As Long As You FEEL Fast…
April 21, 2012
Spring is in the air! The temperatures are mostly above freezing, the snow is melting, and the bike paths are kinda clear. The trails are soft and slushy; snow bike season is over. Time to put away the big tires and get out the full suspension mountain bike.
Or…is it?
I dragged my 29er into the shop to have its tubeless tires re-seated (again. What a bullshit experiment this tubeless thing has been. I think I’m probably $350 in the hole now and I’ve had more flats this last year than I’ve ever had in my entire life. Lame) and drivetrain tuned. I waited and waited while the suddenly-slammed shop worked through its backlog of tune-ups. Finally I got my bike back and, excited for a ride free of that 4″ tire contact patch, hopped on for a spin around the city.
And I was underwhelmed.
My bike felt heavy, slow, and sluggish. The Shimano drivetrain, which I never liked to begin with, felt annoying and cumbersome as I converted my movement patterns back to trigger shifting. I immediately missed my grip shifts. The seat, which I’d felt OK about last year (I never feel “good” about bike seats) was suddenly a vile instrument of torture. It was almost a relief when the numbness set in after an hour. The bike’s cockpit felt cramped. My fenders weren’t protecting me well. I couldn’t find the gear I wanted, which is typical with that particular drivetrain, but still. Things just felt…off. I expected to feel faster now that I wasn’t on my big-tired behemoth. All my friends have been talking about how great their first few rides off their fat bikes have felt; that they feel rock-star fast and fleet. This sensation was not happening for me. I felt sluggish and pained; weighed down, overburdened.
Not one to give up easily, though, I opted to head up, up, up to the Hillside area of the city to get in some good climbing on less-busy streets. I was soon tempted off into the mud and gravel of the dirt roads. I expected to have a lot of fun with the full suspension bike, as I’ve been on my fully rigid snow bike for nine months. To my surprise the only time I noticed the suspension is when it bobbed under me as I tried to climb. Annoyed, I locked it out. My ass hurt. My crotch hurt. My wrists were uncomfortable. My legs were grumbling. I was barely spinning up the hill in grandpa gear. What was going on?
I forced out 25 hard miles, then headed home. I had gotten in a workout but didn’t feel great about it. Was I just tired and sore, maybe in need of a rest day? Sometimes a hard-feeling ride is just an indication of a tired body. I gave myself a rest day and felt fine this morning, so I geared up and set out for the garage to grab a bike.
And lo and behold, what happened? Without even really thinking about it, I passed both my full suspension summer bikes, only pausing long enough to pull the pedals off the 29er, and unhooked my trusty snow bike. Tires pumped to pavement pressures, I zipped off down the street and easily put in another 25 mile day, feeling happy and entertained and – dare I say it? – fast.
So I guess I’m on the snow bike for the foreseeable future. It’s pretty fun on the pavement too and, let’s face it, it just feels right. I’m glad I brought my GPS along today – is 39 mph a pretty good clip for a fat bike? OK, so it was on a long downhill, but it still felt great. And so did the up. Even though, sure, it’s slower than a regular bike, it still FEELS better and that’s what matters.
We’ll see if I change my tune when the techy trails dry out in, oh, another month or so.
What is Weird?
April 20, 2012
There’s this look I get from people sometimes. It’s difficult to explain, and perhaps it belongs on Jill’s list of words we need. But if you’ve ever aspired to a particularly abnormal goal or done something “out of the ordinary”, you’ve probably gotten The Look. The best way I can describe The Look, is with the phrase “Why are you so weird?” It was recently that this phrase came to me by way of a rather exasperated friend, and when she said it, I realized that that’s what people have been trying to communicate to me through The Look.
A few weeks ago, I was trying to figure out the logistics of getting to and from the hospital for my eye surgery and the one day post-op appointment, and they were proving to be rather tricky. I live pretty far from where the hospital is and I was stubbornly reluctant to inconvenience any of my friends with chauffeuring me back and forth across the distance. I finally decided that the best course of action would be to sleep at the campground across the street from the hospital, so that I could just walk to and from my appointments. I’d been itching to camp for a while anyway, so it sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan to me. Plus, if something went wrong in the first night, the hospital was literally right there.
I wanted to have a backup plan though, so I called up my friend Lucy and explained to her what was going on. “Camping?!?” she exclaimed. “Yeah,” I said, “it actually works out really well, I think.” Then a pause. Then, “Morgan, why are you SO weird?” Obviously she couldn’t give me The Look through the phone, but I found it quite refreshing for someone to actually say what they were thinking.
