Elkhart

SO, my 99 camry toasted its tranny coming back from Glacier National Park, and wasn't back from the shop by the time I got off work 16 days later.

Undaunted, I decided to visit the local Pinedale thriftstore and purchase a brand spanking new-to-me deathtrap disguised as an old ten-speed road bike and ride on up to the Wind River Range. My plan was to ride up, hike in and spend 2 nights in the Bridger-Teton Wilderness area, then ride back to a hotel room and hamburgers.

Grabbed a bike pump and a flat kit so I wouldn't have to walk or ride the rims back to Pinedale if the tires went, picked up a map at the ranger station in town and rolled on out (up).

2000 vertical feet, 16 miles and 3 hours later I finally topped out at the Elkhart Ranger Station. I had to walk the last couple miles of the route because it was pitch black, there was some snow on the road and also because my legs had some mysterious mechanical issue that prevented them from pedaling any farther up the climb. I've noticed this phenomenon before on previous rides, and have begun documenting all further occurrences so that modern science can work out what exactly is the goddamn problem with my quads.

Set my tent up at the car-camping site, next to an horseman/elk hunter who was planning on going out with his buddy the next morning and setting up a basecamp at a lake about 5-10 miles from the trailhead. I was planning on making a long loop around the wilderness that passed by that same lake on the return trip, so I told them ttyl and left.

Well, it got snowy pretty quickly,
followed some cross-country ski blazes to my trail a ways into the wilderness. Wandered around a bit, saw a snow bunny and decided to get back on track and met up with two lady day-hikers at lunch. Had a brief convergence as the elk hunters showed up there too and took a side trail down the lake. I went on my way after I fed some mashed potatoes to these snow-birds that kept on bugging me.


Anyway, I followed the day hiker's tracks up the trail until they turned back around, and from then on the going got a little slower. Lots of snow pack, scarce trail sign and cold feet because I brought my normal hiking shoes and also I forgot my gaiters again. AGAIN. Kept pushing on, and got to my destination early, so I took a side spur and ended up next to this beautiful lake with a great view

Had a pretty easy time with the fire, got set up with the back and side of my tent on a cliff in order to minimize the directions from which I could be attacked by cougars or bears. With a fire on the right, and sheer cliff to my left and rear flanks, any offensive maneuver by an enemy force will be a head-on one, which means I have a much better chance of successfully defending my body and belongings from a savage mauling. This aspect of campsite management is an oft-ignored one, and I'm hoping that my dissertation (complete with schematics) on the subject will receive long overdue appreciation and publication in a nationally syndicated magazine. Personally, I'm hoping for National Geographic or Outside, but am willing to settle for Backpacker.

Got up the next morning to frozen shoes, but I had been using my brand new Black Diamond Mercury Mitts as booties during the cold nights, so I just walked around the snow in them to get a fire going. Thawed out my main kicks and got back on the trail to get to the intriguing small black X on my map. Photographer's Point might be aptly named, or it might not exist at all. Fuck if I know, I never did end up finding it. 

I surmised the previous day that the spot, located well off the main trail, would offer some really nice photo ops of Long Lake and the surrounding mountain peaks. I had thought about trying to get there on the first day, but decided due to weaning light, snowpack and a general unfamiliarity with the area to postpone the trip out there until the second day arrived.

SO, when I woke up and got my frozen shoes unfrozen, I started bushwhacking due west, and soon found myself at a sheer cliff wall that dropped down to a frozen, snowy creek. 

I may have mentioned before on this blog or IRL that I am an idiot of the highest caliber, and so many of you will find it unsurprising that I attempted a sketchy, crumbly descent of this cliff face rather than finding an alternate route. At the bottom of this cliff, I found a another problem that I had never faced before-the gully was lined with huge to large boulders, and the snowpack was deep enough to engulf all but the most massive. Unfortunately, the snowpack was also light and powerdery, so It made traversing the rock gardens inherently dangerous, as I couldn’t tell at which points I was stepping on solid rock or about to fall down into a crevice. I basically ended up army-crawling across this minefield to get to the opposite side and where I assumed Photographer’s Point would be.

