To all those people commenting on social media about how women ask to be catcalled based on their attire, here’s what Kait and I were wearing: loose-fitting pants layered with loose-fitting shorts and topped off with puffy jackets. But I shouldn’t be expected to describe our clothes. In fact, the only situation in which I should be expected to describe what we were wearing would be if Search and Rescue was involved with saving us from hypothermia. Then, yes, the SAR team would deserve to know what kinds of layers we were bumbling around in at seven thousand feet on Christmas Day.
“The first problem for all of us, men and women, is not to learn, but to unlearn.” – Gloria Steinem
Sometimes, I roll into mountain bike races–and even trailheads–wondering why I am a part of such an entitled, capitalist-driven, expensive sport. I loathe the sight of gas guzzling SUVs (especially when only one bicycle and one person emerge from the SUV), and camping near shiny RVs the size of an average house (complete with loud
Once in the spring, and once in the fall, I ground myself in Northern Arizona’s seasons by riding my bike around the San Francisco Peaks. In the spring, my mind wanders as I ride through tunnels of bright green aspen, meadows dappled with lupine, poppies and Rocky Mountain iris, and views of shrinking snowfields plastered