Friday, March 19, 2021

The 5 Worst Kinds of People on the Trail

We love our local trail systems. In Chattanooga, we're lucky to have several nearby options for folks in various parts of town. But with relative ease of access (and ease of access is relative) comes certain frustrations too. People, mostly. And while we shouldn't expect solitude from our front country adventures, we should expect certain behaviors that allow for  mutual enjoyment. These are the five worst kinds of people at the local trail.

5. the directionally challenged

A lot of trails feature daily directions, i.e., CW on M, W, F and CCW on T, R and so on. No matter how clearly stated at trailheads and intersections these directions are, some people can't seem to get it straight. I don't want to be too harsh to the directionally challenged, many of them are elderly. But an honest mistake can quickly turn into an emergency room visit when Grandma Dorothy gets mowed down by the MTB guy trying to snipe the coveted King of the Mountain (KOM).

4. the KOM/QOM 

“In its need for special clothing,” Grant Peterson writes, “bicycle riding is less like scuba diving and more like a pickup basketball game.” That said, somebody convinced the KOM/QOM crowd that spandex is the only fabric for any outdoor activity. These folks show up to the trailhead decked out in full kit for a casual after-work ride around the park. I like going fast about as much as the next guy, but these easy-to-distinguish trail users seem to think that KOM stands for "Kill All Mountainbikers" (the 'A' makes a soft 'O" sound) (I stole this line from Brooks who swears he doesn’t remember saying it). The King of the Mountain crowd is out for blood and bragging rights. Forget a friendly wave from these riders, they won't even give you an inch of the trail. Look out, move over, and let them pad their Strava profile; they're clearly compensating for something. 


3. people who don't pack out their dog's poop

Leave No Trace applies to the front-country too. A baggie filled with dog poop sitting on the edge of the trail has to be the apotheosis of "leaving a trace." If you're not ready to pack out your dog's poop, you're not ready to take your dog out for a hike. Be prepared. Pick up your dog's poop in a bag, put it in a sealed zip lock bag, and pack it out. Or, better yet, buy a tube of Pringles. Eat all of the Pringles (delicious). Put the poop bag in the Pringles tube. It seals and fits nicely in a backpack's cup holder sleeve and you can dispose of its contents at the nearest trash can.

2. people who don't leash their dog on the trail

I don't want to be that edgy online guy advocating for Soviet-style forced labor camps but people who walk or run their dogs at the trail off-leash should be sent to a gulag. I don't care how good of a good boy you think your precious pup is, put it on a leash. It's the law in a lot of places and the rule in most. The reasons for this are multitudinous and readily available so I'll only mention two.

First, your dog is an animal. It has animal instincts and I swear bicycles trigger something in dogs that make them go berserk. I've had a crash, several near-crashes, and a few scary moments when unknown dogs have charged at my bike with their owner nonchalantly walking down the trail blurting something about it being nice. And I know you're reading this thinking, "That's not my dog." But that's what these people thought too.

Another reason to keep your dog on a leash is for my dog and dogs like her. I have a rescued pit bull. Her name is Lula. She's sweet, tender, intuitive, and an overall fluffernut. I love her more than almost anything in this world. But her breed carries a lot of baggage. Let's say your off-leash wonder pup wanders ahead and wants to check my dog out. Let's say it gives Lula a fright or more realistically, Lula interprets that as an invitation to play. (What is "play" between two dogs is often interpreted as a scuffle when the dog looks like my dog.) Your dog is an animal, my dog is an animal and they both respond animalistically. Guess whose dog is taking the blame for the scuffle? The pittie, every time. Even if the encounter was banal, benign, or not even the pittie's fault. Please put your dog on a leash.

1. judgemental outdoor bloggers named "Chet"

  They're the worst.

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Monday, March 1, 2021

On Lao Tzu, simplicity, and single speed bikes

“Nothing is better for people who cultivate the tao than to resolutely simplify things.” — Sima Chengzhen, Treatise on Sitting Forgetting 

If Lao Tzu rode a bicycle, he would ride a single speed. Lao Tzu lived, if he lived at all, during the sixth century BCE. The Confucian influence of etiquette, ritual, and propriety on Chinese society had a stronghold that Lao Tzu perceived to be rigid, sterile, and even dangerous. Lao Tzu, and others like him, embraced the thought of escaping it all, retreating to nature, and embracing simplicity, contentment, and detachment. This alternative way of living would come to be known as Taoism and it offers wisdom to the modern cyclist. 

When I introduce my students to Taoism, I liken it to that scene from Point Break (1991) when Bodhi (Patrick Swayze) gives his campfire speech: “This was never about money for us. It was about us against the system, that system which kills the human spirit… to those dead souls inching along the freeway in their metal coffins, we show them that the human spirit is still alive.” Comparing Bodhi and Lao Tzu is campy and simplistic but, for the uninitiated, it works. 

Lao Tzu was concerned with preserving and cultivating the human spirit and allowing it to flourish. I think all bikes are a pretty good way of doing that. But he also understood that our obsession with efficiency, power, and speed (among other things) corrupts the primal forces of our intended nature. And I think we've over-complicated a lot of bike stuff.

Lao Tzu might see fancy SRAM Eagle drivetrains, electric dropper posts, and bicycles-that-cost-more-than-a-car the same way he saw fancy Confucian civilization: constraints which stifle, deplete, and even kill the human spirit. What we desperately need then is a return: a return to the simple, pure, even primal. Taoism, like a single speed bicycle, offered a return to primitive purity.

There is a beautiful simplicity of a tight chain around two gears, unadulterated with cassettes or derailleurs. There is a certain grace and dignity of the direct transmission of the power from the legs to the drivetrain, unassisted by a generous variety of gear ratios. And there is a profound joy of riding a bicycle unencumbered by excess gadgets, doohickeys, and the weight and maintenance that come with them. The return to single speed may not be primal, but it will make you feel like a kid again. 

Coincidentally, Taoist texts give high value to children. Lao Tzu honored children for their untainted simplicity. Children did not make things complicated. They just were. And when you were a kid, your bicycle just was. You didn’t think about carbon frames, full suspension, or expensive drivetrains. You just wondered how much air you could catch jumping over that ditch if you pedaled hard enough. “Manifest plainness, embrace simplicity… have few desires,” Lao Tzu wrote in the Tao Te Ching. “Ditch the derailleur, stand and mash the pedals…  have a lot of fun,” he might say today.   

This is, of course, an anachronism and it might even be pretty dumb to presume what kind of bike a super dead, possibly fake, ancient Chinese philosopher would have ridden. I do, however, think there is something true about how we have over-complicated so much of our lives, our bicycles included. 

I am trying to take Tao master Chengzhen’s teaching to heart. I have resolutely simplified my bikes, both single speeds: one hardtail for single tracking and bikepacking and my beloved tracklocross bike for everything else. 

Ride a bike. Ride in jeans. And if you really want to simplify (and really have fun), ride a single speed.

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