5 Rules for Car Camping

car camping at the Cowell boulders, Arkansas (photo by Josh)

There is a certain kind of freedom that comes with sleeping in (or near) your adventure vehicle, be it a Sprinter van, Toyota Tacoma, or Honda Civic. Ask any American what's the best part about America and they'll likely respond, "freedom." But hardly anybody really thinks about what that actually means. 

Most people think about freedom negatively: freedom from things. But you can't do whatever you want. The way I explain it to my students is this: your right to bear arms, freedom of speech, and other civil liberties are like swinging your arms around. You are free from restraint to swing your arms around all you want. But when you start windmill throat-punching your neighbor, we have a problem. You're not free to do that. We also explore civil rights as a more positivistic understanding of freedom. These are freedoms to do or for things -- equal rights and equal protection and all that stuff. 

What's this got to do with with car camping? Well, there's rules for that too. Some are freedoms to do things that you may not be able to while participating in other forms of camping, like backpacking (rule #1). Others are restrictions (rule #2). But enough about political philosophy, let's talk about car camping.

Jamie hogging all the shade while car camping at Shelf Road, CO

1. Bring it!

When it comes to camp stuff carrying capacity, nothing beats car camping. A giant Yeti cooler? Yes. Extra pots and pans? Bring it. A giant bin of rock climbing gear? Even better. 

Before a recent car camping weekend, my wife asked me if we could bring a mixing bowl for scrambled eggs. I was dumbfounded. I've never brought a mixing bowl camping before. Befuddled, I stared at her considering if we should or not. Lovingly (but in a way that still felt like Ja Morant posterizing Malik Beasley in the first round of the Western Conference playoffs), she said, "it's not like we don't have space, right?" Of course we have space, we're car camping.

2. But leave your guitar at home.

Don't be that guy. (It's almost always a guy.) Unless somebody specifically asked you to be the Guitar Guy (and almost certainly nobody did), don't. 

gravel camp 2022 at Lost Creek, Tennessee (photo by Reid)

3. Share

This is Humanity 101 stuff. I don't want to get too in the political philosophy weeds again, but imagine camping with Ayn Rand. You'd blow your head off. "Hey Ayn, can I use this headlamp for a sec?" "Only if you adequately compensate me for its battery use you freeloading, second-handing, collectivist swine." I just gave myself nightmares. But collective property and planned mutual giving are what make camping (and equitable societies) work. Read G.A. Cohen's brilliant little book, Why Not Socialism? The whole first chapter is about camping!

Consider a recent weekend riding bikes and car camping in the Appalachian woods. Betwixt the six goofy men who attended "Gravel Camp 2022," more than 84 beers (and Twisted Ice Teas) were brought, shared, and consumed. Open-source. Fair game. My PBRs are your Rolling Rocks and so on. I think I speak for everyone when I say that a highlight of the trip was Luke joyfully sharing out of the goodness of his heart a dozen donuts DIY-made in his JetBoil camp stove. 

car camping at Lost Creek, Tennessee (photo by Leah)

4. You still have to LNT

Pooping responsibly doesn't end just because you're sleeping in a Sprinter Van. 

If you packed it in with your vehicle, pack it out with your vehicle. This includes but is not limited to: beer cans, food wrappers, and the forty-year old, hand-me-down, Coleman two-burner camp stove your dad gave you that exploded in a massive ball of flames in the back of your truck while cooking beans at the mouth of Diablo Canyon, New Mexico. 

Josh making breakfast in Diablo Canyon, NM

5. Enjoy it!

This blog wholeheartedly endorses all forms of camping. Whether bivying mid-route on a multipitch climb or casual car camping at a local state park, sleeping outside is food for the soul. Car camping is fun and relatively easy. The amenities to suffering ratio weighs heavily in favor of comfort. And as long as we don't have an affordable cross-country rail system in this country, then your car is an incredible conduit to some of America's most amazing spaces. Get out there and enjoy it. 

my feet (please don't sell) at San Isabel National Forest, Salida, CO

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5 Honest Strava Achievements

I love Strava. It's a fitness app that's equal parts training log and social media platform. Users can track their performance on routes and compare their efforts to other users on segments. Like Instagram and Twitter, users can give "kudos," leave comments, and be "rewarded" for their achievements. These rewards are great motivators, I just wish they'd be a bit more honest about them. Below are what I imagine would be honest Strava achievements.

