Spring

Spring in Utah always comes as a surprise, like a best friend your haven't seen in ages showing up to a party unannounced; shock, surprise, and joy overcome you. The days begin to wax with sunlight little by little, pushing out winters long nights in favor of evening spent on the patio and on the bike.

Spring nights are what I fall in love with, year after year. On the first few warm nights the smell of bbq grills and fire pits fill the air, regardless the day of the week. The scent of hickory and charcoal seem omnipresent. Then the flowers on trees begin to bloom and every day ride through the city is filled with sweet aromas of tree blossoms and sunshine. What was frozen in winter begins to warm and decay, filling noses with the sweet smell of decaying organic matter and the base of trees, where fall leaves were left to feed earths cycle.

Late night rides through the city are filled with the stories of spring being whispered throughout every neighborhood via scent. The smell of fabric softener from a dryer vent mixes with scent of glowing coals from a fire pit. I inhale deep, like testing the smell of clothes from a campfire the day after. As I pass main street I notice the hemlines and shirt lengths have become shorter, a stark contrast to the apparel found on the average bar goer in Salt Lake in December.  I get a waft of garlic as I pedal past a home, wondering what their dinner was. The delicate smell of plants in bloom weaves itself through the ride till I arrive home. I take in one last breath before I go inside. A smile overcomes me and I am reminded that all is well. 

Why I Ride

I could see from the look on my teachers face, she was worried about me riding my bike home in the dark. I've seen this look on many people before. The making of the worry face is usually followed by questions like "How far are you riding again?" "Are you SURE you don't need a ride?" "Are you going to be warm enough?" I've been asked all of these questions many times over the last 10 years, and I always respond the same, "I'll be warm enough, it's not that far, and I'm positive I don't need a ride."

There is a sharp disconnect between people who ride bikes medium to long distances, regularly, and people who might jump on their cruiser bike once a year for a bar crawl or trip to the ice cream shop with the kids. The disconnect makes the annual bike riders (who are mostly car drivers) think that those who ride regularly, and in all weather must be out of their damn minds. We aren't out of our minds, we just know something you don't; a knowledge of how the city is laid out for the perfect ride home and intimate details of every neighborhood we ride through.

    Tonight was the first time in a while I've done a ride longer than tooling around downtown Salt Lake to get errands done. Six miles to class, seven miles home, for a grand total of a 13 mile day. It felt great. No... it felt absolutely fantastic. Zipping along 300 East on my way to my Thursday night class allowed my mind to wander, my legs to get into a rhythm and for my heart rate to elevate a bit. The sun was just starting to set over the Oquirrh Mountains, casting shades of pink and orange across the sky. I don't ride south much on 300 East, so the architecture and styles of homes along the way caught my eye. They reminded me of the Harvard/Yale neighborhood, but without Mercedes in the drive ways. 

   

     When I got back on the road after class, the roads were quiet. The sounds of car stereos played late night jazz on KUER and the beats of ethnic music. As I passed over State St Davey Davis passed by on the opposite side of the street, and we hollered out to each other. The familiar smell of laundry in the dryer and someones late night dinner filled my nose. I'm experiencing snippets of other peoples lives in the few seconds it takes for me to ride by their house. 

 These experiences are what keep me riding a bike. I miss them when I'm in a car. Never are we so intimately acquainted with a city as when we are on foot or by bike.

The word for 2015 and why I'm reviving this old bird

My friend Jessica has ignited a fire in me these days. I sort of want to just word vomit this all out, but I'll try to make it clear and concise.

Jessica is a lifestyle blogger, skier, inspirer, and graphic designer, and all around good soul. She was telling me that in the bloggesphere, bloggers will pick a word every year and meditate on it, try to live their life to include that word in it. I like this challenge. It makes you think about what word you want to live your life more centered around.

I joked with Jessica that my word was 'bird' because "Bird is the word, is the word..." is the worst.joke.ever.  After a giggle and inspiring session talking with Jessica I was meditating more on what word I would want to live more for everyday this year and I chose 'kindness'. Not like 'random acts of kindness' or being sweet to little old ladies. Just not being a jackass. I can be a pretty visceral person. Get me on a toot about something and chances are I'll end up insulting your dead grandmother and not apologizing for it.

