Broken & Coastal Volume 05 by Broken & Coastal

BROKEN

05 1

COASTAL

05 CREATIVE DIRECTOR CHRISTOPHER SAN AGUSTIN

EDITOR TERRA MAHMOUDI

CONTRIBUTORS ADAM SKLAR BIG DIPPER BRIAN BARNHART CARLEY ERICKSON CHRIS HORNBECKER COLYN CORINNE PREVOT DANIEL SHARP DREW COLEMAN GREY DIATION GRITCHELLE FALLESGON INGRID LAROUCHE IVY AUDRAIN JOE RICH JULIE KRASNIAK KATIE SOX KELSEY PHILLIPS LITTLE DIPPER MICHELLE WILLCOX PATRICK MEANS SERENA RIO SILVIA GALLIANI SKYE SCHILLHAMMER TASHA LINDEMANN THE CHAMP THE POET THE WRANGLER TOM GRICE TOM ROBERTS TORI BORTMAN VERONIQUE SANDLER

2 & COASTAL IS PUBLISHED ANNUALLY BY BROKEN & COASTAL LLC IN PORTLAND, OR. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. REPRODUCTION IN WHOLE BROKEN OR IN PART OF ANY TEXT, PHOTOGRAPHY, OR ILLUSTRATION WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE PUBLISHER IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED.

BROKEN & COASTAL VOLUME 05

2020

GET IN TOUCH CHRIS@BROKENANDCOASTAL.COM

FIND US ONLINE BROKENANDCOASTAL.COM @BROKENANDCOASTAL

Broken & Coastal is the proud recipient of the Citizen Chrome Grant, awarded to those doing creative work that directly impacts their community. Celebrating 25 years in the making, the Citizen Chrome Project is Chrome Industriesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; commitment to making cities better places to live. Learn more at chromeindustries.com

FOR CYCLISTS COURAGE—THE TRADITIONALIS THE RULE BREA WHO DARE TO LIFE OUTDOORS

FOR CYCLISTS WITH CO THE NON-TRADITIONAL RULE BREAKERS WHO FOR CYCLISTS W LIFE OUTDOORS. BREAKERS WHO

OR CYCLISTS W OURAGE—THE N RADITIONALISTS HE RULE BREAKE HO DARE TO LI FE OUTDOORS.

S WITH COURAGE— ADITIONALISTS AND TH ERS WHO DARE TO LIV CYCLISTS WITH COURAGE—THE N RS.FOR BREAKERS WHO DARE TO LIVE LIFE OU

CYCLISTS WITH COURAGE—THE NON-TRAD AKERS WHO DARE TO LIVE LIFE OUTDOORS.

CYCLISTS WITH RAGE—THE NO DITIONALISTS A RULE BREAKERS OOUTDOORS. DARE TO LIVE R CYCLISTS WI OURAGE—THE N 6

I created Broken & Coastal in the beginning of 2016 because I didn’t feel like I fit in the cycling world that I saw depicted in the media. It wasn’t until later that I realized that I wasn’t alone—there were so many cyclists and outdoor enthusiasts who felt that way, too. Over the past four years, we’ve independently printed five issues featuring 76 contributors from seven countries. That’s 474 pages of content covering everything from BMX to elite road cycling, all with the intent of inspiring people to live life outdoors.

I’ve always looked at cycling and the outdoors as a place that brings people together regardless of religion, skin color, sexuality, gender identity, or economic status. But as I’ve met new people and traveled to new places for Broken & Coastal, I’ve discovered that this is not always the case—that as I’ve become more comfortable in the cycling space, I haven’t done enough to make others feel welcome. Even in 2020, there is still a huge fight for equality and representation in this industry, and there’s an equally huge need for allies in this fight. Volume 05 is dedicated to the badass women, trans, and non-binary folks that are leading the way in creating change in the cycling industry.

It’s also an inaugural issue of sorts, as we swear in a new role for the magazine as a fundraising tool. Proceeds from this issue will be donated to a nonprofit that provides crisis-intervention and suicide-prevention services to LGBTQ and queer-questioning youth nationwide, and moving forward, each issue of Broken & Coastal will benefit a different cause. We will continue to print stories that inspire motion, that foster the drive in us all to keep going, to push harder and pedal further. But now we’re printing (and pedaling) with purpose. I am excited to start this year off with a fresh perspective and something worth fighting for.