But it got me thinking. What is weird? To me, camping in the snow the night after a minimally invasive outpatient eye surgery wasn’t weird. Unconventional, maybe, and perhaps requiring a few extra precautions, but not really weird. I’ve pondered other times that I’ve gotten The Look. I love running, but sometimes I have a tendency to be rather sporadic with my running. In the past year or so I’ve dabbled a bit in ultra marathons. In January, a family friend was the race director for a 100k race at a local nature preserve near where my parents live. I decided it’d be a great opportunity to visit my parents and run a great race all in one trip.
I signed up for the race well ahead of time and built an elaborate training plan, which I never actually followed. Through a series of injury, illness, and just plain lack of motivation, I didn’t run at all between October and the race in January. I decided to do it anyway. My goal was to complete 30 miles, and then if I achieved that I’d keep going until I couldn’t anymore. During the later stages of the race, when I’d reached my 30 mile goal and was running towards 40, the race director came up and commented to her friend about how hard I’d been training for the race. “Actually, I haven’t run since October,” I said.
They both gave me The Look. I ended up running 40 miles cold turkey that day, and to me there was nothing weird about that at all. To me, weird would have been not even showing up to at least run a few laps. Weird would have been making excuses I didn’t really have to avoid something I knew would be difficult, painful, and that I probably wouldn’t be 100% successful at.
Weird, really, is the lady in the car behind me at the red light, barking at my dog that she can see through the rear window. Yes. A lady. Barking. At my dog. Loud enough to be heard through both vehicles. I don’t care how you slice it, that’s weird.
I live my life outside what most people consider to be ordinary. To the layperson, I do seemingly pointless things; climbing to the tops of cliffs and mountains, sliding down snow with slippery boards attached to my feet, running distances farther than some people drive in a day. To them, these things are meaningless. Weird. But to me it is so much more than merely running for a long time or jamming metal pieces into cracks in a rock wall to get to the top. There are benefits that come from these pursuits that are not easily quantifiable and not easily explained to people who think that doing them in the first place is weird.
I’ve always prided myself in being different. I surround myself with people who like me for me, because there’s not much chance that I’ll change any time soon. If what I do and who I am is weird, then I’ll wear the label with pride, because I wouldn’t have things any different than they are now. So if you, like me, are a frequent recipient of The Look, take it as a compliment and smile inside with the smug satisfaction of knowing that your “normal” friends have no clue what they’re missing out on.
Mountain Gypsy
April 19, 2012
Greetings from the end of the road. I am excited to contribute to Geargals because it is my mission for women to take back the trails. I want all those women who stayed home because nobody else could go along, because someone told them they couldn’t, for whatever reason, I want them to be able to get outside!
I often remember when, as a group of three women, I was backpacking through New Zealand. We were struggling along the Routeburn Track in November. Snow pelted us on the passes and the creeks were high. We ran out of food on the second to last day and had to endure the sight of our fellow hut dwellers chowing down on pasta and chocolate. One day we ran into a middle-aged couple strolling toward us. The woman looked at us in horror. “How did you girls make it across the waterfalls without a man along?” she exclaimed. We were young then but to our credit we managed to hike around the bend before we collapsed in laughter.
Looking back it seems like I have always been in the woods. In our family there was no clear separation between the out of doors and inside. My parents would begin the loading of the canoe and tents on Friday evening, telling my sister and me only that we were “going on an adventure.” I thought all kids lived that way, camping on small islands in thunderstorms, hiking on long sandy beaches and exploring caves created by water and ice. It was a natural transition to become a park ranger, moving from national park to national park as the seasons changed. I crawled through caves with nervous tourists in my wake. I fought wildfires from Florida to Alaska. I kayaked, I carried big packs, I cleaned toilets. And I got paid for it. It was like living in a dream.
I still do some of these things, but I’m more settled down now. You know, it’s all about tradeoffs. I don’t have to live in bunkhouses or say goodbye to men I might have fallen in love with if only we had more time, if only, if only. I live in a log cabin sandwiched between the vastness of Hells Canyon and the peaks of the high Wallowas. Look it up. It’s the end of the road.
So much has changed in the outdoors world since I took my first solo adult backpack trip in Carlsbad Caverns National Park. In many ways it was harder then, with no GPS, no cell phones and heavy gear borrowed from whomever would lend it. But not having those things taught me a lot about self reliance and independence. I used to stand on the scale with my backpack topping 70 pounds and congratulate myself on how tough I was. Now I stand on the scale and throw things out to lessen the weight.
What hasn’t changed though is the gypsy soul that loves to get out there in the canyon, the mountains, the grasslands. I hope you follow along on some of my adventures.