Long story short, I postholed my way across a mile of snow before re-evaluating my short and long term goals for the trip and deciding that I didn’t give a shit about Photographer’s Point, I had a crappy camera and I wanted to get back to the trail.

It was about then that I discovered that my map, located securely in one of my many pockets, had taken its leave of me. I think I remember it saying something about heading to the store for a pack of smokes, but I really wasn't listening. Good riddance, probably.

Fortunately, the loop I planned was simple and I remembered enough of the map to make little snow-maps of where I thought I was and where I thought the trail ran. About two hours later, I stumbled across the trail, about .5 miles from where I expected I would hit it. Was still very pleased with the result, because I had not been relishing the idea of my “Plan C” which involved the necessary evils of rationing food and walking at least 20 miles of west by southwest crosscountry back to Pinedale.

It was here I made the decision to descend south along 3 large lakes to follow my preplanned route instead of backtracking along the previous days tracks. I figured that I wanted to take the risk, even mapless, and if things got bad on the southward road, I could just follow my tracks back to the trail again and then head back to my bicycle and pizza.

Ended up finding the trail very easily once I dropped down in elevation a little bit, and followed it for a couple sunny miles before I hit a snag, namely a snowed over canyon with only uncharacteristically ancient trail-sign and no clear way to proceed. Wasn’t sure it was right, so I snacked on some trail mix and thought about what to do when I heard the neighing of a horse. I initially thought it might be some kind of weird Wyoming bird and ignored it, but eventually I decided to follow the sound out of the canyon and onto the banks of the lake where the elk hunters had set up a sweet, and I mean SWEET basecamp.

Big canvas tent, potbelly stove, the works. The two men weren’t there, when I arrived, as they had ridden back to their trucks in order to find a lost stovepipe. I hung out with the remaining horses for a little bit, then set up my tent on a nearby rock that jutted out into the lake.

LOOK

Got a fire going and found what may be the best spring I have ever come across ever. Definitely in my top 10 water sources of all time.  A few feet below it, there was another less cool but still awesome waterfall that I was initially going to fill up at, but in between the two there was a metric ton of elk poop. Elks couldn’t ruin the AMAZING spring (I went upstream to check) but they did manage to soil the lower one. 

Just Look

As an aside, Trashbag Nation would like to congratulate Elks for edging out Buffalo to make it into the top 5 additions to our animal shitlist. They now join their esteemed colleagues; horses, horses, bears and mosquitoes.

When the elk hunters came back from their fruitless search, I shot the shit with them around their fire before retiring to my campsite to dry out my shoes again and go to bed.

Snowstorm came that night and dumped a good 4 inches on everybody by the following morning, so I woke up and packed out in a hurry. I had found a pair of shredded and abandoned pants on a bush the previous night, and butchered them in order to make a pair of gaiters that ended up working really well.

I followed the horse tracks back out for as long as I could, but the snow killed most of them off before I had knocked out a mile or two. Thankfully, I had already hiked this section of trail to get into the park and knew my way out. Had a extremely pleasant little walk out, got back to my bike (tires filled and not stolen!) and had a extremely terrifying ride back down to town. Sections of the road were iced and then snowed over, and my braking system left a lot to be desired which means that the brakes didn’t work and I basically white-knuckled my way down to dry pavement.

Still, had a great time, got some great pictures and got a few good stories out the trip, which is usually the whole point in the first place.

Videos about it are here and also here. 

 

Glacier National Park

This was a fun trip, but I messed up the planning portion and as a result, had to bail after one night in the park (was planning on doing at least two).

I'd be upset, except for the fact that is was really cool and there are many hundreds of worse ways to spend my days off than to hike around Montana for any length of time at all.


So, I decided on Glacier instead of Yellowstone for a few reasons.