    I want to live 2015 dedicated to having the patience to choose kindness when being mean and spiteful is easy. At the times when the internet has torn my personal image and business to shreds, I want to ignore these people and choose to be kind to them, if they ever rear their heads out of their mom's basement to come get kombucha from me (hah! I kid!).

   I want to be kind to my body. Treat it with respect by moving it everyday and shaking out the dust that seems to settle in my joints all to frequently as I age. I want to live a more kind diet that is good for my body and the planet. I also want to be kind to the planet. The place that sustains human life, gives us our life force, and keeps us breathing. I want to drive less, bike more, use my transit pass, and not bitch about traffic. And I want to be kinder to my brain by writing things out and publishing them here. I'm never going to share a single fucking link to this on Facebook, but it will be here, lurking, and so will you, creeper.

   So here's to a kinder 2015. May we reflect the intentions we present to the universe. 

These days

These days I find myself opening up to the world more. Letting myself be vulnerable to what is out there and exploring the world through the lenses of the internet (when I am stuck in the office) or observing the daily happenings around the city.  I've always really enjoyed getting older. I feel like my mind is opening up a little more, I'm a little less ideal and a little more realistic. But with all of this comes the need to accept what I can't control. What is up to the universe to decide. And I hate it some days. I hate that I can't stop someone from getting cancer. I can't bring back the people I've lost and I can't stop loving the people I some times shouldn't. I always thought that letting go was easy, but it isn't when you just want that person/ thing/ animal/ t-shirt/ favorite pair of sneakers back in your life.  These days it's a person, but some times it's a place and time I want back. Even if just for a minute. What if it all worked out like we had planned. What if we never gave up and instead we gave in to each other? Would we still be 'we' and not you and me?

I wouldn't take back the past 12 months of my life if I was paid to. They have been the most painful, heart wrenching, laughable, encouragable, and educational 12 months of my life and this I am thankful for. I am thankful for every reminder to keep moving forward, keep fighting for what I want in life, and for not giving up when I wanted to the most. I have so much gratitude to the universe for everything that has happened in my life. For every step I've taken to keep this ball rolling.

Mother to Son

My mom gave me this poem when I was in high school, doing a presentation on Langston Hughes for my AP History class. These days it's more of a daily matra.

Mother to Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

Creativity

The problem with wanting to write creative works is when you can't find the words to say what you need to in a timely manner. so often I find myself stumped to tell the story I want to. My word choice isn't right, the sentence structure doesn't flow, and the story is choppy. I find myself trying to please to many people with one story, instead of trying to tell it to a single audience. This usually related to when I am writing about bikes. I want to inspire everyone to try riding a bike. EVERYONE. So instead of telling the story of how I came in 5th in the women's C category at the CX state champtionship to an audience that does CX, I end up explain it like I am telling the story to a classroom of five year-olds. You can't please everyone with what you write, and I should probably stop trying.

Fruita

The cold, gently breeze danced across my face for most of the night as the moon light beat into my eyes. I should have known better than to not bring a tent, but I never mind sleeping under the stars. I pulled the hood of my down jacket over my eyes and pulled the edges of my sleeping bag closer to my body.

Sleep was a vague memory by the time I figured out the morning light was no longer the full moon, casting a shadow of the juniper trees over my eyes. As the morning quickly began to break I realized this was the only time I would have alone that day. The rest of my time would be filled with navigating trails, and as it turns out, pulling an armada of cactus spikes from my right knee. I hurried and unzipped the bottom of my sleeping bag, shoving my feet into my green and black approach shoes. As I stood up remnants of the previous nights poor decisions tumbled around in my stomach. I bee-lined it for my Nuun tablets and a water bottle.

As two tablets of lemonade Nuun dissolved in my water bottle I parked myself on the bench of the picnic table, facing east to watch the sunrise. I came to the desert for this moment. To watch the sky change from shades of dark blue to azure, briefly settling on cyan with hints of coral pink against the white clouds before the sky burst with light. In the city I can watch the sun rise, but the sound is different. The sounds of nature are muted by the low growls of moving vehicles and a high pitched laughs of children walking to the elementary school across the street. I came here because I wanted to remember what mother nature sounds like when she wakes in the morning, and what it feels like to be pushed awake by her  gentle force.