Words We Need – And A Few To Forget
April 17, 2012
Sometimes the English language is so limiting. We don’t have words for critical things and when we do, we overuse them like crazy until they don’t mean the original thing they started out meaning. This is a problem for us outdoor writers because there’s only so many ways we can all keep saying the same things. Lingo is a real issue in this industry. We have to listen to it over and over and over and learning it seems to be step two in “becoming outdoorsy,” step one being “buy a North Face jacket.” The problem with all the lingo is that it has lots of simple words for simple things (for instance: dude/bro/man, nuking/puking/dumping, etc), but none at all for the more complex situations that arise in the outdoor sports world. We need words for these things:
1. That feeling you get when the twist tighteners on your trekking poles or ski poles just…won’t….grab. You turn and turn and turn and turn them, hoping to feel them ratchet down so you can continue on your way. It’s a special kind of aggravation. You’ve been standing there for ten minutes twisting the damn things and now you’re just. Getting. Pissed. Off!
2. That emotion you feel when you receive a last-second invitation to go skiing or bike riding and you really shouldn’t or don’t want to go or you have another commitment but it’s SO tempting and you almost resent your friend for inviting you and making you feel this way. You’d have been happier with the blissful assumption that there were no adventures on the schedule for the day. Now you just feel like anything you do will be the wrong decision. You can’t go and you can’t not go. Lose-lose. You hate your friend for putting you in this position, but you’re flattered he or she thought of you. You would rather do anything else than say yes, but you’re afraid that if you say no, the person will never ask you again even though you didn’t even want them to ask you in the first place. It’s a complex feeling, this one.
3. That split second between forgetting you’re wearing tele gear and remembering you’re wearing tele gear only because you tried to lean forward into the fronts of your ski boots to rest your legs for a moment, only to find no support. Free your heel, fall on your face for real. Similar to the feeling of being shoved off a cliff and being pulled back at the last second, but different, mostly due to the potential humiliation factor.
4. The smell of spring. Only Alaskans will understand this one, and maybe only Anchorageites at that. Is it moldy dog shit? Is it decomposed leaves? Is it rancid dirt? Fermented volcanic ash? Some sort of vegetation in revolting bloom? No one knows what it is but we all know what we’re talking about when we refer to it.
5. That particular behavior that almost all of us exhibit when we’re laden down with REAL climbing gear as we walk through a parking lot full of tubby tourists headed for the 200-yard overlook trail in flip flops and fanny packs. We make sure to put our harnesses on at your car and make DAMN sure our ropes are on the outside of our packs. It’s actually a cool feeling in itself; you feel awesome and righteous and like a mysterious hero. You cultivate a tightened jaw and a far-off look in your eye, looking past your fellow trailhead users, ignoring their stares as if contemplating some unknown danger. You act like a badass but inside you’re hoping no one realizes that you’re just off to hangdog up the three bolt 5.6 that is actually rated higher than it should be because it was set up by Boy Scouts as a Webelos graduation project.
If we had these words, well, this article would be a lot shorter. So as we find those words, let’s let a few others go. I’m so tired of the use – or, rather, misuse – of these words that I’d love it if we just dropped them altogether since they are now so far afield of their original meaning.
1. Epic.
A classic word that is now meaningless thanks to overuse. I am not the first one to point this out. Actually just pointing out that epic is overused is overused in itself. Let’s break this cycle. Stop using this word, especially when using it to describe your own self. If YOU have to tell people you’re epic, you’re not. The classic meaning of “epic” describes Homeric journeys, Touching-the-Void-esque traumatic experiences, and adventures so amazingly huge that they’re the stuff of universal legend, living on in history well after you yourself are dry dust in your grave. Is your trip something like that? Then no. It’s not epic. Stop it.
2. Paleo
For the love of dog. No one is eating a paleolithic era diet. If you had to eat like cavemen, you’d expire before the age of thirty, like they did. I think our heavy-browed ancestors would, if they could comprehend it, be affronted to hear a bunch of coddled moderners calling themselves “paleo” for heading to the supermarket and buying themselves a pre-packaged steak and eschewing dairy, not knowing that milk is an utter bonus for a nearly-starving, living-off-the-land hunter. A true paleolithic homonid would never eschew the free-gift-with-purchase that is a full udder of milk. Stop insulting his good name by referring to your life as even remotely “paleo”. You’re not a caveman. You’re a spoiled Westerner with so much food you have to think up a fancy name for “eating less.”
3. Sick.
The snow is sick, is it? That jump was sick, that ice line is sick, the resort is skiing and riding sick this year, sick, sick, sick. It’s supposed to mean “really good.” Dumbest use of a word ever.
