Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Time is slippery. 13 years ago today we (barely) managed do the first winter ascent of one of Pakistan’s 8000 m peaks, Gasherbrum II. So much has changed since…and so much remains the same. One thing that will never change is the love and gratitude I feel for @iamsimonemoro and @urubkodenis for their friendship and mentorship. This climb unquestionably changed the trajectory of everything. More on that in #TheColorOfEverything out July 9th, 2024.
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Words by Ben Ayers @jetbutterflies // In the wide desert of Upper Mustang, the road planes along canyon walls and dry mountainsides dotted with hundreds of unspeakably ancient human-made caves. The light plays a slow game of chase with the shadows cast by the highest mountains on the planet, now behind us. We sweep the corners wide, drawn to cliff-edges teetering above the braided Kali Gandaki River below. We don’t know where to look – the road, the layers of tortured mountains, or the sand-castle parapets of rock and mud towering above us. Instead, we watch the oncoming frame-bent jeeps as they roaring around the blind corners on bald tires. In Tsarang, the drivers share a rough kindness with us. We play snooker, a game we don’t know. Cory tries and fails to find a tutorial on YouTube. Nursing warm cans of beer, we realize the drivers don’t know how to play either. The evening passes in one long, impossible game of scratches and flubs until the young man running the hall flicks the light switch and kicks us out into the cold, thin air of a star-streaked night. @vacheronconstantin
Our hearts remain with the thousands of families that have lost loved ones in the 6.4 magnitude earthquake in West Nepal. As winter approaches, tens of thousands remain without adequate shelter or warmth. If you’d like to contribute please visit Blinknow.org – these are friends of ours working tirelessly on the ground, and every contribution matters. We will resume our Mustang travelogue starting today to celebrate all the beauty, resiliency, and magic of Nepal in the faith that if we all work together, brighter days will come soon. // following words by @jetbutterflies Hoping for mountains, we find fog. Climbing towards Sarangkot, the city disappears behind us. Marigolds line the road that falls away into steeped terraces dotted by clusters of roughhewn homes. An hour in, we find the main highway again, paved and twisted into tight curls across the steep hillsides like a pig’s tail. Todd’s back wheel blows up, death-wobbling him across the narrow road and directly into a stable of split-open motor scooters under a corrugated tin roof held together with wire. The mechanic opens the rear tire, and leaves the parts strewn across the shoulder of the highway. A metal-handled hammer and broken screwdriver finish the job: a blown bearing. The mechanic isn’t much of a talker. He saddles a scooter and buzzes off to somewhere while the town gathers around us, sharing stories and children and a, most proudly, new iPhone 12 ProMax. They return with two bearings – “Japan” brand. “Best quality”, he says. Four hours of riding to go. @vacheronconstantin @aetherapparel
The curb weight of the Porsche 356, the first Porsche automobile, was 1700 – 2,296 lbs. The weight of the Porsche name is much heavier. Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’ Porsche, an architect by trade and the great grandson of the company’s founder Prof. Ferdinand Porsche, is now adding his fingerprint to the family’s rich motor-sports legacy. At 30 yrs old, Ferdi defies all the seriousness and pomp of racing cars. He’s affable, warm, and almost boyish in his excitement. To put it bluntly, he’s ‘cool’ without effort, working hard to invite the next generation into the motorsports world. On February 24, Ferdi’s @fat.international held its first ice race in Zell am See, Austria, and has now followed it up in Aspen, Colorado. Over the past two days on an icy track in Carbondale, the @fat.icerace has included models from the @aetherapparel Half11 (half Porsche, half F1) to the Rivian R1T, to a host of various @mobil1 cars and drivers tearing around corners, over-steering, under-steering, and generally bringing joy as they spit rooster tails of snow from their tires. I watch as an enthusiast warm his hands in the exhaust of a loud engine. He brings them to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting his senses coalesce into something whole and visceral. Ferdi sits in his car nearby grinning. It’s an expression of sincere, palpable joy. As an arm drops, he accelerates onto the track. In a burst of exhaust, something old becomes new again. It’s a Herculean task and these are enormous shoes to fill, but Ferdi seems to be carrying the weight of legacy effortlessly.
The curb weight of the Porsche 356, the first Porsche automobile, was 1700 – 2,296 lbs. The weight of the Porsche name is much heavier. Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’ Porsche, an architect by trade and the great grandson of the company’s founder Prof. Ferdinand Porsche, is now adding his fingerprint to the family’s rich motor-sports legacy. At 30 yrs old, Ferdi defies all the seriousness and pomp of racing cars. He’s affable, warm, and almost boyish in his excitement. To put it bluntly, he’s ‘cool’ without effort, working hard to invite the next generation into the motorsports world. On February 24, Ferdi’s @fat.international held its first ice race in Zell am See, Austria, and has now followed it up in Aspen, Colorado. Over the past two days on an icy track in Carbondale, the @fat.icerace has included models from the @aetherapparel Half11 (half Porsche, half F1) to the Rivian R1T, to a host of various @mobil1 cars and drivers tearing around corners, over-steering, under-steering, and generally bringing joy as they spit rooster tails of snow from their tires. I watch as an enthusiast warm his hands in the exhaust of a loud engine. He brings them to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting his senses coalesce into something whole and visceral. Ferdi sits in his car nearby grinning. It’s an expression of sincere, palpable joy. As an arm drops, he accelerates onto the track. In a burst of exhaust, something old becomes new again. It’s a Herculean task and these are enormous shoes to fill, but Ferdi seems to be carrying the weight of legacy effortlessly.