Christopher San Agustin Founder/ Creative Director

10 HALFWAY DECENT

16 CHASING THE LIGHT

24 FINDING NEW MEANING

30 ALLIED 36 VISION

42 AN INTERVIEW WITH EMMA MISSALE

48 DEPTH AND FOCUS 8

74 MIDDLE COAST WTF BIKEPACKING COLLECTIVE

80 WHAT HAPPENS WHEN 4 CANADIANS, 1 AMERICAN, AND 1 FRENCH GO TO MOAB?

86 WTF BIKEXPLORERS SUMMIT

92 WOMEN OF TRANS-CASCADIA

104 OREGON OUTBACK

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WRITTEN BY KELSEY PHILLIPS PHOTOGRAPHED BY KATIE SOX & COLYN

I waited in line at the B.C. border in my 1983 Toyota Tercel, my 2019 Scott Ransom stowed on top. To some, it would appear my priorities are a bit backward. When I pulled up to the border agent, he looked at my car, my bike, my gear piled up in the back seat, and finally, at me. “Why are you going to Canada?” he asked. “Mountain biking,” I replied. “You’re a professional?” “Rarely,” I answered. “How much was your bike?” I waited some time before responding. “A lot,” I said.

He asked if I was paid to race bikes, and I explained that sometimes people pay for my bike races, but that I’m not paid to race bikes. The back-and-forth continued as I tried to explain in a polite, roundabout way that I’m an absolute dirtbag, who spends way too much energy, time, and money racing bikes for no tangible gain. After a few minutes of (extremely irrelevant) prodding, he waved me through, and I drove into Vancouver with a brand-new mix of stoke and what-the-f*ck-am-I-doing-in-life existential dread. I’ve been racing bikes for a while now, starting with road and cyclocross when I lived in Chicago, and switching to mountain bikes when I moved to Oregon a couple of years back. Why do I race my bike? I’ve had many versions of this conversation—with friends, coworkers, family members, even gas-station attendants—and I still struggle to answer this question. Why, knowing full well that I won’t ever line up at an EWS or DH World Cup race, do I dedicate all of my free time to racing? Why do I line up week after week, giving my life to this sport? I talk about this question with the people I race with when we’re climbing to the next stage or drinking beers around the fire afterward, and their answers are multifaceted. Some have the goal of doing this for a living; they dream of being fully sponsored, of being the best in their class, achieving the highest level they possibly can. For others, it’s a full-blown hobby; maybe they’re trying to make gains week after week because it’s something that keeps them busy and working toward a goal, or maybe it’s just to distract them from existential dread. Whatever the reason, it’s still super hard to explain to people outside this circle. It’s hard to explain to my boss why I spent the week prepping food, changing my oil, getting as dialed as one can get with a 37-year-old car, all so that I can drive to a race 13 hours away, where I’ll *maybe* get a podium that pays out much less than I spent to get there. Just typing out that sentence made my face scrunch a bit. Woof.

My move to Bend, Oregon, a couple of years back was humbling in a lot of ways. The Great Chicago Mountains are just highway overpasses, but a few months before the move, I got a single-speed hardtail, my first mountain bike. When I first got to Bend, I started riding some of the mellower XC trails and felt extremely confident in my abilities; but I quickly came to find out that those trails were essentially just a Portland cyclocross race and I couldâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve ridden them on a road bike. When I was taken to one of the spicier trail networks in the area, I promptly caught my shorts on my non-dropper post, went over my bars, and had plenty of time to think about my ego as I tomahawked down the mountain. That hit my reset button as far as expectations went. I had been racing bikes since 2012, but not *mountain* bikes. Out here, I was just a newborn deer trying to stand up, wobbling around, trying to drop my seatpost the analog way. Once I got a full-suspension bike, I figured the best way to learn how to ride in the Pacific Northwest was to race 13 enduros, sink or swim. An aggressive tactic to be sure, but with absolutely no goals or expectations beyond learning, it was one of the best choices Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve ever made. These races gave me what was essentially a guided tour of the best trail networks and introduced me to people who have become extremely close friends.