1. Glacier has the reputation of being one of the best places to backpack in the country

2. I am currently working in Pinedale, Wyoming which is a rock toss away from Yellowstone and I figured I'd have plenty of time to checkout that park next time I got off. Do the difficult stuff first so you get it over with sorta deal.

3. Wanted to hike in Montana

4. I recently read a book that told me that Yellowstone is one giant supervolcano and it's  due to explode any century now so I wanted to stay as far away from it as I can for as long as I can at least until somebody is paying me to risk my life there.


 SO, as I drove past the numerous state parks and mountain ranges on the way to Glacier, I was trying to anticipate and plan for the two most prevalent dangers that I thought I would face. As it turns out, I did not have to fight off a horde of grizzly bears one-handed while dangling from a snow cornice, only attached to my ice axe by the fraying hand-loop that I had neglected to inspect for damage before starting out oh god dude you'd better slam on the brakes, pull over and check it now.

Only a few minor traffic pileups later, I reached the eastern park boundary and found the park itself and every single outfitter nearby closed for the winter. I'm from Virginia, so calling late September "winter" was (and to some extent is) a foreign concept to me, but here I was all the same. To add complications, the main road in the park was closed for repair, as well as several suspension bridges on the trails. So my planned loop which started and ended at the road, was a no go. I picked up some trail maps from the deserted visitor station at St. Mary's Lake and planned out 2 shorter trips ( 2 nights, ~ 20  or 30 miles round trip depending on how I felt). I went back to my car and started packing my pack, which was difficult because I had to rearrange everything to find items (I'll be living out of my car for a while yet I think) and also because the weather was cold, rainy and very windy. I forgot to hold onto my car at one point and the wind tossed it along the parking lot like a balled up newspaper. I was so embarrassed when I had to run along after it, but hey, I only got the one and it's not like I want to lose it.

Red Eagle Creek

Anyway,  went out on the Red Eagle Creek Trail, even though the suspension bridge over the creek had been removed for the season. Ended up tightrope walking ac
ross the creek on the remaining support wires because I'm an idiot and also because I'm an idiot. I knew I'd have to cross the creek somehow, but didn't want to ford the relatively shallow creek due to the swiftness of the water and the fact that it was cold and I always try for the dry crossing. Didn't take any pictures of the feat because by the time I reached the other side of the rope/bridge my hands were frozen (Steel cable+ cold+sleet).

View from St. Mary's campsite

Finally got across, and started to curl around St. Mary's, a gorgeous alpine lake that sits at the bottom of some BAMs (Big Ass Mountains). Rain and wind kept up and it was getting dark, so I broke one of my own rules and opted to camp on a rocky beach. Got a fire going due to some semi-dry pine, lots of Unsea and some really handy pine bark that was covered in a fine dust of resin. Had to use a capful of HEET to start it up but the fuel took over from there. Fire really helped, and eventually went to bed right next to the lake. Woke up a few times because I thought maybe the lake would rise up and take my tent out to sea, eventually beaching me on an island of starving bears, but that didn't happen THIS TIME.

I had been worried this entire time because it had taken me so long to reach the lake. I had planned for end the first day well past this point and figured that I would take my shorter loop option the next day, because I was clearly starting to make my inevitable physical decline at age 23 and slowing down too much. My pack was heavy, my legs hurt and every 3 and a half feet I would stop walking and initiate defensive maneuvers just in case a grizzly bear or cougar was silently stalking me and preparing to pounce at that precise moment. Got really good at quickdrawing my bear spray and only had to use it a few times. Let's just say that there's some really spicy squirrels running around Glacier National park right now, and it's not like they don't deserve it. Don't chatter at me, bro.

Moose prints

Next day was colder and I had snow instead of cold rain which is much better. Rain gets everything wet and wetness adds an element of danger to any trip that cannot be ignored. Clearly it's possible to keep on in any weather, but you have to start paying attention when you know for a fact that you will be getting wet in ~40 degree weather.