4. Diva
I still see this word out and about in the world and I just despise it. Don’t call your kid a “little diva”. That means she’s a little demanding, imperious bitch. Why do people think this is a good idea? It’s starting to be used as a synonym for “woman” and that just sucks. Women aren’t “divas” by default and there are certainly plenty of males who exhibit divalike behavior; we don’t call all dudes “divas” or name their gear after the concept. Maybe we should see some guys’ gear called the “Douchebag;” that would even things up. Thankfully we’re seeing fewer products named “diva” which is great, but I’d like to see this word go back to being used in its proper context only. Or go away entirely.
5. Sweet
This one only counts as horrendous if you say it in a high-pitched, reverse-emphasis screech. You know what I mean – maybe the specific way people say this word is another thing we need a word for, unless that word is “beyond irritating.” I don’t know where this started but when people say “Suh-weeeeet!” in this singsong, I’m-so-excited-I-could-pee-my-pants way they seem to think they were the first ones to think of it and that it’s hilarious and that everyone will laugh and smile and admire them as the very embodiment of hilarity and perfect comic timing. This word is on par with the seemingly-new trend of male giggling (also in a fake high pitch. Coincidence? I think not) with the most annoying new language trends.
A Trip For All Seasons
April 14, 2012
Had a pretty good morning out on a classic Southcentral outing. We have trips for all seasons; meaning that we always have something to look forward to as the seasons change. This one really can only be done for about 2-3 weeks every spring when crust conditions are perfect. We stretched the timing and things got a little soft, requiring pushing instead of riding up to the pass. The descent was super fun, though – who knew you could carve turns on a fat bike?
Come Alive
April 14, 2012
If you haven’t noticed, spring is here!!
I love spring. Growing up in North Carolina, it was the time of year when the sun was finally staying out past 5 o’clock and the weather was perfectly warm. Spring was the calm before the storm of scorching heat and drowning humidity that is a southern summer. It was a time where the world came back to life, bursting with color and happiness. Driving past the golf courses on the way to school, I could smell fresh cut grass even with my windows closed (which they never really were). Dogwoods and pine trees lined the streets, painting the scene with color and our cars yellow with pollen. Every day after school, we bubbled with excitement knowing that we were one day closer to the end of the year.
Spring time in New York, where I went to college, was equally exciting. It was a time when I could finally unpack my climbing tank tops and shorts but the evenings were still cool enough that you could still comfortably sit close to the campfire. What I remember most from my college experience is breaking away from the dreary, oppressive gray of campus to wander the hills and cliffs around the Shawangunks, breathing the fresh air, smelling nature, and feeling so completely free. But looking back, spring even made West Point seem less like a prison and more like a college campus. The air was electric with cadets excited to not be confined to their rooms and not having to navigate icy sidewalks in their tread-less low quarters.
Spring in Alaska is different. This year, there’s still tons of snow on the ground and this morning on the radio, two people called in to say that they’d seen snowfall. Instead of being yellow from pollen, cars are brown from a mixture of road gravel and melting snow streaming down the streets. Bears are waking up from hibernation and they’re hungry. Moose have had to wade through 10 feet of snow all winter and they’re grumpy. The dog poo in my back yard that’s been covered by snow is starting to emerge.
But there are no more days with less than five hours of daylight. Now we have over 14 hours of light and rising. The past two weeks have been stunningly beautiful, with temperatures near 50 degrees and hardly a cloud in the sky (not counting last Saturday when we got several inches of snow). A few weekends ago, I was hiking with a friend along a frozen river and at one point we had to step over a tree that had fallen across the trail. When I put my foot down on the tree the most amazing thing happened. I smelled bark. It was a glorious smell that literally stopped me in my tracks. Snow doesn’t smell. After six months of no smells, that bark was like a drug. I so badly missed the smell of grass and dirt and nature.
Sunlight soothes my soul. Warmth blossoms it. The breeze lifts it and the rocks ground it. Some of the most important lessons I’ve learned have been taught to me by nature. I need all the seasons. To me, they are the earth’s way of keeping itself and its inhabitants in line. After a summer of life, fall brings hints of colder days. Trees wear yellow leaves like wrinkles on and elderly face and animals prepare to bunk down for more difficult times. Winter comes and brings a killing cold with it. With the seasons, there is life and there is death It’s a subtle reminder that nothing is forever. But then there is life again and a chance to appreciate it more this time than you did the last. Spring brings this life and gently prepares us for summer.
It’s been interesting to experience spring in the different places I’ve lived. No matter the differences, spring always makes me feel so alive. I’m brushing off my hiking boots and hanging up (most of) my down. The cool thing about Alaska is you never really have to put your snow sports on hold. You can ice climb on the glaciers and, if you know where to look, you can find skiing. But I’m more than ready to pitch the tent, build a fire, and drink a beer while I reflect on how great the kayaking was or how good it felt on the hike when I reached the top. I’m ready for dirt under my fingernails, mud on my boots, and sun on my face.
