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water in the desert

water in the desert

A few years ago now, my friend Joe Parkin guest-edited Dirt Rag magazine, and he asked me to write a story for it. With Dirt Rag sadly gone and the story likely to disappear into my magazine pile forever before long, I decided to put it here for safekeeping.

This is a story about bikes and friends and recalcitrant trails, and the ways that our worlds collide in ways we never quite expect.

I have included Joe P’s original introduction, because it made me laugh at the time, and it still does. I reproduced this thing from my original file, so any errors belong to me. Don’t blame Joe. He’s totally innocent. The Oxford commas, for example, all mine.

My friend Jen See has a big brain—as in Ph.D. big. Despite that, she writes a lot of stuff about bikes. When she’s not writing about bike-related things, she surfs. A couple of years ago, she gave me a copy of Chas Smith’s Welcome to Paradise, Now Go to Hell, which is a totally awesome read, by the way. [Jen: Heh, that’s where my copy went!] Recently, she went on a media trip that included a trail that I don’t like at all. She didn’t either. Mostly. Though she ended up finding something positive. I asked her to write a piece that felt like Chas Smith [Like I could really ever ghostwrite Chas!] but was still completely Jen See [That part, I can do, for better or worse]. I think she did it. —Joe Parkin

We’d driven out to the desert with mountain bikes and beers, the necessary ingredients for a weekend of trouble making. Up a muddy road, the campsite sat high on a mesa overlooking the torrid landscape of southern Utah. We pitched tents and pulled cactus thorns from our fingers. Clouds billowed overhead, promising a future storm. I didn’t like the look of that, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Sometimes I regret my life choices.

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queen steph

It’s the unique burden of women athletes that they have to argue for the existence of their sports. If an event isn’t interesting, critics are quick to jump to the conclusion that women shouldn’t have contests and shouldn’t compete at all. Men’s sports, well, of course, we have men’s sports. Men are considered the default. No one would really argue that men’s sports shouldn’t exist. And yet, it happens all the time with women’s events. No one got barreled? Well, why do they even have a contest of their own. Or at least, so runs the argument. — You can read more if you like!

i forget stuff

Hey hi I am bad at remembering things including it seems, updating my website. Which, I am supposed to have and keep current and whatnot. As I have said before and I will say many times more, I am bad at the things. It’s been almost a year, so why not update it, I said today. So here we are.

Should I tell you some things I wrote about? Sure, you’ll say, tell me all about those things. Let’s just do this listicle style, shall we?

It appears I spent a lot of time in Lemoore at Surf Ranch without ever going surfing. This makes no sense, but who said anything had to make sense in this world. For Men’s Journal, I hung out at the Founders Cup event and dragged my cameras around the 700-meter pool. Also, I wrote about drinking truck stop coffee on the Grapevine along the way. This ain’t a boat trip.

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public lands

Bikes and public lands go together like chocolate and peanut butter. Or, well, anything else you can think of that go together well. Pretty much all the riding you do is on public land, so government decisions about things like national monuments, road maintenance, bike paths — all the things, really — matter for cycling. I wrote about what reducing the size of Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante means for cyclists. Read more at Bicycling.

i need a parachute

With the Airlift vest, Quiksilver wants to help you survive your next surfing wipe-out. In collaboration with Scuba equipment experts Aqua Lung, they’ve built an inflatable bladder into a neoprene shirt, similar to a wetsuit top. Pull one of four tabs on the front and a CO2 canister will inflate the bladder and propel you to the surface. It’s just like a parachute for surfing. — Read more at Men’s Journal.