Gear Review: X-Tiger Sunglasses

not Nick Offerman

What's more important in life than shredding? Looking good. I may not be a dentist with a bike that costs more than a 2005 Ford Focus and I may never win a lottery spot in Mid South Gravel or huck a suicide no-hander over a double gap. I don't even know what those words mean. But I can look cool. Like Macho Man Randy Savage cool. And for the low cost of $20.99, you can look this cool too with X-Tiger Polarized Sports Sunglasses.

These sunglasses are so cool that my wife says I can only wear them while biking. Too much sauce for the grocery store  I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Once, my friend Alea saw me riding across town and she said, "Wow. Those glasses are... something." And you know what? They are something. They're like Pit Vipers but for a fraction of the cost and without the cringey lax-bro-in-a-MAGA-hat-and-Reagan-Bush'84-t-shirt kind of vibe. X-Tiger sport shades are lightweight, low-cost, and keep the sun and mud out of my eyes. What more do you need to know? 

I suppose you could take the time to read the nearly 7,000 gushing reviews on Amazon and you could see that Outdoor Gear Lab gave X-Tiger Sunglasses 4 out of 5 stars and a "Best Buy" rating. But why would you waste your time when you can imagine me pulling these bad boys down over my sweet baby blues, doing slow donuts in the trailhead parking lot while blasting Iron Maiden's "Wrathchild" at full volume? 

Eat your heart out, Pit Viper. Let's shred.

(EDIT: due to the rising cost of living in our ever collapsing hell world, I regret to inform you that these glasses are now $23.99)

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Have You Hydrated Enough Today?

"Excuse me, sir! do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior depicted in the Piss Christ?" Immersion, more commonly known as Piss Christ, by Andres Serrano, is a 1987 photograph of a white crucifix submerged in an aquarium of the artist's own urine. Although it won several awards, its merit was criticized by both art critics and people of faith. But the artistic and theological value of the piece, and I think it has both, is irrelevant. What I find truly problematic about Serrano's Piss Christ is that the artist's urine has the same coloration as a bowl of Spaghetti-O's. 

Based on urine color analysis, I live and move and have my being in a constant state of dehydration. I seem to fancy myself part camel with an ability to go super long periods without consuming water. But as my latest blood work revealed, I am, in fact, only human and my kidney function is what the doctor calls, "below average." I need to drink more water. 

Drinking water is excellent. It's good for us in like a gazillion different ways. Notably, when I drink enough, my urine doesn't come ripping out of my urethra as a flaming, stinking, marigold-colored mess. That, and my recent doctor's visit, is why I decided to drink more of it. And while I don't think I'm ready to post on the hydrohomies subreddit yet, I have made changes in the last couple of months that keep me peeing clear. 

SIDEBAR: upon actual research, it is possible to overhydrate before and during endurance activities. Despite the dictum of "clear and copious," the ideal color of your urine is straw-yellow. See chart above.

I try to maintain a 1:4 coffee-to-water ratio. That means for every 8 oz of coffee, I try to drink 32 oz of water. This is absolutely arbitrary and not backed by science in any way. Maybe it is, I don't know. I could Google it but I won't because it works for me. 

I started substituting apres-ride/climb/work beer for seltzer water. Post your favorite LaCroix flavors in the comments below. I like it plain and Key Lime if I'm feeling like mommy's little fancy boy. And if I'm hitting harder stuff, mango-flavored White Claw is the nectar of the gods.  

But these aren't things you couldn't learn from any self-help and wellness influencers on TikTok. That is to say that these aren't things you didn't know already. And this isn't a blog about home and work. It's a blog about [insert human-powered endurance activity here].

WARNING: It's about to get real techy up in here. TL;DR for the non-gear junkies, the triumvirate of backcountry hydration is this: (1) Katadyn Steripen, (2) Nalgene Ultralite, and (3) Arundel Looney Bin.

When it comes to hydrating in the backcountry, nothing beats the Katadyn Steripen Ultra UV Water Purifier. I bought mine with a pro deal back in 2013 and have used it on every backpacking trip. Every bikepacking adventure. Every rock climbing road trip. Cost-per-use, this baby has paid for itself multiple times. I don't know why I never considered it for shorter day hikes, bike rides, or days at the crag until now. Yet here we are, and it rules. The Steripen is light (4.9 oz) and uses ultraviolet light to purify 32 oz of water every 90 seconds. That means you'll be guzzling the good stuff while your rube friends are still pumping and squeezing and sucking through whatever archaic water purification system they still use. I have safely and successfully purified water from the clearest high country creeks to murky, stagnant ponds. Giardia free since twenty-thirteen. I try not to overcommit myself to any brand or product, but this is a hill I am willing to die on. If you go places outside that require drinking more water than what you bring with you, then you need a Steripen. 