1. Kudos

And mommy's baby is ready for his yum-yums. 

2. Top 10 Finish

I recently scored a Top Ten trophy on a local loop, which is really an embarrassment for the entire Chattanooga trail running community. I shouldn't have a top ten finish in anything. My high school basketball coach told me I ran like a 40-year-old man was fifteen. By that math, today I run like I'm 88.  

3. Local Legend

The Local Legend is a recent(ish) addition to Strava that rewards athletes who log the most attempts on a segment over a rolling 90-day period. TBH, I love it. It is the achievement I covet the most. To be a Local Legend, you don't have to be fast, you just have to be persistent. Or, you just have to be the only person on Strava ripping through that obscure back alley segment. 

4. KOM

Coming in hot with a side of bacon! We all have seen that guy (always a guy) blasting down the trail heat-seeking the much-sought-after "King of the Mountain" crown. Often, these bozos are so trophy hungry they forget they're not the only ones on the trail. 

5. No Bathroom Breaks

The data scientists and app developers at Strava Inc. need to make this achievement a thing. The only thing worse than a sloppy poo-poo sliding out your sweaty buttcheeks on a muggy summer day is an unplanned sloppy poo-poo sliding out your sweaty buttcheeks surrounded by poison ivy and mosquitos midway through your long run. Its avoidance should be celebrated. 

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5 Beginner Backpacking Tips and Tricks

My first backpacking trip was a disaster. I was in eleventh grade, clad in cotton blue jeans and a flannel shirt and equipped with gear from the local sporting goods and army surplus stores. Russ and I hiked around Torreya State Park in uncharacteristic sub-freezing temperatures, even for the "mountains of Florida." I slipped and fell in a creek. Russ had diarrhea in his pants. And we both had so much fun that we fell in love with backpacking.

That year, Russ and I spent a lot of time at the local outdoor store, Trail & Ski, pestering the employees with questions and ultimately not spending any of our money. I'm sure it was annoying but they were kind enough to take us under their wings and point us in the right direction. Whenever a student asks me about starting out backpacking, I get all stoked for them. Maybe, hopefully, those folks at Trail & Ski felt a similar level of excitement when Russ and I walked into their store all those years ago. 

Doing something new can be daunting, so I asked some folks what advice they'd give to somebody trying to get into backpacking. This "panel of experts" includes thru-hikers, weekend warriors, and backpacking and wilderness therapy guides. They all started somewhere and one of them started with me that winter in Torreya State Park. 

1. On backpacking with a budget...

Many of the experts agree: keep it cheap. Madi suggests, "Thrifting your starter gear--don't buy new!" She's right. Outdoor consignment shops rule. 

A) They're cheap and have good stuff. 

B) They usually have nice knowledgeable staff who can be very helpful and not intimidating. 

My favorite is in Leadville, Colorado. And if you're in Chattanooga, visit Four Bridges Outfitters. But not every town has a cool outdoor-oriented consignment shop. Russ and I bought a tent and other stuff from the Army Surplus. I think we used it once before graduating to a tarp. Not an ultra-lite sil-nylon tarp, mind you. I mean an actual brown tarp from Home Depot. 

Russ added, "Remember the crap we had when we started? I ordered a backpack from eBay. And those clunky headlamps from army surplus!" We scrounged things from all over the place. Nowadays you can hit up Mountain Project and other online forums for all kinds of used, cheap gear. Keep it cheap! Especially when you're starting. 

2. On starting small...

According to Vance, "Not every backpacking trip has to be a weeklong instagrammable jaunt in Glacier National Park... Explore [your] local natural areas." Microadventures are amazing. Russ encourages you to start even smaller. "Backyard camping! I camped in my backyard a million times with all my gear." 

It's true. Senior year, Russ and I both dual-enrolled at the local community college instead of "high school." Every morning I'd go to Russ' house and find him asleep in his backyard in his Hennesy Hammock. These nanoadventures are great for dialing in your system and, if you're new to it, sleeping outside.

3. On thinking ahead...

When you sleep outside, you live outside. Sounds obvious enough but you might be surprised how many things you forget or never even think about when it comes to the logistics of living outside days or weeks at a time. Leah's practical advice: "First, line your pack with a large (30 gallon?) trash bag- especially if the temps will be cold at night. You’ll never have to worry about a wet sleeping bag or jammies from rain, river crossings, etc." 