Kept looping around the lake and saw lots of bear and cougar sign, especially around the numerous springs and creeks that fed into the lake. Was reminded of why I typically don't camp on trail or near running water if I can help it; predators (and other noisy, if less dangerous animals) use the trail as a highway and hang out around water, so when those two things come together you get alot of bear poop in the middle of the trail.



 Found a particularly clear set of bear prints that were smaller but I'm pretty sure were grizzly, along with some really clear cougar prints.

Trip started to get really good when I hit the waterfall section of the trail, and I don't think I have to explain myself here.


It was also here that trail junctions started showing up and I realized that I had misread the legend on my map-my short loop option was close to 30 miles total, and the long loop was, well, longer.

So I did some math, did some thinking and decided to bail after one night. I had just gotten this job in Wyoming/North Dakota and didn't want to mess it up because my boss called me to come in early and I was out skipping around a forest with no cell service.  Way I figured it, if I keep the job I can just keep paying for gas to go back to Glacier, whereas if I lose the job I probably won't be returning for some time. Add to this the fact that even though I was making better miles than I had originally thought, I had no clue if I'd run into worse weather or snowpack or something if I kept going. My margin of error wasn't slim, but to me, this particular trip wasn't worth the risk I'd take to keep going.

So started walking back on the (closed) road, met a bunch of really solid construction workers. This lady KT gave me a ride back to my car after about 4 miles of roadwalking or so. I'll make another post one day and it'll just be 3k words of me bitching about how much I hate roadwalking so you guys will understand just how far I'll go to avoid it usually.

Saw 2 black bears on the road back, they looked a little bigger than the ones we have back east. Still cowardly though. Didn't see any other wildlife, probably because I was singing and making noise the entire time to make sure that Grizzlies could pinpoint my exact location at any given time, 

Overall great trip and I relearned alot about hiking in wet weather. Post about that upcoming, believe me. Will definitely be back, although it'll be a little more prepared and better executed next time.



Youtube video about the trip here

Theodore Roosevelt National Forest Trip

Hey,

Gonna start documenting my trips on this blog for posterity.

This was a spur of the moment trip. I had just gotten a job in Williston, ND working on a sputter rig and was off for the next 6 days.

I went to the Northern portion of Theodore Roosevelt NP because it was an hour away from Williston and boasted 10 dollar a night campsites. Once I got into the park, the badland canyons, rock formations, buffalo and sunny weather made me want to hike, so hiking I went.

Rangers/camp hosts were really nice people.

I got a late start on this trip so it was mostly a nighthike to start with. Before the sun set, had a tense moment with a buffalo but it turns out that I scared him more than he scared me so he trotted/stumbled away. In my experience with hiking and all the wildlife that goes with it, most of the time it's the hoofed animals that are the most ill-tempered ones, so it was nice that I didn't end up running away from this particular bison this particular time. I've had to run from cows and horses, I don't wanna think about how much meaner buffalo are than them.

Nighthiked past a prarie dog town that coyotes were hanging around, kept going up and up and stopped about 95% up a climb to a plateau, made a small illegal campfire and went to bed (coyotes woke me up a bunch that night. They're not dangerous, just chatty and loud). Was a short mile day, think I probably did 5.

I thought it was the hiking in the dark that made the trail difficult to follow, but it turns out that the trail was just pretty hard to track down. For one thing, it wasn't too obvious, not too upkept, had few blazes and game trails kept running in, out and across it. Problem is that the actual trail looked like a game trail most of the time, but I only got crossed up once. Just had to do alot of scouting. As I climbed higher and hit the plateau/plain, you could pick out the blaze markers from a ways away so the going got easier. Cruised through another prairie dog town, down to the river, paralleled the road all the way back to my car.

Was a short, 12 mile round trip loop but the views were nice, the canyons and rock formations were really cool and water seemed pretty abundant though it was brown.