My favorite water-carrying vessel is the Nalgene. Everyone has a Nalgene. I prefer the Ultralite (48 oz or 32 oz) not because I'm an ounce-counter, but because I like the bland non-color and the plastic is a little softer and more malleable for fitting into a bicycle bottle cage. What's that you say? "A bottle cage that fits a Nalgene?!" 

Yes, the Arundel Looney Bin and it's my new favorite piece of gear. A bottle cage big enough for a Nalgene that does not rely on Voile straps, what's not to love? The Looney Bin has enough room even for a big ol' wine bottle (though that might offset your hydration gains). The turn knob ratchet strap keeps my Nalgene secure on even the loosest, baby head-sized, rough stuff descents. The Looney Bin will be on all my bike builds from now on. 

With this holy trinity of hydration, I will never go thirsty again. Glory be to the Steripen, and to the Nalgene Ultralite, and to the Arundel Looney Bin, as it should have been in the beginning, is now, and will be forever, a world without dark yellow pee-pee. Amen.  

Have you hydrated enough today?

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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. 

On the Moka Pot: A Meditation in 4 Parts

Ten Sleep Canyon, Wyoming

 

First, a story:
I remember the morning alpenglow on the limestone walls of Ten Sleep Canyon, the cool air, and the wildflowers scattered throughout the meadow.  Or maybe it was the morning wind blowing through the piñon pines of El Rito, New Mexico's high desert? I can't remember the place. But I do remember the dull roaring of a Bialetti moka pot precariously situated above a pocket rocket stove and the rustling of a waking Josh from his tent. That morning, like every morning, I'd pour Josh a cup of addictive legal stimulant.
 

All summer Josh commented about my coffee, which was strong, dark, and viscous. It was the kind of coffee your machismo uncle said, “would put hair on your chest.” Josh sipped the velvety dark brew, shuddered, and then stared, bewildered, as I unhesitatingly guzzled it down. 

Making moka pot coffee was my morning routine for years both at home and in the woods. But that morning in Wyoming or New Mexico or possibly Colorado, I mentioned that I had always been confused about my beloved coffee gadget. It was marketed as a “six cup” stovetop espresso maker but each brew barely filled one coffee mug; what was the deal? Josh, still in his sleeping bag and a fresh cup warming his hands, began to laugh as he put it all together in his head. “Six espresso cups,” he chortled. “Chet, you’ve been drinking six servings of espresso every time you use this thing.” 

 

That would explain the jitters and my long love affair with big, bold, and borderline bitter coffee.
 

 

Now, a clarification:
The moka pot does not make actual espresso. There's not near enough pressure. However, it is still quite strong, it makes a kind of "crema," and is a worthy working-class simulacrum. And if it’s good enough for a 60.36 million Italians, it’s good enough for you. 

Then, a haiku:
black blood of the earth
trickling downward the altar
life unto the world

And finally, a recipe:

This recipe is inspired by Velo Coffee's Americano, which pushes the espresso shot through an Aeropress. The double paper filtration removes the bitterness but keeps the robustness that the moka pot is known for. It produces a strong but smooth cup of coffee that will supercharge your Monday.

1. Grind the beans somewhere in between espresso and drip; more coarse means less bitter. Brighter and lighter coffees work nicely but avoid the extra fruit-forward stuff. I like espresso roasts but avoid the big box store, pre-ground kind. If you live in Chattanooga, Velo Coffee Boneshaker is my absolute favorite coffee roast. So dang good. 
   
2. Brew the coffee in the moka pot. This Reddit user has provided a Moka Pot Master Guide; I wholeheartedly recommend using it. The three following bits are crucial: (a) boil the water before pouring it into the base (b) use a knife, finger, or Aeropress paddle to level the coffee with the lip of the basket but don't pack it down! (c) adhere a rinsed Aeropress filter to the gasket of the upper chamber.
3. Cool the bottom half of the moka pot in cold water (in a bowl or under the tap) immediately after the coffee has gurgled its way into the upper chamber. This prevents the beans from "cooking."
4. Pour the brewed coffee into an Aeropress as you would using the standard brewing method (upright and unturned).
5. Plunge slowly. This is a good rule of thumb for all Aeropress recipes but especially so here. Be particularly mindful as you near the bottom of the chamber. Since the only thing in the chamber is liquid there is not much resistance. Press too fast and extremely hot liquid will spew out the air vents in the bottom of the Aeropress.

Dang, I can barely write this without getting giddy. Give it a taste and let me know what you think!

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