When you live outside, you poop and pee outside. Sounds obvious enough but you might be surprised how important pooping and peeing properly is to wilderness spaces. Consider these resources and remember, to Leave No Trace. When it comes to wiping, Leah adds, "If you are taking toilet paper, take baby wipes instead. You and your nether regions will be living a life of luxury after long days of dirt and sweat." 

For what it's worth, my two cents in this whole thing is this: Pringles. Pringles are a great, salty snack. The Pringles can is a great, tubular, sealed container for packing out discarded baby wipes and other waste. Make a little duct tape hinge so you don't lose the lid. You can store your toilet paper tube in the bottle slot of your backpack. Do not mix your Pringles and discarded baby wipes! Sounds obvious enough, but you never know. 

4.  On ounce-counting and other ultra-light things...

Maybe you've been backpacking before. You borrowed some gear and you're in love with it. Or maybe you've also got a fat wad of cash burning a hole in your pocket. There's an entire universe of backpacking gear you can buy. Most attempt to be light. Some are designed to be "ultra-lite" (UL). I got sucked into the ultra-lite world pretty quickly as a young gun and there are plenty of ways to do it on a budget (DIY and UL share a big middle part of a Venn Diagram). But being ultra-light and a backpacking guide didn't mix well so I started dabbling in both worlds. 

Reid suggests figuring out "if you camp to hike or hike to camp." This goes a long way in determining what you pack, how you travel, and what your overall goals are. Some people enjoy going far, fast. Others enjoy getting there when they get there and relaxing while they are there. 

Reid continues, "If you’re hiking to camp, you may decide to spend precious ounces on a larger tent, a thicker sleeping pad, or things like sleep clothes, camp shoes, a camp chair, etc. If you’re camping to hike, you may prioritize UL gear, nicer trekking poles, and have all of your food in a fancy spreadsheet that ranks items based on calories per ounce of weight." 

Maybe you already know what you're into. Maybe you don't. That's fine. If you're just starting it might take some trips to figure it all out, which leads us to our next bit of advice...

Vance and I on Mt. Shavano, CO

5. On just going for it and having fun... 

 I really loved what Vance had to say so I leave them here without comment.  

"There are no rules or right ways for an experience outdoors, so make the most of what you’ve got around you. Not every backpacking trip has to be a weeklong instagrammable jaunt in Glacier National Park while wearing your Arc’teryx gear (although both of those are super rad). Explore the local natural areas right in your backyard, flaunt your janky consignment or hand-me-down gear, and revel in a bounty of homemade trail mix and Vienna sausages. As long as you’re outside, being responsible, and having fun, you’re doing it right. Do what you can, where you’re at, with what you’ve got, while you’ve got it!" 

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United States of Apocalypse

Rising emissions, rising temperatures, rising sea levels; if more is a good thing, then you could say we’re killing it. USA #1! Maybe it’s more helpful to say corporations are killing it. Either way, something is dying and, oh, by the way, it’s the earth. The overwhelming majority of scientists who specialize in the earth’s climate (not politicians, political commentators, or stay-at-home moms on Facebook) unequivocally affirm that we’re in a human-created ecological crisis.

There's no more avoiding our climate-induced collapse. Irreversible ecological damage is here and our current political-economic system is incapable of dealing with it. Short of an international mass movement of monkeywrenchers dismantling fossil fuel extraction around the globe, we're going to have to adapt to our new nightmarish hellscape. Look around: California is forever on fire, Florida is annihilated by a hurricane six months a year, and increasing swaths of Louisiana are already underwater.

We are already citizens of a new place: the United States of Apocalypse. To help us prepare for our dystopia, I have divided our new country according to how each region will become a real-life post-apocalyptic film. 

East Coast + Rust Belt: Judge Dredd (1995)

Judge Dredd begins with James Earl Jones' ominous narration, "The Earth transformed into a poisonous, scorched desert, known as 'The Cursed Earth.' Millions of people crowded into a few Megacities... Law, as we know it, collapsed. From the decay rose a new order, a society ruled by a new, elite force." The Judges are fascistic law enforcers who rule the megacities with brute force and little to no due process. For much of the densely populated eastern seaboard and post-industrial "rust belt" this future already exists. Only now you will receive your extrajudicial killings and police brutality with an extra dose of heat and humidity. 