Take some time today or this weekend to go outside. Maybe you just go for a walk around the block. Maybe you find a local park or maybe you go do your favorite hike. Heck, maybe you even just park a few spaces further from the door. Whatever your speed, go outside. Take time to notice the flowers and the animals that weren’t there before. Smell the smells. Let your skin soak up some sunlight that it hasn’t seen in months. It’ll be worth it, I promise. Spring is here!! Don’t let it pass you by.
Content Roundup
April 13, 2012
I got this idea from the badasses at Chicks Climbing. They do a weekly Gossip Report that brings together all the blogosphere happenings that are of interest to the Chicks of Climbing and their worshipers. Let’s be real; it’s unlikely I’ll be motivated enough to do this weekly or even regularly, but it’s a great idea and, while I diligently work behind the scenes to develop a blogroll, it’s a great way for me to pass on to you the things I thought were of note in the outdoor blog world. Here goes!
BRENDAN LEONARD IS SINGLE. Brendan wants you to know that he’s single and motivated to find a special friend so that his mother will get off his back about joining Match.com. He also wants you to know that he lives in a van so unless you’re into that, don’t bother coming ’round, though undoubtedly you’ll be tempted because – and trust me on this – he IS that good looking in real life.
Eric Parsons, God of Fat Bike Accessory Bags, wrote this adorable and fun race report after skiing the White Mountains 100. His report makes me want to do a race that he’s doing just so that I know there’s someone else on the course laughing about it all.
I have a new writer here on Geargals.com and I think she’s gonna be a good one. Check out Morgan’s blog here.
Jessica Gottlieb shows us in blunt fashion the sad truth about the state of women’s sports. Her daughter must wear barely-ass-length spandex bottoms to play a sport teenage boys get to play in knee-length baggy shorts. This post made me wish I had kids so that I could make a bigger deal out of this. Jess says it’s “not the hill she’s willing to die on” but surely there is a mom out there who will dig in her heels and draw a line in the sand. Why are we letting barely-teenage girls be targets for pervs? Sigh. I suppose that’s nothing new.
My idol Kim Kircher links to a beautiful video that is sure to make you a) want to learn to snowboard and b) appreciate the groomed runs if you haven’t done so in a while.
Kim also shows us that skiing with a bladder on a rope is a great idea. I love watching videos with other bloggers in them; it makes me feel like I’m getting a glimpse of a celebrity.
Rainey Hopson gives her standard eloquent glimpse into the true Alaska as she discusses the subsistence lifestyle lived in most Alaska communities.
Some of my favorite people on the planet get together and ride bikes, documented by Sierra – a sure recipe to make me miss the Yukon though it’s not that much different from where I actually live.
Super cute and rather blunt take on dating climbers by Natalie Duran, whose blog I just discovered.
If you can’t possibly get enough of my own writing on this site, you can find it on other sites like the Alyeska Resort blog:
Hug a Groomer – if you liked the video Kim linked to, you’ll want to hug a groomer just like me.
Ski Happy – if you are grouchy while you’re skiing, do us all a favor and just quit and take up bowling. Skiing is for happy people because skiing makes you happy!
Last Chance For Spring Wine Dinners – okay, so this will be dated in just two weeks but if you’re in Alaska you might be interested. Those wine dinners are damn tasty. If you didn’t get Eddie Izzard tickets for that night (brag: I did!) you should go to the wine dinner instead.
Sugar and Spice and Everything Outdoors
April 2, 2012
When Jill asked me to be a writer for Geargals.com I was crazy excited. I discovered Jill’s site through Twitter and after spending some time browsing through the reviews and Jill’s blog, I posted a tweet something along the lines of “My new life goal is to become a Geargal!” And now look at me!! Now that I’ve achieved my life goal, I’m going to retire, live in an RV in Moab, and spend all my time climbing and walking around barefoot. Except I’m under contract by the government for three more years and I have a husband who likes to spend all my money so I guess that won’t work too well.
I’d like to take a quick moment to tell you a bit about myself. I grew up in a small town in North Carolina far from the mountains. Dad was a doctor and Mom was a nurse, turned full-time mom, turned nurse again when we flew the coop. I had a fortunate childhood but we didn’t do much outside. As kids, my siblings and I would run around the backyard and climb trees but we had no real exposure to the outdoors. My dad worked a lot and I don’t think there is anything you can say to get my mom to sleep outside. She’s a real southern belle; she was raised as a lady.