The best thing about this park was that I got to finally hike in the prairie, which has been an aspiration of mine for years. Verdict-prairies are kinda like the Serengeti and other grasslands I think. Really sunny, and you can see forever but they have alot more water/wildlife than the desert. Still, you're not exactly tripping over water sources, so it's clearly best to plan out where to refill.

Dunno if there were any big lessons from this trip as it was a quick and easy overnighter, but it was nice to get back on a trail again for a couple days.

Youtube video about the trip is here

The ins and outs of sleeping bags

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It’s a point of contention in the world of rough travel. Whether you’re bikepacking, boat touring or hiking, your sleeping bag is one of the most essential pieces of gear you carry, and so the construction and quality of that item can mean a lot in terms of whether or not you sleep well or at all.

We’re talking about, of course, Down vs. Synthetic fill. One is the champion of numerous long distance hikers, weight conscious backpackers and those super annoying Californian jerks that think they’re so cool because they get to play around in the goddamn Sierras and never get rained on. Fuckers.

The other is heralded by Boy Scout leaders, old men and Ray Jardine.  Also me.

Shit, wait, please keep reading. The argument may look like it’s over, but it isn’t, I swear. I have points. Several, valid points.

AN OVERVIEW (In case you didn’t get a good one from Backpacker Magazine or that kid who works at REI)

-Down is made of insulating feathers. From a goose. It is lighter, warmer and packs smaller than  modern synthetic insulation. Down also has a longer lifespan, meaning that when you get a high quality down bag, you can be set for the next 15 years as long as you care for the bag properly (intermittent washing, etc)

-Synthetic insulation, on the other hand, is heavier, less warm and bulkier than down bags of equal temperature range/design. Synthetic bags also lose their effectiveness quicker than down, which means a good syn bag can be expected to last 5-10 years even with excellent care and storage habits.

So, why would anybody ever pick synthetic over down as a sleeping bag fill?

1.     Cost-Synthetic bags are generally much cheaper than down bags

2.     Ability to maintain loft when wet. Down completely craps out when it gets wet, whereas synthetic retains 80% of it’s warming characteristics. Before you get going on how exacly duck and goose feathers are not considered water-friendly, remember that these are the second, insulating layer of feathers. The outer layer of a waterfowl’s plumage is oily and completely waterproof

a.     Loft is how “poofy” a sleeping bag is. The poof creates little pockets of air that reflect your body heat back at you, resulting in more warmth and a better night’s sleep. Down is loftier than synthetic naturally, but there are different grades of down, for instance 650 vs 850. 850 fill down will be loftier (lighter and more compressible) than 650 fill.

Before you start arguing with me, I know. You’ve triple-crowned with one Feathered Friends bag and have never spent a night wishing you carried a heavier, inferior sleeping sack in your life. Besides, there’s so many drysacks ,trash compactor bags and DWR coatings out there. What kind of idiot gets his sleeping bag wet?

The answer is Me. I’m that idiot. I’ve gotten bags wet in all sorts of weather, for all sorts of reasons. Of course, there are the obvious cuprits, botched river crossings, but other times, the issue has been trickier. I once got a synthetic bag wet while it was inside a trash compactor bag inside a pack that was shielded from the rain with a waterproof pack cover. How? Condensation. I hiked through a summer storm where the temperature dropped significantly and the rainfall was sufficiently heavy for water to gather in the bottom of my pack cover; an elusive phenomenon known colloquially as “holy shit I’ve been carrying a water balloon for the past 3 hours” syndrome .  I’ve also gotten a bag wet when during winter camping simply because moisture formed on me during the night while I was in my tent.

So even if you’ve never found yourself trying to throw your pack onto the opposite bank of a creek so that you can make the final rock hop more effectively, you can still get that sleeping bag wet. Also, congratulations, you are probably a much more sensible backpacker than me. You will never die trying to zipline across an Alaskan canyon with paracord and a titanium spork (if you’re interested sporklining, or other utensil-based adventure travel leave me a message in the comment section and I’ll forward you to my other blog, Tines On-Lines) and I admire you.