Appalachia: The Road (2009) with a  C.H.U.D. (1984) twist
The rural bits of the southeast, i.e., Lyndon B. Johnson's socio-economic "Appalachia," will be Cormac McCarthy's The Road meets the cult classic, C.H.U.D. The sun will be blotted out by ash, but instead of nuclear holocaust or whatever unnamed event from The Road, it will be caused by the raging forest fires. Roving bands of cannibals (leftover maga chuds) in jacked-up trucks will roam the ashen grey hills in search of fresh flesh, AKA baby meat. These cannibalistic humanoid Appalachian dwellers or "CHADs" won't feel bad about it either because, spoiler alert, they were never really "pro-life" to begin with. 

 

Gulf Coast: Water World (1995)

Rising sea levels will turn the entire states of Florida and Louisiana and much of southern Alabama, Mississippi, and East Texas into Kevin Costner's Water World. Inhabitants who have not already will be forced to pawn their belongings to buy wave runners and become pirates. Sounds nice, actually. Except, something tells me warmer waters will cause alligators to evolve back into full-fledged dinosaurs. I mean, they're already climbing trees. 

 

 

Midwest, Mountain West, and Southwest: Mad Max (1979, 1981, 1985, 2015)

The biggest geographical region deserves the biggest post-apocalyptic film franchise. The majority of the landlocked United States will resemble the Mad Max universe. The Great Plains will be choked dry by drought and industrial farming. Think Great Depression "Dust Bowl" meets marauding gangs of leather-clad, daddy-issues off-roadsters. Most will be forced to move to coastal megacities and the few that remain will scavenge or pillage for limited food and resources to survive. Of course, Americans' market-based health care system already resembles the Thunderdome, so now you will have to duel to the death in a gladiatorial arena for Oklahoma's last can of franks n' beans. 

 

West Coast: Soylent Green (1973)

Imagine a world where climate catastrophe causes severe shortages of food, water, and housing. Okay, you're imagining liberal enclaves, Los Angeles and Seattle. Now imagine a world where society is almost entirely dependent on a singular global corporation, which controls the supply of most of the earth's necessities and brutally exploits its workers. Okay, now you're imagining Amazon. Shortages and supply bottlenecks create daily riots policed by corporate-sponsored armed forces who, unsurprisingly, brutally remove protesters with no due process. Welcome to Portland, Oregon. 

Behold our future and the future is bleak. But lest I be accused of casual nihilism or climate fatalism, I am not without hope. A long time ago I heard someone say that realism without idealism leads to apathy and idealism without realism leads to cynicism. I, personally, tend toward the latter and this post is probably a bit of both. Yet I hope it is, at least, a humorous caricature of the absurd landscape climate fatalism will bring. The truth is we don't have to accept this cursed earth future. Things, drastic or difficult they may be, can still be done to reduce the harm and suffering that our climate crisis is causing and will continue to cause. 

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5 Things I've Noticed While Riding a Bike

Figure 1

I'm no Alex Howes but I've ridden my bike enough to notice some things. For example, the more miles I ride, the more pizza I need. The more pizza I eat, the more miles I need to bike. (Fig. 1). I've noticed other things. Like, cyclists love data. Cyclists are on Strava because they crave the data. They need the data. They want to become one with the data. And since I am a visual learner who loves charts and graphs, I have systematized the data for you to consume and become one with. Let's start with some easy direct correlations and ease our way into more advanced behavioral economics.

Figure 2 

A redneck friend of mine said that anybody with tires over 33” is compensating for something. Whether that is true or not, and it definitely is, it is true that anyone driving a truck with tires over 33” is guaranteed to not give you your three feet (T.C.A. §55-8-175). This is especially true if they have a Punisher symbol anywhere on their Jeep or truck. These people do not care if you live or die, and they take some pride in that misanthropy. I am nearly convinced in a medieval, Dantean, abysmal hell because of people like them. Essentially, the bigger the truck: the bigger the pile of loose, sloppy stool in the driver's seat. 

Figure 3

The same can be said for sports car people. Generally speaking the louder the car (or truck) the more inconsiderate (re: deadly) the driver. This includes American muscle and imported Fast and Furious wannabes. A while back, I lectured some mid-life-crisis in a convertible at a stoplight about T.C.A. §55-8-175. It states that a cyclist does, in fact, ride in the road, not the sidewalk (and may even take up the entire righthand lane). He flipped me off, revved his engine, and “drag raced” me at the green light. Cool? I casually rode my bike and pulled up next to him at the next red light. Nice.