I was too, but I think the wires got crossed somewhere along the way and I’m not really sure what went wrong. My parents taught me great manners. I learned how to dress nicely and compose myself well while out to a fancy dinner with their friends and work colleagues. I think my dad hoped I’d marry a doctor or lawyer. Instead, I married a climbing bum. These days, I’d much rather be drinking beer around a campfire eating mac and cheese with a fork that’s been dropped in the dirt at least five times and then casually brushed off on the side of my pants (or licked clean by the dog).
My first real exposure to the outdoors came the summer after my sophomore year of college when I took a climbing course that taught me how to trad climb. I met an awesome guy named Jaymie during the course and we spent a lot of time together that summer climbing and camping. When winter rolled around he taught me how to ice climb and I don’t think there was a single weekend that year that we weren’t outside doing something. He graduated that spring, a year ahead of me. I spent the next year struggling to find climbing partners but never missing an opportunity to go outside. I did a lot of hiking and camping by myself.
One night, two ladies approached me, fascinated by the fact that I was camping alone. They confided that they just weren’t brave enough to do it by themselves and I explained that it was easy. We were at a pretty popular campground, so I’d just make friends with a few of my neighbors and keep a knife beside me while I slept at night, just in case. Other than that, there’s a certain relaxing quality to camping alone, just you, the campfire, and your thoughts. I hope I was able to empower those two ladies to try something they thought they couldn’t do.
Once I graduated, Jaymie and I got married and I joined him here in Alaska where we’re both stationed in the Army. He’s taught me a lot about the outdoors, including how to ski this year, and hopefully I’ve taught him a thing or two as well. I feel a sort of fundamental necessity to be outside, and if there’s anything I love more than recreating in the great outdoors, it’s teaching others how to enjoy Mother Nature’s playground as much as I do.
When I talk about what I did over the weekend to my colleagues at work, I’m often approached by my female coworkers who think what I do is unbelievable and say that they could never do it. I tell them that there’s nothing particularly exceptional about me and that if I can do it, so can they. I took a friend camping once who’d lived in Anchorage her whole life and never spent a night outside. When she asked me where the bathroom was, I pointed to the bushes and she said, “I was afraid you’d say that.” She came back with a smug look on her face and I could tell that she was proud of herself for peeing in the woods for the very first time. And that’s what it’s all about. Accomplishing something, no matter how small, that you didn’t think you could do.
Part of the Geargals philosophy is empowering women to get outdoors and try new things and it’s a philosophy I stand behind 100%. On any given day in the mountains, I’m very likely to not ever see another woman out there, no matter how many men I encounter. I think that should change. We’re already taking over in sports like rock climbing and ultra-marathons. As much as I like hanging out with dudes, it’d be nice to have more climbing days where I didn’t have to deal with their morning farts and Red Bull burps.
Ladies, it’s time to get out there and show the world what we’re made of.
Human + Bicycle = Target
April 1, 2012
So there I am, riding my fat bike on a grey and rainy Alaska spring breakup day. The roads are flooded with meltwater, the sidewalks and bike trails are either choked with snow and slush or coated in slick ice, and the cars are traveling three times as fast as normal because there’s finally no ice on the roads. Therefore I’m riding in the road; about six feet from the snowbank because there’s so much debris and so many deep puddles on the side of the road, making it not possible to use the sidewalk or bike lane. It’s a small street, very little traffic anyway. As I head down a hill, a municipal snowplow truck turns onto the road headed my way. The driver sees two pedestrians on his side of the road, and opts to give them a wide berth – pulling straight into my lane, aiming for a certain head-on collision if I don’t act.
I slam on my brakes with no other option, and my bike skids sideways. The plow truck ponderously goes back to its own lane; my angry shouts are met by a shrug from the Municipal employee whom I’m currently trying my best to contact via the city government. I shake my head in disbelief. The plow truck driver had seen me coming; all he had to do was wait until I rode past before he moved to pass the pedestrians. But because I’m on a bike, it’s OK to try to hit me head-on?
A few seconds later the Subaru behind me passes me, so close that its door brushes my pogie. I gesture even more rudely at that driver, who also offers a “what can I do?” shrug. There was no traffic headed towards us; the driver clearly came that close on purpose. Naturally this aggressive move gets him nowhere for he is stopped by a red light, at which I catch up to him and confront him.* “That was way too close, man!” I say. “One mistake and I’d be dead. Is it worth it to you?”
“You were too far out into the road, acting like you had every right to be there,” he says, confirming my belief that he grazed me on purpose.
“I do have every right to be there,” I reply. “Look it up. You could have killed me, and why? To make a point? Because you’re in a car and I’m on a bike, you think it’s OK to risk killing me because YOU think I’m too far onto the road?”
“You are giving every biker a bad name!” sputters the man.
“We ride bikes, too!” Injects his wife, who you’ll recall was about two inches away from my bike as her husband passed me moments earlier.