As the sun began to rise higher in the sky my ride mates shook themselves free of their tents and hammocks, dressing in their ride clothes before we took to the trails before breakfast. The stillness of the morning broken by the sound of Chris King hubs and the whirling of our drivetrains.

Juxtipostitions

As I filled jars with homemade applesauce tonight I finally realized a few things about myself. Though I would love to expound on my self discovery, this numbered list will do for now.

1. I really enjoy canning my own food. No, I won't go crazy and can everything, but what I am doing now works for my life style.
2. Some days I want to spend my evenings working on my bikes, making sure they are in top condition for race day or for my commute to work, other nights I want to roast vegetables and enjoy a leisurely dinner while listening to beautiful music.
3. There is a difference between riding your bike fast and being fast on your bike. The former takes effort to achieve but makes you giddy when you realize you are fast.
4. Though I complain endlessly about having long hair, it has finally grown on me (pun intended?).
5. I thoroughly enjoy wearing an incredibly cute apron while cooking. There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel sexy while making lentil soup.
6. When you surround yourself with good people good things happen in your life.
7. I will forever love riding my bike. No man, woman, or child will ever change the relationship I have with my two wheeled steeds.

On Good Taste and Success

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. 
For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know its normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. 
Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”
― Ira Glass

As black beans simmer in the slow cooker in the kitchen and I write this, laying in my loft bed in my tiny one bedroom apartment, I have a million things that seem to all have the same ambition of leaving my brain at the same time and become genius works. This is not possible. Bike builds, recipes, true stories, fiction stories, interviews, photos that need to be edited. Amid the stress, Ira Glass made more sense than anything I wrote today.

Gina posted this article on facebook the other day about journalism majors. It made me think of why I majored in journalism and why it makes me so happy. I wouldn't be where I am today without majoring in journalism. It just wouldn't have happened. To anyone who tells you to "change your major because you are never going to make any money". Don't. Sure, there are going to be a few shitty years of making no money, doing crappy work, and asking yourself, "Is this worth it?" It is. It is worth every inverted pyramid you write, every blog post that sucks ass, and every shitty first draft you create.

Write Somthing

"Write something." He said to me.
I looked at him with scared eyes, trying to hide my fear.
"You will get it. Don't worry."

I stared at the keyboard, fingers perched on the home row. I waited for the words to come. Fishing around my brain for the right thing to say. I started to type and then stopped. I wanted this to be perfect the first time. The words had to be right, now. Nothing was coming to me. I went deeper into my mind, a jumbled mess of words desperate to bleed their way out of my brain, through my fingers and onto the digital page. A mess of time pieces, sunglasses, descriptive words for bike parts and nerves that wouldn't stop getting in the way.

All at once the flood gates opened. Like I couldn't contain the bile of words that had projectiled from  my body and into the screen in front of me. This are real. This is real. These words mean something?

It is the getting started that kills me some days. An arsenal of words waiting to escape in a gun fight of rhetoric. Don't let me hurt anyone.

Musings

My friend Gina Cairney recently gave my blog a shout out in a post on her blog. I have felt the obligation update ever since.

I should preface this post with, I write a lot, just not here. Most of my time is spent finding the latest bike stories in Salt Lake City and telling them on SaltCycle. It has been an eye opening and wonderful growing experience. I am reminded time and time again why I majored in journalism to begin with, to tell true stories. Doing interviews with people like Nate King, a local domestique and neo-pro,have shown me different sides of people and the capacity of the human body.  I have also learned that there are a lot of people who yearn for the knowledge of how to fix their bike, or where to ride their bike safely. No one inherently wants to be wrong.

There doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to ride my bike more than 20 miles, make lots of artisan bread, and brew batch after batch of Kombucha. For now I will settle for the few hours I get to relax, slow down, and think about life for a minute while I ride my bike the three miles to the van pool in the morning. These three miles are therapeutic for starting the day. My addiction to exercise before 9 am is what keeps me sane while I sit at a desk all day and write. Everyday I am reminded, in some small way, why I chose bicycles all that time ago.