Figure 4

I’m always in an imaginary race with geared cyclists on the trail. I'm like a little wiener dog with a Napoleon complex at the dog park. I just want to run with the big dogs. RIP legs. 

Figure 5

In Figure 1, I stated that the more miles I ride, the more pizza I need. True. But I also noticed that I don't have to ride my bike very far to demand pizza. In economics, a perfectly inelastic demand curve means that no matter the price, the quantity demanded will always remain the same. For example, a person’s demand for insulin stays the same regardless of how much it costs (we need Medicare For All, now!). Assuming “miles biked” is represented on the “price” or y-axis and “pizza” on the “quantity demanded” or x-axis, the demand for pizza stays the same no matter how many miles biked. Whether I ride my bike 10 miles or 100, pizza and beer sound nice. 

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5-Word Gear Reviews: Thermarest Z Lite Sleeping Pad

photo by Ry

The Therm-a-Rest Z Lite has been in production since 1989. It's used by alpinists in Denali National Park, thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail, and bikepackers on the Tour Divide. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of reviews online. Why do the internet and your email inbox need another one? Because alpinists, thru-hikers, and Tour Dividers are hardcore. These folks can rough it. But what about the normal folks, the weekend warriors, the semi-rad fun-hoggers looking for an outdoor sleep system? Let me tell you.

I have slept outside on a Therm-a-Rest Z-Lite sleeping pad since 2013. Before that, I had a Therm-a-Rest Ridgeline I cut and duct-taped back together to accordion fold like a Z Lite. This did not work well. I have put my Z Lite through the wringer, spending hundreds of nights sleeping on dirt, sand, rock, and snow on this 3/4 inch thick piece of dimpled foam. It is amazing. I fiddled around with inflatable pads from the industry's giants -- Therm-a-Rest, Big Agnes, and REI -- but  I always came running back to the indestructibility of the Z Lite. No popping. No waking up in the middle of the night on the ground due to a slow leak. No snorkeling in the bathtub trying to find the impossibly small hole in need of repair. 

However, the Z Lite has a lot of naysayers. "It’s not plush enough." "It’s too dirtbaggy." "It’s not for side-sleepers." Of course, none of these are true. I recently returned from a camping trip with family. This kind of camping involved extension cords running to box fans inside massive dome tents filled with queen-sized air mattresses. They were all flummoxed when Rebecca and I put together our tiny backpacking tent and their jaws hit the ground when we whipped out our matching set of Z Lite sleeping pads. My sister-in-law was even concerned if we were "going to be okay." Eventually, I convinced her husband to lay on it and he said in five words what reviewers at Outdoor Gear Lab, Backcountry, and Gear Junkie have struggled to say in hundreds of user reviews: 

"Oh, it's not that bad." 

And then he fell asleep. Like, he took a nap right there. This is the power of the Z Lite. It's really not as bad as the inflatable crowd says. My brother-in-law's laconic pre-slumber gear review got me thinking about some more 5-word reviews for this industry standard:

You can sleep on it.

It's only a few nights.

Tummy sleeper? No! Buy it.

Maybe don't if you're eighty.

Basic comfy pad cuts mustard 

Closed cell foam gold standard 

Let's be real: it's cheap.

It gets the job done.

Super-lightweight and ultra-durable

And if hyphenated words count as one word: super-lightweight, ultra-durable that never fails.

*This gear review was not sponsored by Therm-a-Rest and I purchased my Z Lites with my own hard-earned monies. This review was also more than five words. 544 to be exact. I apologize. But please continue to support megasplitter by subscribing to the mailchimp, commenting on, and sending the posts that you like to your friends. 

The 5 Worst Kinds of People at the Crag

Josh at an empty crag near Chattanooga

It's hard to have the crag to yourself these days. That's okay. But there's no denying that our cliffs and boulders are seeing more people than ever before and climbing's ever-growing popularity has changed the landscape of the sport, sometimes literally. I'm increasingly and un-inronically convinced that the most ecologically responsible thing a climber can do is quit climbing. But nobody's going to do that. So whether you're headed to Ten Sleep or the New River this summer, there are lots of climbers out there and there's some that you should avoid and avoid being like.

5. The Bluetoothers & Hammockers

There are worse people on this list but the Bluetoothers and Eno Hammockers are my personal least favorite. These easy to spot (and hear) user groups are likely young granola types from the local university's outdoor club and they treat the outdoors like their campus's green space: bright colored hammocks strewed about with electronic toilet-noise music blasting loudly. Nobody likes your music. Nobody likes mine either. This is a forest/cliff/desert/mountain, not a chill hang-out spot to vibe with your friends. Leave your boombox and hammocks at home.

