an automobile-smashing trend, it seemed time to introduce these folks.
The Vulgarians, famous for their tough climbs, free-spirits, death defying races, parties, sex, drugs, and rock and roll, are the unofficial keepers of the Shawangunks.
Two copies of the “Vulgarian Digest” featuring Dick Williams, left climbing nude and Elaine Matthews, prominent female Vulgarian, topless on the right.
We interviewed Vulgarian Burt Angrist and Vulgarian and overall climbing legend Jim McCarthy about 2 hours after our car crash. Jim, Burt, and Anka (Burt’s lovely wife) welcomed us into their home and immediately put us at ease with kindness, cheese and crackers, and Bourbon.
(Yup, proceeded to drink shots of Bourbon with Jim McCarthy as we interviewed him!)
Suffice to say, any lingering worries I had about the smashed up rental car dissipated as I listened to stories of the Vulgarian Grand Prix and stuff like this:
The Vulgarians are often given more publicity for their antics than their climbs, that are equally noteworthy. The people who made up the Vulgarians throughout the early days of the ‘Gunks scene pushed the limits of climbing and partying, and remain heroes to many a bourbon-drinking, car-crashing, free-spirited climber like myself to this day.
It was an honor to be heckled, the next day, by Jim and Burt as they came across us climbing an ‘easy’ 5.5 Gunks climb called the Horseman.
Everywhere were beautiful colors of red and yellow that you don’t see in California.
This was the Gunks.
Our first interviews with Ajax Greene and Rich “Bukowski” Goldstone were so inspiring that we floated out (at around 10 or 11pm, some hours after we had said we would be done).
We floated around the Mohonk, unperterbed that we couldn’t find ‘Camp Slime’, and eventually floated down our sleeping bags on the hard gravel of the Mohonk Parking Lot.
It was balmy (compared to Colorado), perfect for sitting against a tire well drinking beer, writing, reading, looking at the sky.
We floated on through the morning to Oasis Coffee Shop, where we would stop every morning to wash up once we found Camp Slime (as the ‘camp’ has no water and only one portapotty).
In the shop, we floated into the gregarious Bob D’Antonio (who we’d just had a prolific interview with in CO days earlier).
Together we floated down the street to Rock&Snow, agreeing to climb together and chatting with store owner Rich Gottlieb.
Then we floated by Henry Barber as he pulled up with Russ Clune and talked about our plans to meet him in New Hampshire.
It was magical, this many different people from Gunks history walking around and us wrapped up in it like just so many red and yellow leaves in the wind.
We agreed to meet at the Cliffs, and floated into our car, floated out of the driveway, and then floated…into oncoming traffic.
CRASH!
To say I was unaffected would be a lie. Do I even have insurance in a rental car? How much is this going to cost? When is our next interview for the day?
“Does this mean we’re not going climbing anymore?”
Just when things had begun to loosen up, a moments miscalculation had ruined my perfect driving record and threatened (along with the fat lady frantically wheezing about her defaced Subaru) my insurance rates.
Once the small town cops had decided we were young California reckless-driving stereotypes they went on their way. Max, in a nice gentle way, asked me if I was ok, and if I wanted a beer or cup of coffee. As we stood back inside of Oasis getting some more Joe, The Five Stair Steps was playing overhead…
Ooh-oo child, things are gonna get easier
Ooh-oo child, things’ll be brighter
Some day, yeah
We’ll put it together and we’ll get it all done
Well, I’m not citing any kind of cosmic Playlist, but I’m sure I’ll remember the feeling of drinking coffee over interview notes on the bumpy polyester arm chairs at Oasis on a crisp New York autumn day whenever I hear this song again.
It started ominously just after our arrival at JFK airport, with the receipt of our ‘98 gold Nissan Altima rental car (later referred to affectionately as ‘Death Trap’.)
As it turns out, being just shy of 25 makes it difficult to rent a car; some places won’t do it at all, and those that do almost always add a $200-300 young driver fee. Drivers under 25 are considered ‘risky renters’ (as I will later prove to be true). The cheapest company I could find was “Happy Fenders” that rents cars with 250,000+ miles on them.
Our Happy Fenders Nissan with Wisconsin plates had definitely seen better days, with a prior collision dent in the passenger side door, a banged bumper, and a hood so oxidized it looked like it came from another car (in fact, it probably did come from another car). It was, for our purposes, the perfect vehicle.
