We're all going to die. Let's get rad until then! 🤘🏼

Around 5am in late September 1995 someone saw a bright pink pickup truck that had rolled over on Route 77 in Upstate New York. When we heard the news, we immediately knew who it was — our dear friend Bob had just died.

Death is the one thing that will happen to every single one of us. And everyone we know, too. It is always sad when someone you care for dies, but when Bob died, I just felt lucky to have known someone who lived so fully, up to his very last moment.

It’s impossible to properly tally all the incredible adventures and accomplishments Bob had during his lifetime, but there are two quick stories that I think sum up his essence best. When Bob’s parents died, they had gifted some land to Bob and his brother on the outskirts of my tiny town. Bob and his brother planted trees on that land, and some 30 years later, Bob harvested those trees, and built a cabin to live in. By himself. By hand. With the trees he had planted.

Bob had been a skier since the days of all-wood skis. Rumor had it that he was featured in one of the first Warren Miller ski films performing ski ballet when that was a thing. (He’s featured in an article on ballet skiing in this 1973 issue of Ski Magazine too!) I should note that Bob, as long as he was not skiing or bathing or sleeping, was smoking a pipe. This probably had some influence on the news he had received from his doctor a year before he died. Bob — you have all these health problems, your legs are weak, your breathing is terrible, you just need to slow down, take it easy, and enjoy these last years.

The first thing Bob did upon hearing this news was go to a ski shop and buy all new gear. New skis, new boots, new bindings, and even a new ski jacket. If there was a choice between dying slowly doing nothing, or hucking down a mountain on brand new kit — I mean, is that even a decision? The second thing Bob did after buying all that new ski gear, was go to the car dealer to buy a new truck. He realized he needed a better truck with four-wheel drive so he could get himself to and from the slopes that winter. When Bob drove back into town with his hot pink pickup, there were more than a few raised eyebrows. Bob, always practical, said this was the only one on the lot that had the basic features he needed, and it was on sale. Done!

It was canoe camping that brought Bob and my family so close when I was growing up. We trekked to Algonquin Park in far northern Ontario every summer, and Bob taught every kid to whittle sticks to make spoons or other gadgets. He was always the first one up for an early morning paddle to capture the moose at dawn through the lens of his camera. As we were planning a trip one year, Bob hesitated and said he may not go. He knew his health was failing, and he did fear the worst. “What if I die up there?” -- he didn’t want to be a burden. My dad looked him in the eye and told him the most loving thing I’d heard — “Bob, if you die up there we’ll make a wood box for you and it would be the honor of my life to paddle your ass out of there.” And so he went. It was his last big canoe trip, and it was as fantastic as always.

You have heard all the cliche quotes about life being precious  — “We’re here for a good time, not a long time.” “It’s not how many years you have in your life, but how much life you have in your years.” “Every day above the dirt is a good day.” They aren’t wrong, but maybe they’re just a little too poetic. They hold so much truth, but most of us don’t really hear them.

I’ve had a sort of mantra going through my head the last few years that’s a bit more straightforward:  I’m going to fucking die. Until then, I’m going to live as much as possible until the wheels come off.

I’ve been sufficiently inspired, not just by Bob, but from my parents and their parents before them, too. Always planning another adventure. Always finding new interests and hobbies. Always making the time to enjoy the days we get. That inspiration has given me a personal focus to cram as many adventures into my years as I can. Cycling, especially on dirt trails, and skiing bring me the most consistent joy, but all forms of trekking and hiking around, alpine lake swimming and paddle boarding, tenkara fishing, trying to learn how to surf… these all keep me going. And while all of these activities are enhanced by sharing those adventures with others, I think I’ve also gravitated toward activities that I can do alone, too. The peace and calmness of being outside, the thrill and accomplishment of doing something physically challenging, and the satisfaction that you put in your best effort. That’s what I want most, as often as possible.

We all have our excuses, though. Things add up and get in the way. We’re maybe not quite as prepared as we need to be. We can’t quite make the time. We yearn for adventure but we don’t make the effort to make it happen. That’s why I’m writing here. That’s why I’m trying to share the stoke. I don’t want you to look at another Instagram Reel of some sponsored athlete and say oh man, I wish I could do that. I want you to do a little planning, and get after it yourself. Not just on Saturdays. Not just on an all-too-short holiday. But always. As a way of life.

It’s Adventure time. Get Fucking Stoked!

Yours, until the wheels come off,
Papa Stoke