So trashbags, as effective as they usually are, aren’t foolproof. In addition to condensation problems, even trash compactor bags get old and full of holes. So what are you to do?

Well sleeping bag makers already came up with a solution, where they stick DWR (Durable Water Repellent) on the outside of sleeping bags so that water simply beads off the material and, ideally, never reaches the down at all. You may have seen a demonstration of this in your local outdoor store, where that surly, dreadlocked employee poured a cup of water on top of a draped sleeping bag and let puddles form on the fabric before scoffing at the local bouldering scene and trying to get you involved in the storewide Bean-filled vs Sand-filled hackey sack debate.

That kid is kind of right; that coating will keep your sleeping bag dry in the store. The water will not soak through the fabric and you’ll leave reassured and confident. Unfortunately, sales pitches are not always as they seem and there are two obvious problems with that chemical, hydrophobic treatments.  

1.     For some reason the paper thin nylon fabric rips during a trip, exposing the guts of your bag to the elements

And

2.     DWR doesn’t last. It’s like that college girlfriend that you think you’ll love forever only instead of her dumping you in a parking lot senior year, DWR will just slowly fade away until it’s just a distant happy memory. And no amount of Nikwax will ever really bring her/it back. This all means that stuffing and restuffing your bag, sleeping in it, using  it will eventually wear out the water-resistance. Oils, dirt and rough use will eventually mess up the DWR and leave you with a very normal down bag, one that you will have to treat appropriately if it is to stay dry.

Companies are starting to make “hydrophobic down” sleeping bags, where the actual down is coated with DWR. The idea is that the down itself rejects water, and these bags are promising to revolutionize the way we look at sleeping bag filler. Unfortunately, a lack of data at this point in time makes any claims manufacters make dubious at best: who knows whether or not this material will work.

So, I use synthetic bags the majority of the time for a few reasons.

1.     My backpacking style, habits and experience demand a water resistant bag.

2.     I generally hike in 3 season weather on the east coast (Appalachia) which means it’s gonna rain no matter what.

3.     I want a bag I can count on night after night on a long hike, no days where I have to spend a long time drying a bag out and no cold nights.

4.     I’m cheap as shit.

5.     I made my last sleeping bag and find that syn material is much easier to work with than down.

Having said that, I have a 0 degree winter bag that is 850 fill down, and I sometimes use it for winter backpacking. My reasoning is that at 0 degrees, any moisture I encounter will be frozen or dry, powdery snow. If I have a winter river crossing en route, I’ve got my sleeping bag in a drysack inside of a trashbag.

So there’s a time and a place for each material. Those Western kids can pretty much carry what they want, as rainstorms are less likely to occur out there, although it is important to note that when it rains in Colorado, it rains hard and cold. If you’re on the east coast or a beginner backpacker, synthetic may be a good option for you to consider, at least until you get some miles under your hipbelt and start refining your foolproof backpacking system.

A final note about synthetic bags: sleeping in a wet bag sucks no matter what’s on the inside. Synthetic isn’t comfortable, but it is warm-a quick protip is to try to squeeze or gently wring out the water before going to sleep in it, but prepare for a gross night no matter what.

Go into the sleeping bag world with a good idea of what you want and need from a bag. Use previous experience or just plain old brainpower to determine how to invest your money, and then pull the trigger. Don’t listen to Backpacker Magazine, that outdoor store kid or some knucklehead on the internet. Listen to your heart and your local weather forecast.

Stay Warm, Stay Dry.

I bought him a new helmet. It's like a better version of his head. We're even.

