I'm listening to Bruce Springsteen's new record, "We Shall Overcome: The Seeger Sessions", a tribute to folk Americana that conjures the unmistakable spirit of freedom with early songs of hardship, labor, segregation, poverty and loss. They create a true gospel of our nation's youthful struggle, for better or worse, and the hymns of an unpaved road ahead. It brings to my mind a diversity of leaders, wanderers, dreamers, activists and artists: Jack Kerouac, Woodie Guthrie, Martin Luther King Jr., John Muir, Robert Johnson, the list - just beginning. And the more I listen, the more I want to interpret my own America.

Central Park on a sunny day explodes with machine-like people trying to escape anxiety for a few minutes. We shuffle along as if no one else in the world existed (because it's not nice to look at others, never make eye contact) and head back to work in hopes of hitting the lottery before the day is through. Some of us never make it out of the city, and some of us never spend a minute more than we have to in the grandeur of its green-as-cash gardens. But, one thing's a certainty; New York is where America began for many of us.

I met Johnny Landry for the first time at Rat Rock in Central Park on a summer's day over five years ago. I was working The Polish Traverse, a V5, on the frictionless Schist when this calm, friendly voice with an almost southern-like drawl spoke directly at me from a few feet away. "It's fun, aint it?" I wish I could've said yes, but my inexperience as a boulderer left me to silence and an unconfident nod. Actually, I did get something out; "Feels like shit." Johnny laughed and the introductions began.

I'd begun bouldering a few months prior to that day, my sessions consisting of day trips to the Gunks with my now wife, Shelly. It was hard to grasp the amount of satisfaction I'd get from a piece of rock. It was like having an addiction that grew stronger and stronger with each dose, converting me into something else. The solitude of nature was a foreign sensation that, oddly enough, felt more comfortable than home in some ways. Life as I'd previously lived it was fading quickly, rejuvenating and regenerating itself within me like some religious cleansing. I was being consumed by a real passion and an even more realistic freedom. And that freedom to explore was leading me to find something I never intentionally set out to look for...myself.

As time went on we would soon encounter the most genuine people that we'd ever met, make the best friends we'd ever had and experience some of the finest things that money can't buy. And this brings me back to Johnny.

Johnny and I became respected acquaintances, both with some serious fire for pulling down; all the time parading up and down the boulders of the carriage road in the Gunks, ticking them off one by one. But, we never really kept touch. It was more like " Hey man, good to see ya', what are ya' workin'?" And we'd get on to climbing.

Then one day he just stopped showin' up.

As still as time could stand, almost four years went by before we finally caught up again; it was in a stationary camper parked outside the Hueco Rock Ranch - where Johnny was living. He'd been on the road the entire time. "I've been here for a good season," he replied when I asked how long he'd been the ranch's camp host "I think I'll head back to Cali for a minute. And then maybe I'll see you back east."

Four years living dreams on the road. That's freedom. And, that's inspiring.

Now, I may be putting my head on a plate by saying this, but I believe it, so here goes: I've never, ever seen a climbing magazine with as much soul, power and roots as the one you have in your hands right now. I feel as though I'd been collecting inspirations my whole life just to hand you this issue. It's not about the next best thing. It's about revisiting what was always there. It's our song of Americana; a song that's rooted deep in our history as climbers and how we've come to define "living freely." Our reasons, as diverse and unique as our stories and experiences, are tenfold more intriguing and significant than any send. This issue of UC Mag is about struggle, celebration and curiosity. It's about having the vision to look down an unpaved road and see the future. It's about what some choose to do with America. It's about us, plain and simple.

See You Out There,
Joe Iurato

NAME
ADDRESS 1
ADDRESS 2
CITY
STATE & ZIP
EMAIL (req)

NAME
ADDRESS
ADDRESS 2
CITY
STATE & ZIP
EMAIL (req)