“Good,” I say. “The next time a driver scares the hell out of you when you’re riding, I hope you think back on this day and realize what a jackass you were and how dangerous your actions have been.”
What gets me about this episode that the pedestrians in the picture were given a wide berth. If I had been walking instead of riding a bike, no doubt the Subaru driver would have given me space. Hell, if I’d been driving my truck there is NO WAY they would have tried to drive that close just to try to make their point.
What is it about being a on a bike that makes people think it’s OK to try purposefully to scare you or make you swerve or try to hurt you? What is it that makes them think your life is worthless and that the fact that they’re in a car means that you could be jelly under their wheels and not only would they not care, but they’d think you got what you deserved? It’s chilling.
Last year I met with the Anchorage mayor, police chief, and other planners and staff about bike safety in the Municipality. The general consensus from the group was that public safety messages should be directed towards bikers, telling them how to ride more safely; that bike riders should take classes to teach them how to ride in traffic. No messages for drivers at all. No confirmations that people on bikes are, you know, people – humans. Nothing indicating that maybe drivers should chill out, slow down, be courteous and safe around bicycles, or else someone could get hurt.
Nope. Evidently you only have value as a human until you get on a bicycle. Then, anything that happens to you seems to be A-OK with a whole bunch of people out there.
What gives?
*Note: I am EXTREMELY tempted to post this person’s license plate number.
Who Wants It More?
April 1, 2012
A huge welcome to the newest Geargal, Morgan. Morgan I and met when she started following my blog and telling me how much she liked it. That’s a quick way into my heart so we soon became real life friends. Morgan is an utter badass; a military officer and West Point graduate who moved to Alaska about a year or so ago and has taken to learning her way around all things Alaskan. I can barely keep up with Morgan unless we’re both on skis; that’s the one thing I can still beat her at, though knowing her that’s not going to last for long.
Morgan told me about her time at West Point and her descriptions of having to perform at the same level as much larger men while hamstrung by gear that didn’t remotely fit her struck a real chord with me; after all when I worked as a police officer years ago, I wasn’t even issued a bulletproof vest because my department didn’t want to bother with the expense. My firefighter’s helmet was so big that it fell off on a regular basis (but luckily the fire department I volunteered with quickly got me another one that did fit). Women in male-dominated professions still have to consistently outperform their male counterparts while not being given equal access to simple things like gear that fits, just to be taken remotely seriously.
I started the Geargals blog in large part because at the time, women’s outdoor gear was in a pretty shabby state, with few options for the serious woman outdoors enthusiast. Things are much better for us now, but the American military lags behind, claiming that adequate gear and life-saving armor for female soldiers is “just a bridge too far right now.” I asked Morgan to write something about the gear she had to wear in school, and she wrote up this fascinating piece. She’s agreed to be a regular contributor on Geargals and I’m really stoked to have a new voice on the blog. Read on for Morgan’s first post and join me in looking forward to hearing more from her!
~Jill, Head Geargal.
“Madam, I apologize for addressing you Sir. Please accept apology.
Isaiah”
It’s an email the likes of which I’ve gotten numerous times in my six years of military correspondence. In the Army, we’re identified by our rank, instead of Mr. or Mrs., and it can be confusing since Morgan is a unisex name which, in my experience, trends toward male. This email came after several in which he’d addressed me as “Sir” and I’m not really sure how he found out I am a she. I didn’t correct him. I stopped doing so, and stopped getting frustrated with the mistake, years ago. Instead, I just laughed and accepted his apology.
In college, I wrote a paper on Lt. Gen. Ann Dunwoody. General Dunwoody was the first woman to make the rank of brigadier general (the lowest of the four general ranks- a “one-star”) in the army. In her autobiography, she talks about her early army days and how, as a junior officer, she spent a lot of time chasing jobs that would advance her career. In response to this, most of her (male) superiors basically told her that a pretty woman’s only place in the army was to decorate the office. In 2008, Gen. Dunwoody became the first female four-star general. She showed them.
Gen. Dunwoody was commissioned in 1975. The army has come a long way since then, but as a woman in a male-dominated business, I know first-hand that there is still much work to be done. When I showed up for my first day of cadet basic training at West Point in the summer of 2006, I was issued equipment that looked like it’d been around since Vietnam. The frame of the ruck was too big for me, so I could never get the lumbar pad to sit anywhere but right on my ass and the hooks that attached the suspenders to the weapons belt (worn underneath the ruck) caused chronic bruising on my back.