I can’t speak for everybody, but first time I do anything, I always learn a lot. Those first lessons are important ones, they’re the foundation for the years of hiking, paddling, climbing or whatever that lie ahead of me.
    It’s no surprise then that I learned a lot on the first bike-tour I ever did. I just didn’t expect to learn as much as I did.  I know now that backpacks are for walking and that bushwhacking is hard enough without carrying a bike. I learned exactly how much a new helmet for Thomas costs and I also know that it would have been much easier if we hadn’t been determined to do an off-road tour.
I’d found a blog post on some manufacturer’s website a few weeks previous, detailing a gorgeous, serene trip through the fire-roads of Michigan. The entry had pictures on pictures of spit-shined gravel roads that led straight into a world of sunshine and adventure, and all you had to do was pedal and coast underneath fiery, autumn leaves from campsite to campsite. I was really pulling for our trip to turn out like that blog, but, somebody decided that single-track would be more fun to tour on and the other one of us was dumb enough to agree. So we decided to load up our packs and meet on top of the techy trail that serves as an entryway into the Pandapas Pond trail system (Blacksburg what’s up holler at me ladies). I was late getting off of work, and was very late by the time I managed to drag myself to the top. Thomas, in addition to being patient, is about 4 times the climber I am and so had been waiting up there for some time. We scoped out each other’s gear setups (panniers? psh, we don’t need any stinking panniers) and then starting off into the setting sun.  
Which means it was pretty much a nightride to start with, and bombing down one of the fastest trails on the mountain, at night, with no lights was a recipe for shit to happen. I was about five minutes into the descent when an overhanging vine caught my backpack and almost yanked me backwards off my saddle. According to a post-trip Wikipedia search, this particular species of vine spends much of its natural life growing slowly down towards pack level on mountain biking trails, praying the entire time for some poor bastard with a giant backpack to try and slip under it. I still don’t know how Thomas, who is 6 fucking 5, managed to miss it, but he did.
 It was full on dark by the time we reached the bottom, and so we started to climb up to a campsite that Thomas swore he knew the location of. To cut a long story short, on the way there Thomas broke a spoke, got a flat and the Mystery of The Disappearing Campsite remains unsolved (We tried to call in The Hardy Boys, but all they sent us was two geriatrics on ten speeds. We had to ditch them after they wouldn’t stop talking about how nobody makes nice lugged frames anymore.)
    We did, however, follow a rainwater rut uphill until it became clear that we had wavered dramatically from our planned course. After a brief discussion, we both decided to press on into the thorny underbrush, in the hopes that we’d eventually stumble across a suitable place to sleep. It took another hour of uphill bushwhacking (with bikes and gear, no less) before we found a kinda-flat area in a patch of blueberry plants. It wasn’t until the next morning that we discovered the bear scat and clawed up trees that surrounded our campsite. There are not many bears in Pandapas Pond, but we’d definitely managed to find our way into their living room.
    In any case, we woke up and bushwhacked back to the trail we’d been on last night, passing several pastoral campsites on the way. I had just finished fishing the bear poop out of my tire tread with a stick when we decided to ride out of Pandapas on a fire road that snakes it’s way through the park system. The gravel led out to one of those hilly back-roads that every cyclist in the Appalachians loves and/or hates, which would lead right back into our cars. We’d drive separately to Dublin, where we’d celebrate our successful excursion with bad food and worse beer.
    Unfortunately, during a feigned argument and subsequently fake battle (Those long climbs can get kinda boring) Thomas suffered a very real crash when I clipped his handlebar during retreat maneuvers. After he swerved around for a few milliseconds, struggling to regain control, his head hit asphalt just a few feet away from me. I was worried, but it didn’t look too bad initially; he crashed at a such a low speed and had almost avoided hitting the ground altogether. The end result, however, made it the most serious bike injury I’ve ever seen or been involved in. Thomas jumped up, swore and ripped his helmet off of his head and told me it was cracked. I didn’t believe him at first, and in a way, I was right to doubt; the foam insides were destroyed from the impact, not just cracked.
    I took some inventory on the situation, which means I fixed Thomas’s bike while he stood around and fought back the adrenaline rush. When I looked over at him again, his face was sheet white-I told him to sit down, in between apologies, and he obliged. After a few minutes, he hopped back on his bike and rode back to his car.
    By the time we got back to the house we both lived in, things seemed better. Thomas was talking like Thomas, which is this weird mixture of unrelenting optimism and weird aphorisms. We even laughed about airing his bourban-soaked gear out in the yard; the crash had claimed another victim in the bottle of Wild Turkey Thomas had packed.
It was the next day that I had to convince him to go to the hospital after he related a brief anecdote concerning bathtubs and what I knew to be brain fluid leakage. To spare you the gory details, Thomas got a severe concussion and had to spend the next three months off his bike. I, like any good friend, bought him a new helmet and half a case of cheap beer. My memory is hazy, but the point is that the hatchet was buried under crushed PBR cans and 60 dollars worth of plastic and foam.
    Unrelatedly and shortly after, I moved out of the house to live some 20 miles closer on my commute. That summer, Thomas ended up touring cross-country with only one significant crash. I ended up thru-hiking the PCT without causing anybody else serious injury, although I definitely ate it once or twice.
    I’ve since come to the conclusion that the harrowing incident can be classified into one of two categories; 1. Wrong place, wrong time or 2. Jackassery of the worst kind. I lean towards number 2 most days, but I also always factor in number 1. It’s a strange world we live in, and bad shit can happen in the blink of an eye, even to the most experienced or skilled people in any given field.
    We’re going on our second tour next weekend. Thomas is bringing a metal flask and a football helmet. I’m bringing a map and have promised to not initiate military maneuvers unless threatened by an enemy cyclist. Wish us luck.