4. The Screamers & Wobblers

One time, my friend Julia and I went to the Obed for a day trip with a couple from Nashville. Julia and I were not a couple. In fact, I spent the whole drive talking about my friend Eli and now Julia and Eli are married (a point I did not neglect to mention when I officiated their wedding). Both members of that couple were strong climbers with even stronger personalities. They spent the entire day arguing about route choice, screaming about beta differences, yelling at each other about belay catches, and throwing humongous hissy fits when they did not send. Except for Julia, I never climbed with those people ever again. 

 

I understand being frustrated with bad climbing or bad belaying or obnoxious beta spraying but yelling, fit pitching, and temper tantruming (otherwise known as a "wobbler") is inexcusable behavior when other people are at the cliff. 

 

I also find screaming while trying hard a particularly annoying crag occurrence. There is some evidence that it helps with the send but it is really about the short, powerful exhalation -- not the noise. My friend Josh is a great example of a strong climber who exhales with purpose, rather than screams like a banshee. Noise pollution comes in many forms. Keep it down...

Cora and Josh being good land users AAA Crag in the U.P. Michigan

3. The Sandbaggers & Beta Sprayers

Everybody knows these guys -- usually guys -- and the Venn-Diagram of sandbaggers and beta sprayers is quite large. Sandbaggers undersell the difficulty of an objective while Beta Sprayers give unsolicited advice about how to accomplish the objective. Maybe you have had a conversation like this:

me: hey, we're looking for [5.8 hand crack in a dihedral].

Sandbagger: oh, you should totally get on this [5.10c overhanging splitter finger crack]

or like this: 

me: *falling off difficult-for-me boulder problem and not asking for help*

Beta Sprayer: bro! you gotta hand-heel match, then cross, then throw for the lip!

Both, Sandbagger and Beta Sprayer, are so plagued by their own ego that they feel the need to spray or "word vomit" all the information and not-so-humble brag they can muster to anyone in earshot. Everybody begrudgingly listens but nobody actually likes them. Don't be one of them.

2. The Non-Hole Digging or Wagbagging Woods Poopers

I'm not quite a crusty trad-dad yet, but I have been climbing long enough to see how climbing's growing popularity has caused growing pains at our local crags. Nothing demonstrates this more than the proverbial minefields of human feces that surround our most popular cliffs. I haven't climbed at Foster Falls in years (I refuse to anymore), but even a few years ago you couldn't wander into the woods to pee without stumbling on, what the Access Fund calls, "toilet paper flowers." AKA "flowers" or piles of soiled toilet paper erupting from the earth. Do we even need to talk about how reprehensible this is? 

It's gotten so bad that WAG-bags -- special bags you poop in and carry out -- are being implemented at southeastern crags, like Deep Creek. These bags were once reserved for delicate desert and alpine environs but increased use and impact at southern climbing destinations has necessitated them. Fun.

1. The Dangerously Stupid Help Rejecters

I watched a climber deck at Horseshoe Canyon Ranch. It was from the first bolt so it wasn't as bad as it could have been but I'm pretty sure he was going home with bruised or broken heels that evening. After we checked on him, to our dismay, he started up the route again! This time, when he struggled at the first bolt, he put his finger through the hanger in desperation. We let out a collective, "NOOOO!" and offered to spot him for a downclimb and let us stick clip it, if he was still committed to the route. He rejected our help and we packed up and hightailed out of there because we didn't want to scoop up brains that afternoon. 

We were all gumbies at some point. I had a few helpful mentors along the way but I am very much a self-taught climber. I've built anchors I'm ashamed of and I've done things that have caused me traumatic flashbacks about how I could have died or severely injured myself. One thing I've always appreciated is when a more experienced climber offered me a teaching moment in a kind, helpful way. 

Pride, ego, and insecurity combined with stupidity is a dangerous concoction. Be humble. And when the visibly ignorant are openly recalcitrant, it's probably just best to pack your gear and move on.

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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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On the month of January, fire guys, and clearcuts

 

bikepacking in Prentice Cooper State Forest

I decided to keep my 2021 new year's "resolution" very conservative: sleep outside once a month. Many of these nights outside will come in the form of "microadventures."The New York Times described microadventures as "short, perspective-shifting bursts of travel closer to home." These little write-ups will serve to dicument those shifts in perspective.