The boys, on the other hand, were not of this opinion. I assured them that the Happy Fenders car was no less qualified than my moms ‘94 Escort that we just left behind in Colorado. True, but gave it dirty looks just the same.
We pulled onto a less-than-reputable side street and proceeded to call every soul we knew in a 50 mile radius of NY to try and find a place to stay for the night (we would have to leave in the morning for a different city, New Paltz.
“I wish you had called earlier.”
“I have a lot of stuff in my apartment right now.”
“Hi, you’ve reached the voice-mail of…”
“Who is this?”
My crewmember in the frontseat looked doubtfully out the window at every passerby expecting to be held up or caught in a gang shootout, and my crew in the back stuck in between 2 suitcases, 3 bags, 2 cameras, and a tripod, grumbled, “I can’t believe you’re just calling people now.”
A deep internal sigh. Evidently neither could the people I was calling. Ah yes, it was a glamorous start to the Big Apple.
After a few more voicemails, we decided to drive towards the city and find a place to eat until something came through.
As we headed down the freeway on the way to Manhattan, something unsettling started happening to the hood of the car: it started moving. It floated up and down about two times, then all of the sudden, in one violent hinge, flew straight up and into the windshield: WACK! There we were, speeding down an unknown New York freeway, with a rusty car hood stuck to the windshield completely obscuring our view. A tense moment ensued; there was no shoulder to pull off onto, so I had no choice but to slow and hope that in this blindfolded state I was driving in my lane and no cars were about to hit us. I rolled down the window, and proceeded to drive with my head out of it, trying to make out the lanes and get us to the next freeway exit. I can only imagine what the cars driving by us were thinking as they saw us driving by with our hood sticking straight up in the air. As we pulled off, having escaped the freeway, everyone breathed a sigh of relief, followed by anger from the boys towards ‘Death Trap.’
It was a low point for the trip. My crew was grouchy and annoyed, and I was equally annoyed that they expected to be treated like human beings with needs instead of filmmaking Superbots. I thought of a Cam Burns story about traveling with notorious mountaineer/climber exraordinaireFred Beckey when their car went kablooey:
In light of traveling with Fred Beckey, our situation was much less severe. We were merely sleep deprived and nervy. But our patience was stretched. I know that I have been called a “callous traveler”, that surely wasn’t helping things. As a friend once characterized it on the road a few years back:
“We could walk across the Sahara, and if I said I was thirsty, you’d roll your eyes.’”
I’d nearly lost friends in much more pleasant situations. But it’s hard to outgrow; I’ve been trained for travel since I was born. I grew up like this (where you can see my early influence of out-the-window shots):
But even if you’re trying to be on your best behavior, when you’re directing a low budget movie and you’re traveling, this means that you have ten million things on your mind, including not only the movie itself, but get a car, cook meals, find a place for everyone to sleep, etc. Eventually you make sacrifices when you don’t get to everything on your list.
Since I chose for them to be the comfort of me and the crew (all-nighters, no place to stay, low budget rental…)
I was now paying the price – after a tough week of long hours and little sleep, and now this near-death experience, I looked into eyes of my crew and saw the indisputable look of Mutiny.
I’m not sure how historic leaders like Buffalo Bill or Captain Blackbeard quelled their mutinies; I know they probably didn’t ask their peeps how they were feeling, if they’d like to take a day off, or for some constructive criticism on their leadership.
(Although Blackbeard ended up with his head on a stick, gulp.) The only solution I could come to terms with was New York Pizza and beer. So after Max had tied down the hood with some runners and locking biners (muttering some climbing anchor redundancy jokes), we continued on our way.
And we bided our time, hoping our luck would change…
Then, thankfully, it did; we were soon taken in by an old film school friend, Chris, and his girlfriend. We would all cram into their tiny one room studio, drink beers, talk about life, and sleep; in the morning, Chris would call in sick to work so we could all grab breakfast and walk around the city before we were off. “Come back and stay as long as you need,” said Chris after we repacked our multitude of gear from his studio to our car.
Isn’t life always like that? The people who have the least to give are always the ones who end up sharing it with you. (And the big money heiresses and friends with yachts are usually the first to decline, for that matter.)
So, no sooner had we arrived, then we were off again. It wouldn’t be the end of our troubles with the Nissan Altima or our nerves. We were on to New Paltz for Part III of the trip, where the real work would begin, with both bigger problems and rewards yet to come…