When we went on ruck marches, my 5’5”, 118lb self was expected carry as much weight as, and keep up with, all the guys. That’s exactly how I think it should be. However, I always considered myself a lot tougher than them since, when walking next to the 6+ feet tall dudes (whose rucks fit properly) I usually had to take five steps to their one to keep the pace. Eventually I took to jogging, since it was much less painful than walking. While every guy in my platoon walked the 13 mile march, I ran it. Whatever it takes, right?
During my junior year, we were lucky enough to receive new, “improved” gear. I anticipated this new equipment because I assumed that it would be more female-friendly (ie. could be modified to fit a smaller frame). I was disappointed to see that the rucksack frames were only bigger and frustrated to learn that not only had they not ordered any extra-small ballistic vests, but they’d run out of smalls, so I’d have to deal with a medium. The 175lb dude behind me also got a medium, and his fit him. If you’ve ever low-crawled through mud wearing your entire kit you’ll know that a too-big vest snags on EVERYTHING and becomes a major obstacle. Proper fit is crucial.
And the uniforms. Oh, the uniforms. I don’t know who was put in charge of designing them, but they must not have ever seen or “interacted” with a woman because they don’t seem to know that our anatomy is different. We come with hips and boobs. For me, the boobs thing isn’t an issue, but the hips thing is. The regular ACUs work well enough but we have special pants for the wintertime in Alaska which are straight cut down the sides. They come with Velcro attachments and zippers on the sides at the waist and ankles so they can be taken off with boots on. If I wear my appropriate size, I have to Velcro the waistband, then unzip them slightly around the hips so my ass doesn’t look like it’s stuffed into a sausage casing. The next size up just falls off unless I cinch them down with a belt so there’s a foot of extra fabric bunched up around my waist.
And the dress uniforms? Oh, those make me so mad I won’t even go there. All I have to say is, I don’t even plan on wearing grandma-pants that come up to my rib cage when I’m 80. Why would I want to wear them now? And why would anyone think that looks professional?
Barriers are opening up for women. Technically, we’re not allowed to be in combat but it happens all the time. Military Police conduct regular patrols on streets and in cities, female soldiers included. Female Engagement Teams travel with infantry units into towns to interact with the local women and collect information. Transportation personnel, like me, conduct convoys between bases to deliver food and supplies. The army has come a long way and I only see things continuing to progress.
But it’s still tough. The ones of us who care about bolstering our image as tough, capable women work our butts off to be seen as equals in the men’s eyes. Unfortunately, all it takes is one lazy, weak female who manages to squeak by to ruin it for everyone. It’s happened to me and it’s frustrating as all hell. My hard work has paid off before though. While in Airborne school last fall, we had a crusty old Marine Corps major in our platoon who I respected because of his quiet but demanding presence. He was someone you innately hoped would approve of you.
During the final week of the course, we had to run to and from the airstrip from our barracks. The girl next to me could not run for the life of her. She’d drop back and begin to walk, which threw the whole formation out of whack. So I started pushing her. I did it going down the hill and going up. I didn’t want to help her, but this girl was going to pass the class because daddy was a colonel, so I simply tried to minimize how many people saw her fall out of every run and then watch her graduate (several soldiers, including men, were dropped from the course for falling out of the runs). At the end of the course, the major pulled me to the side and paid me some of the best compliments I’ve ever gotten from a person of his stature. The Marines are a die-hard group and here was a guy who’d been one for a long time complimenting me on representing myself and female army officers well. It was a proud moment.
The male-bias shows up in my outdoor recreations pursuits as well, although for the most part it’s not as bad and I’ve met many men, including my husband, who don’t really care how long it takes me to get up the mountain as long as I’m out there doing what I love and having fun. It’s not to say that I take my time. I still do what I can to not slow the group down, and to carry my weight, and I do an internal fist pump every time I skin or hike past a guy on the mountain. I’ve met a lot of tough guys out there, but I’ve also met a lot of hard-core chicks who could kick most guys’ asses.
My hope is that women will continue to make headway in male-dominated ventures and will continue to have more and more opportunities open to them. Technologies are starting to improve for us, putting us right in the ball-game with the men. We’re keeping up with them and we don’t intend on quitting any time soon. So guys, next time you see me coming up hot on your heels and decide to speed up so I don’t pass you, don’t bother. I want it more than you do.
When not at her day job, Morgan spends her time writing for her blog and doing things outside. She enjoys climbing, skiing, camping and generally making the outdoors her personal playground. She also has a (supposedly) unhealthy obsession with running long distances, like the time she ran 40 miles off the couch and the 100-miler she has scheduled for this fall. Morgan lives in Alaska with her husband and her dog, Sophie, who both share her passion for adventure. Her goals in life include living in an RV, owning a Sprinter van, and completely covering her car-top cargo box with bumper stickers from places she’s been.