Brother

Strains of The Dave Matthews Band can be heard over the whirl of the fan from the food dehydrator. We should have dried these apples days ago, but that is just the perfectionist in me coming out. I sit on the couch and act as his scribe, writing down the weight of every item we place on the kitchen scale, HAM radio- 7.2 lbs., cooking ware- 1.2 lbs. I interject my opinion, mostly out of worry, every few minutes as we sift through the mess of gear covering the floor. No, you don't need 15 batteries, take the lightest folding solar panel, don't forget your spices, you need quinoa to keep you healthy, leave the camping pillow here.
    As he rummages through gear, my mind is drawn back to our childhood, the family picture on the wall makes it easy to remember what his face looked like then. Me, the nagging little sister, always wanting to be apart of his adventure. Him, the history buff and artistic older brother who would spend more time drawing you than talking to you. I use to sneak into his room to look at all of his "cool" stuff while he was at school. We would fight like crazy, but if I needed him to sleep on my floor because I was scared, he would. Now he sleeps in the living room of our one bedroom apartment.
     I fill spice jars for him, salt, pepper, cumin, chili powder, cinnamon, vegeta, dried vegetable bouillon cubes, and explain the importance of each, reminding him to get the right nutrition so he doesn't get sick on the trail.
     The woman he loves is here to spend a few days with him before he leaves for five months. As she makes a cup of tea he embraces her from the back, his hand searching for her belly as they giggle about an  inside joke. It is hard to not fall in love with them falling in love. They are contagious.
     He reminds us of what time we need to be at the airport on Saturday and I try to hold back my tears. I won't see him for five months. I haven't gone more than four days without seeing him in the past year and a half. He is is hiking the Tao Araroa trail in New Zealand.
     As I fade into sleep, I look at the family picture on the wall. He is still the boy in the picture to me. 

$125

I think of a lot of things I could do with $125. Buy that 700 fill down Rab jacket I have had my eye on, buy more bike parts, pay off more of my student loans. Spending a month living off of only $125 isn’t something I have contemplated, until now.
We as a people spend to much money on things that don’t matter. Eating out, buying useless clothing items because they are “new”, going out to movies we end up hating. I have decided to cut out the crap I don’t need to live and live simply with what I have.
$125 is the average amount of money given to people on food stamps. That evens out to about $30 a week for food only. What I am attempting to do is spend $125 on gas, food, entertainment, and clothing.
I loosely began this challenge three weeks ago but didn’t start taking it seriously till December started. I withdrew $140 from my bank account on Friday and have started the challenge. With this weeks grocery money already spent on Almond butter, soy milk, and fruit, this should be interesting. I will be posting recipes from this experiment on my other blog, but will keep regular updates going about the joys and struggles of this decision.
If you want to join in on the challenge, please do. I would like to see how other people do at this challenge.

Winter Bike

Winter is coming. At this point in the game there is no denying it. Skis come in by the dozens at the shop and I have moved from talking about tire options with customers to wax options and ski lengths.
Living a mile away from work now means I don't have to drive at all, though I find myself running late at least once a week and have to drive. :( The mile cruise down hill, through the Avenues neighborhood of Salt Lake makes for an easy morning commute. The mornings that I walk I some times stop by one of the three coffee shops I pass for a mug refill. Going home isn't always as enjoyable, though I do like it. A one mile hill climb with what feels like an 18 percent incline is what greats me on my way home. I live on A street and about 9th ave and work two blocks from I street and South Temple. The closer I get to A street going up hill, the steeper the the hills get. I use to wiggle my way through the aves to get home, up one block, over one block, till I realized I should really just grin, bare it, and get my ass in gear, literally, because hills aren't going to get easier any time soon. This way of thinking has actually been helpful. By the time I get to 9th ave I am usually over the fact that I am slightly sweaty, breathing heavy, and utter a small matra of success under my breath. The hills have gotten slightly easier the past few weeks. The more time I spend on the bike, the faster I seem to get. Funny how that happens.... (sarcasm intended)
As the months get colder I will cling to my bike a little harder. I just lost 10 lbs. You think I want those back? I'm not going out looking for them so for now I will stick to riding my bike during the cold months, don a pair of warm gloves, marino wool base layers, and good shell jacket with pit vents.
Dear winter,
I'm going to kick your ass.