    Epilogue-Trip number 2 was a rousing success! The closest anybody came to crashing was when Thomas almost hit a rabid raccoon! USA! USA! USA!
   

Confessions of A Sales Associate

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Confessions of a Sales Associate

1.     I hate feet.

a.     The only time I like them is when I get to watch customers struggle to jam their toes into Vibram Five Fingers for 15 minutes at a time.

2.     Everybody in my family is getting titanium dishware for Christmas

a.     And maybe headlamps

3.     I can only recommend that product because I have that product, and I only have that product because a sales rep gave me that product in order to trick me into tricking you into buying it.

a.     Joke’s on him though, I actually like this stupid thing

4.     I can’t afford all my high-end gear without an employee discount

a.     I just want to look like I can

5.     I’m less worried than impressed when customers ask me if we can special order samurai swords

a.     Do you want to hang out after I get off work?

6.     On the days when I’m too lazy to leave the store to buy lunch, I eat Cliff Blocs.

a.     Then I sit in the staff room, stare at the wrapper and wonder what happened to my life for 45 minutes. Then I clock back in.

7.     You know those Osprey Hipbelt ovens?

a.     I baked cupcakes in there once.

8.     I don’t own the store and the cheap bastards that do don’t give me commission

a.     I don’t really care if you buy anything or not.

9.     I tried on those boxer briefs before you did.

a.     They were too small.

10.  If your product glows in the dark, I will never stop being excited about it.

a.     Turn the lights off for a second and check this puppy out!

11.  I’m better at fooling myself into buying things that I don’t really need than I am at fooling you into buying the things that you don’t really need.

a.     They might as well pay me in socks and jackets.

12.  After you leave, I’m not going to Windex the displays. I’m going to thumb through this catalogue and learn about expedition yak saddles just in case somebody comes in and asks for one.

a.     I’ll be ready, dammit.

13.  When people who can’t control their kids come to my store, I don’t smile and act irritated. The truth is that I’m really enjoying how much they’re bothering all the other customers.

a.     I once told a kid that he looked like he could run faster than his older brother, then went back to my desk to watch the carnage unfold.

14.  I throw those crocheted indoor Frisbees around whenever I can.

a.     It’s ten points if you can get it to land on a hanger.

15. I once bought a set of softshell bedsheets

b.     They were on sale and they’re windproof.