The curb weight of the Porsche 356, the first Porsche automobile, was 1700 – 2,296 lbs. The weight of the Porsche name is much heavier. Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’ Porsche, an architect by trade and the great grandson of the company’s founder Prof. Ferdinand Porsche, is now adding his fingerprint to the family’s rich motor-sports legacy. At 30 yrs old, Ferdi defies all the seriousness and pomp of racing cars. He’s affable, warm, and almost boyish in his excitement. To put it bluntly, he’s ‘cool’ without effort, working hard to invite the next generation into the motorsports world. On February 24, Ferdi’s @fat.international held its first ice race in Zell am See, Austria, and has now followed it up in Aspen, Colorado. Over the past two days on an icy track in Carbondale, the @fat.icerace has included models from the @aetherapparel Half11 (half Porsche, half F1) to the Rivian R1T, to a host of various @mobil1 cars and drivers tearing around corners, over-steering, under-steering, and generally bringing joy as they spit rooster tails of snow from their tires. I watch as an enthusiast warm his hands in the exhaust of a loud engine. He brings them to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting his senses coalesce into something whole and visceral. Ferdi sits in his car nearby grinning. It’s an expression of sincere, palpable joy. As an arm drops, he accelerates onto the track. In a burst of exhaust, something old becomes new again. It’s a Herculean task and these are enormous shoes to fill, but Ferdi seems to be carrying the weight of legacy effortlessly.
The curb weight of the Porsche 356, the first Porsche automobile, was 1700 – 2,296 lbs. The weight of the Porsche name is much heavier. Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’ Porsche, an architect by trade and the great grandson of the company’s founder Prof. Ferdinand Porsche, is now adding his fingerprint to the family’s rich motor-sports legacy. At 30 yrs old, Ferdi defies all the seriousness and pomp of racing cars. He’s affable, warm, and almost boyish in his excitement. To put it bluntly, he’s ‘cool’ without effort, working hard to invite the next generation into the motorsports world. On February 24, Ferdi’s @fat.international held its first ice race in Zell am See, Austria, and has now followed it up in Aspen, Colorado. Over the past two days on an icy track in Carbondale, the @fat.icerace has included models from the @aetherapparel Half11 (half Porsche, half F1) to the Rivian R1T, to a host of various @mobil1 cars and drivers tearing around corners, over-steering, under-steering, and generally bringing joy as they spit rooster tails of snow from their tires. I watch as an enthusiast warm his hands in the exhaust of a loud engine. He brings them to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting his senses coalesce into something whole and visceral. Ferdi sits in his car nearby grinning. It’s an expression of sincere, palpable joy. As an arm drops, he accelerates onto the track. In a burst of exhaust, something old becomes new again. It’s a Herculean task and these are enormous shoes to fill, but Ferdi seems to be carrying the weight of legacy effortlessly.
The curb weight of the Porsche 356, the first Porsche automobile, was 1700 – 2,296 lbs. The weight of the Porsche name is much heavier. Ferdinand ‘Ferdi’ Porsche, an architect by trade and the great grandson of the company’s founder Prof. Ferdinand Porsche, is now adding his fingerprint to the family’s rich motor-sports legacy. At 30 yrs old, Ferdi defies all the seriousness and pomp of racing cars. He’s affable, warm, and almost boyish in his excitement. To put it bluntly, he’s ‘cool’ without effort, working hard to invite the next generation into the motorsports world. On February 24, Ferdi’s @fat.international held its first ice race in Zell am See, Austria, and has now followed it up in Aspen, Colorado. Over the past two days on an icy track in Carbondale, the @fat.icerace has included models from the @aetherapparel Half11 (half Porsche, half F1) to the Rivian R1T, to a host of various @mobil1 cars and drivers tearing around corners, over-steering, under-steering, and generally bringing joy as they spit rooster tails of snow from their tires. I watch as an enthusiast warm his hands in the exhaust of a loud engine. He brings them to his nose, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, letting his senses coalesce into something whole and visceral. Ferdi sits in his car nearby grinning. It’s an expression of sincere, palpable joy. As an arm drops, he accelerates onto the track. In a burst of exhaust, something old becomes new again. It’s a Herculean task and these are enormous shoes to fill, but Ferdi seems to be carrying the weight of legacy effortlessly.
Memories from Myanmar with @renan_ozturk @emilyaharrington