-Punkin Pants

I'm back!...on two wheels

There is no string of sentences I can bring together that is going to explain my absence from the interweb the past few months. I will say this as my only disclaimer; I do all my best thinking on my bike and when you aren't able to ride your bike for three months because of a broken humerus, there isn't a whole lot of good thinking that happens.
But now I am back and making a goal to blog at least twice a week. For real. I am serious this time. Tuesdays and Thursday maybe? Who knows. But I am back with a vengeance and my veins pumped full of bicycle fueled words.
Lately bicycles have meant so much more to me than they have in the past. Perhaps my three months sabbatical is the cause of this. Even as the temperatures drop and we usher in yet another cold Utah winter, I can't get enough of the one mile hill climb to my house, the feeling of cold cheeks, and the ultimate feeling of untrammeled freedom I get from riding a bike. The feeling of my legs: hips, quads, knees, ankles, feet, all taking me where I want to go. My lungs, gasping for oxygen, feel so much better at the end of the day when I have strained them for air and asked them to be stronger. My mind feels clearer and my waist line is noticeably smaller. I currently don't fit into about half of my clothing because it is all to big. I have three pairs of pants that actually fit. One pair are Carhartts, the other are electric blue skinny jeans I bought during my quarter life crisis.
Regardless of my ill fitting clothing problem I am happy to be back on my bike and hope that with consistent updating I can inspire a few of you to get ahold of two wheels and enrich your lives.

For My Dad

One Sunday afternoon in 1993, while living in San Diego, California, my dad gathered his hiking things, and said to me, “We are going on a walk, it will be fun.” We drove into the hills of San Diego, our exact location escapes me, till we came to a parking lot where the trail head was. After unloading our gear my Dad pointed to a concrete pillar in the distance and said, “We are hiking to that point. I promise it isn’t far.”
We ended up hiking further than the pillars but I was so lost in the the beauty of the landscape, I didn’t care. As we rounded a corner some people mentioned that they thought there was a snake on the trail. I was hiking 15 feet ahead of my dad and jumped over the snake when I saw it, then turned around and said, “Dad, watch out. There is a snake on the trail!” As he approached it he nudged the snake with his hiking pole. The snake immediately went into an attack position and struck my Dads boot! Literally bit his boot. Dad was shocked and backed up as the snake released. As the snake slithered off the trail my Dad muttered some comment about being an irresponsible parent and I told him how cool he was for playing with the snake.
Small trips like this became a ritual for my Dad, as well as weekend education on all of his hobbies. I became skilled in reciting lines from Marx Brothers films, “I never forget a face but for you, I will make an exception.” Politically rhetoric, “Al Gore, I’m hungry, lets go to congress.” and the differences between battery types (go with lithium ion). My Dad made sure we were all journal writers and gave us lots of notebooks to write in, top of the line pens to write with, and stationary to write to our grandparents with.
Even though I saw my Dad three months out of the year for the first 12 years of my life (He had sea duty in the Navy), he was always there to support my siblings and I in whatever capacity he could. When he wasn’t recording one of our choir or band concerts, he was out searching for the next piece of technology we could use to enhance our lives, after he was done “testing” it and before anyone else had even heard of the product.
My Dad never fails to intimidate suitors with his 6’4 build and booming baritone voice but when you get to know him he is the biggest sweet heart who only wants what is best for his family. After a recent botched dating experience I was talking on the phone with my Dad and told him what happened. He said a few comforting words and when we got off the phone he sent me a text that read, “Forget that Arrogant, self-centered, rat-bastard, Mormon boy. You are too good to put up with his crap!”
I am forever grateful for the Dad I have. For the never ending flow of stories from his childhood that I never tire of. Even at the age of 25, I still look forward to going home, going on a hike, and talking technology with my Dad.
Thanks for everything Papa.