On microadventure #1

Max and I bikepacked to Davis Pond campground in Prentice Cooper State Forest. We met our friends Reid and Josiah who backpacked in on the Cumberland Trail. It was a dreary day but the clouds parted long enough for a nice sunset and long campfire before the floodgates of heaven were released. It was a cold, wet, and really good time.

On the month of January

January is the month equivalent of the state of Ohio. "Ohio," of course, being Native American for a shoulder shrug. Nobody cares about Ohio outside of elections. Nobody loves January except for the first day of month and even that's about the last day of December. The initial high of New Years and its resolutions quickly wear off in the month's cold, wet, dark days. The holidays are over and everybody's exhausted and broke. The joy of fall and the hope of summer are equidistant goal posts from these, the doldrums of winter. No wonder more people die in January than any month. I used to like January for its prime Southeastern climbing conditions but the more and more I ride my bike the more and more I long for warmer days. Thank God February is our shortest month.

On campfires 

I love looking at fire. My friend Reid wrote a while back, "Around a fire, the lulls in conversation that sometimes sandbag the whole affair are changed into pleasant meditations. There’s nothing to say, but there is a fire to look at." But I don't need a lull to stare. In fact, I don't say much around the campfire (this is my modus operandi at most social gatherings). Instead, I sit listening to the conversation around me; soaking it all in. The lull is the brief moment in time in which I insert myself through a joke, anecdote, or factoid before retreating back to my warm cocoon of silence, looking at the fire, listening to the sounds. 

campfire at Davis Pond campground

 

In defense of the "fire guy" 

We all know a "fire guy:" the guy who tends to the fire throughout the night with the eagerness of a boy scout and is often derided as such. The fire guy gives off strong "eager beaver" vibes. They meticulously build tiny twig tee-pees. They tend to the small sparks with motherly care until their baby fire grows into a roaring flame. They get down on all four and they huff and they puff at the coals. They snap sticks over their knees. They tweak and they poke and they prod at the fire all night long. They seldom sit. And all the while we benefit from their action. We sit and drink and laugh and converse never minding the intense labor of love that is taking place before our eyes. We are the birds on the elephant's back. The elephant is neither helped nor harmed but the birds eat their fill and enjoy their lives. Max was our elephant and what an elephant he was! All hail, "fire guy."

On clearcutting

clearcuts along Tower Road

Clearcutting is the harvesting of an entire stand of trees in a single operation and leaves behind a post-apocalyptic hellscape. Dig a trench, add some barbed wire, throw in a horse wearing a gas mask, and a clearcut looks like every picture of World War I you’ve ever seen. The gravel ride along Tower Road passes many such atrocities.

Much of the plateau in Prentice Cooper is subject to logging prescriptions that involve clearcutting and — I cannot decide if this is shocking or not — Tennessee has no statutes regulating the quality of this high-intensity timber harvesting. The Forest Service intends that these clear cuts are re-established but as Janisse Ray says in Ecology of a Cracker Childhood, "there is no way to re-create a forest. Not quickly. And the trees will just be cut again." The replanted stand of trees near Davis Pond campground is typical of these "re-created" factory forests: systematic rows of identical trees more reminiscent of a plantation than a forest.

Clearcutting destroys biodiverse forests, accelerates climate change, contaminates watersheds, depredates healthy soils, and decimates native plant species. Monitoring already shows a drastic decline in biodiversity in Prentice Cooper. Oak and hickories fail to regenerate in the degraded soil and only poplar and invasive autumn olive remain. The volume of cutting is increasing and clearcutting is becoming the norm.

But why should I care? I mean, I still use toilet paper to wipe my butt*. I am an imperfect conservationist. But I do think that trees and forests have intrinsic value beyond unsustainable market mechanisms. "The trees encountered on a country stroll, reveal a lot about a country's soul," wrote W.H. Auden. And I fear for our country's soul for so many reasons.  

FURTHER READING:

*Toilet paper wipes out 27,000 trees a day.  (National Geographic)
Tennessee Heartwood (Tennessee state forest advocacy group)

Ecology of a Cracker Childhood by Janisse Ray

"On the Bosom Of This Grave And Wasted Land I Will Lay My Head," in Orion Magazine by Janisse Ray

Gospel of the Trees curated by Alan Jacobs