Obama Dreams

obama dreams
I don't usually remember the dreams I have. Some times it is clips and phrases but nothing really tangible. The other night I had the most vivid dream about President Obama. It felt so real I thought for minute it might have really happened.
The dream started out with me working in the presidential garden, tilling the field and tending to the greens and newly planted tomatoes. I was working with one other person I remember feeling like I had really made it since I was working in Obamas garden.
While working some soil I heard the president and Michelle Obama having a heated discussion over something as they walked in the garden. When their conversation became more audible I eavesdropped in on what they were talking about, soy. Michelle insisted that the president needed to start pushing soy as a viable crop for farmers in the US to grow instead of corn because it could feed more people and we could use it for soy yogurt and milk. The president didn't agree and told her that isn't the direct we needed to head. She handed him a cup of soy yogurt, urged him to try it and stormed out of the garden.
The president stood their for minute eyeing the cup of soy yogurt. I approached him, which made me really nervous, and started talking to him about what his wife had just told him. This is what I remember me saying to the president in my dream.
"Mr.President? I couldn't help but overhear what you and the First Lady were talking about. I agree with what you had to say about soy. I think you have it right and you need to encourage the farmers of America to grow more viable crops that will help feed the people and not livestock."
He said he agreed with me and thanked me for my input, said he would look into farmers growing more vegetables, and took off back to the white house.
I wish there was a reasonable explanation for this dream but there isn't. I'm just a hippie I guess.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

The Japan Effect

"I know I keep saying it, but I really wish I was in Japan right now."
A sentence my brother has uttered to me said daily since the earthquake/tsunami/nuclear disaster happened in Japan.
To some people, hearing both of us say that might sound a little strange. Why would we want to be there in the middle of a natural disaster? Japan is where we grew up, it is our home so naturally we want to be there to help the people we love rebuild a country we love.
Hours after the earthquake my Dad was skyping and e-mailing our close family friends, The Sato's, to make sure everyone in their family was accounted for. We got word that everyone was safe but Tomoko and Yuka were stuck in Tokyo because of the trains.
My family being one that is familiar with disaster (and being Mormon) we knew immediately that the Satos would most likely need an emergency food source since the grocery stores were quickly running out of food and batteries. My Dad consulted my brother and I on the best brand of backpacking food and then took off for Costco to buy a life type supply of batteries and dried food for back packing. The next day it was shipped off to the Sato's, since they were still receiving mail in Fujisawa. I received a forwarded e-mail from Sato san a few days later that read, "You are such a great man. We opened boxes. Surprise ! Many batteries.Lamps! foods.survival goods. You absolutely Ultra man ! We just laugh and then tears... We have great family in USA. Really appreciate you and Jodie san. No words for thanks. If you can open attached movie files,watch our joy."
Since the Sato's are family to us, Eric and I decided to send our own box to them. One filled with all the sweet moral boosters you could ever need. Girl Scout cookies, Ritter Sport, and Fruit Loops.
Ok, I know what you are thinking, but in the middle of a crisis wouldn't you want something to boost your moral?Sure, we could have saved that money we spent sending a package to them and donated it to a relief fund, but I am happy to know that my contribution is going to directly impact people I love.
I am encouraging everyone I know to donate whatever they can to support the cause in Japan. Whatever you can donate, they can use.

Notes on a (environmental) scandal

It is no secret I am an environmentalist. By profession, no. By passion and dedication, yes. I don't need to give a laundry list of reasons why I am dedicated to making the world a better place. In all honesty, it just happened that way for me.

Having worked at a student bike center focused around sustainability and for the Utah Conservation Corp for a total of three years, I have gotten to know the environment. The simple changes we can make in our daily lives to better our bodies and the world around us make more of an impact that we think they do. For example, making meat 10 percent of your protein intake will not only help you become healthier, you are also helping decrease factory farming, one of the most unsustainable farm practices (in more than one way).

In the Spring of 2009, while on (bike) tour with the band Shake Your Peace!, I was told about a man named Tim DeChristopher who had bid on 14 parcels of BLM land that were going to be leased for oil and gas drilling. His bidding tab amounted to $1.8 million. At first I thought, "Wow, this guy is a hero! Way to stick it to the man and dedicate yourself to the environment." I did a little research on him and thought he had done the right thing, to some degree.

Last March I moved to Moab to do conservation work on BLM land with the Utah Conservation Corp. I fell in love with the beautiful landscape and often found myself thinking, "Why would anyone want to screw this land up by drilling on it?"

While living down South I was taking an environmental studies class focused around public lands. I got to know why BLM land is range land, why we drill on parts of it for oil and gas, and why it is important to protect it.

As part of the class we were required to read a number of articles on Tim DeChristopher written by different points of view. I hadn't thought about DeChristopher much since 2009 but now I was interested in what was going on. I dug a little deeper into his case and realized, he didn't bid on those parcels for environmental reasons, he bid on them for personal reasons. Though people may think that DeChristopher had done something revolutionary by bidding on those parcels of land, he is only one in a line of environmentally conscious people who have bid, and won, parcels of land headed for oil and gas drilling. The difference? He had no intention of paying for them, the others paid up.

I am extremely skeptical of DeChristopher and his "environmentalism". I am familiar with a large amount of environmentalist, extremists and none extremists, all having their own reasons for doing what they do. But they all have one thing in common, they don't show horse the work they do for the environment, they do it because they love it. Their actions are also similar, they ride bikes, plant gardens, support local projects dedicated to sustainability, and are about 80 percent vegetarian. None of them seek the lime light for their actions and they never seek out celebrities for their cause. They are all quiet riots of sustainability.

This is not the case for DeChristopher. Seeking out the support of Patagonia clothing company, Robert Redford, and other celebrities seems like only a personal ploy. If DeChristopher had really wanted to use his environmental foot hold for good, he would have got involved with grassroots organizations, marched with the people in West Virginia to end mountain top removal, and spent less of his time seeking out celebrities to back him at film festivals.

I realize that I sound angry. That is because I am. Angry that some one would use environmentalism to gain celebrity status and expect to not get the book thrown at them for breaking the law. I work hard to make sure people don't think that sustainability is a movement full of hippies. when someone like DeChristopher comes along, he makes us all look like Earth First, E.L.F (earth liberation front) freak shows and I get a little irked.

Tim DeChristopher broke the law and no "necessary evil" defense is going to change that. As far as I am concerned the only necessary evil is on public lands. Oil and gas drilling and range land leasing are necessary evils because we have made them so. If we want to protect our lands from these things, we have to change our life styles so we no longer rely on cows, oil, and gas. That is only way for more protection to happen.

I want thoughts on this. If you think Tim DeChristopher is a saint, I want to hear why.

Being outside

I have been reading up on bike a lot lately. My brother and his girlfriend are doing a tour of Napa Valley and need some help getting bikes and touring gear together. I feel like a kid in a candy shop with every bike parts website and shop I look at.
Damn, I love bikes. I love them a lot and I feel so blessed I get to go to mechanic school in a two months and learn more about them. What a fine machine. Looking back into the memory banks of my mind, some of the best and most calming moments are those associated with riding my bike. Even in Europe, where I was miserable, I was so happy to be riding my bike and seeing the country side of Bavaria. What is there not to love about bikes?
I went to the climbing gym on Wednesday and had a bonfire ignited inside me that I can't seem to put out. I forgot how much I loved climbing and how good it makes me feel. I have had some great moments at the crag with friends; night climbing in Logan Canyon, learning how to lead with Annie, getting lost in the City of Rocks, climbing at the only crag in Kanab, Utah with my crew from UCC.
Since Wednesday I have been doing some research on where I want to climb this summer. I don't want to put climbing on the back burner again, I bought a 70 meter rope for a reason. There are three big spots I want to hit in the next six months; City of Rocks, Triasic, and Moab. I want to get back in touch with climbing on a bigger level. Not a First Assent kind of way, but a, "I love the rock, I love the earth, I love myself, so I want to climb this." I want to do multi pitch climbs, easy climbs, hard climbs, bouldering. I guess you could say I want it all with climbing. I have been at the same place with climbing for a while now. I don't want to be in that place any more, I want to be better than that place. I am done being mediocre, so I am going to do what I can to be great. I know I will never be Lynn Hill when it comes to climbing, Evelyn Stevens when it comes to cycling, or a Lindsey Vonn when it comes to skiing, but I've got passion, isn't that what matters the most?
Today I am taking that passion to the mountain with me and enjoying the 19 inches of powder we were blessed with last night. I am fully aware of my inability to ski powder like a champ, but I have to start some where and Honeycomb Canyon sounds like the place.