I’ve been shown more trails and told how to get to secluded off-the-grid spots in the two years since those races, and I feel like I’m *just* now getting my sea legs. I’m still an absolute spaz as far as technique goes, but I’ve gained confidence through experience—and ultimately, that’s my only goal in racing as much as I do. For me, racing is a vehicle for spending time outside with my friends, it’s a way for me to push myself, to grow in new ways week after week. Getting over mental hurdles (e.g., “Oh SH*T, that drop looks MUCH bigger now!”) has been one of the hardest parts of riding for me, especially when I’m surrounded by extremely talented riders who have been on mountain bikes since they could walk. But learning not to compare myself to others, learning to focus instead on my personal progression, has been impactful in riding and in life. So yes, maybe I’m a total dirtbag who spends way too much time, money, and energy racing bikes for no tangible gain—but I keep going, I keep racing, and I keep finding reward and fulfillment through the experience itself. And maybe that’s reward enough. Because if you’re not having fun driving hundreds of miles in an ‘83 wagon to go to a race that offers no payout and halfway decent stage times at best, then why go at all?

SING THE IGHT

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WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY

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Following familiar gold-dusted tire marks, I find a hidden path. Without warning, the world is transformed. The cars are replaced with towering trees, the houses by immense clay sculptures. The sun pours gently through the treetops, painting the edges of each jump and filling the space with a warm amber glow.

I hear the leaves rustling in the wind and the echoing sound of shovels hitting the dirt. It is almost time to ride. Thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s no age requirement or dress code. The women around me wear courage and rebellion, passport stamps of their endless sense of adventure. Feet on the pedals, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time. Down the paths of dirt, leaning left, leaning right, leaning left, and bracing myself to fly through the air.

Holy crap, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m flying. Gripping my handlebars, my heart is pounding in my throat and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m filled with a mixture of fear and invincibility. At the top of the hill there is a cheering for each victory and bruise. I have found my sisters in these woods, each of us connected like spokes on a wheel. Lap after lap and smile after smile, we chase the sunlight down the trail until it runs out.

FINDING FINDING FINDING

NEW NEW NEW

MEANING MEANING MEANING WRITTEN BY IVY AUDRAIN PHOTOGRAPHED BY ADAM SKLAR

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Last May, severely injured from racing and badly needing a change in scenery, I packed up my car and moved to my hometown of Missoula, Montana. While injuries aren’t uncommon with riding and racing, paired with uprooting my life and relocating, the situation left me feeling exceptionally volatile and uncertain about what I was doing with bikes. Until then, so much of my intention for riding had been about working towards a specific event—but with my summer race plans derailed by injury, I was forced to find new meaning in riding.

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While much of my journey in cycling has been about feeling comfortable and in control, I’ve found myself wanting to branch out more and more over the years. This desire to explore led me to race cyclocross, to try my hand at racing XC, and most recently, to go on my first bikepacking trip.

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Unsure about when I would be able to race or be excited about racing again, I chose to seek out areas of cycling that were purely fun. For the first time in my life, I was ready to approach biking without an agenda or a particular goal in mind. So when my dear friends and neighbors Adam and Colin invited me on a three-night bikepacking trip, I decided to give it a shot. To say I was out of my comfort zone at the thought of joining them would be a gross understatement; I made myself physically sick, worrying about the different scenarios in which I’d be uncomfortable or unsafe. Up until that point, my camping experience was limited to car camping somewhere near civilization. Even as someone who grew up in Montana and now spends a considerable amount of time outdoors, the prospect of camping for several days without the luxuries of bathing and phone service, but very much with the company of my own thoughts was truly terrifying.

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I immediately started planning. I asked a girlfriend for tips and pointers (and her vote of confidence that I could do this), I borrowed frame and handlebar bags, and I consulted the Internet to learn how to efficiently pack my bike. Despite my best efforts, what I couldn’t find on the Internet was a manual for someone who has all the gear and is physically capable of bikepacking but is still incredibly nervous or fearful about what happens once you’re out there.

MEANIN

So in that vein, here are some learned pointers from the perspective of a person who could not have been more fearful and apprehensive to bikepack (but who ended up having the time of her life anyway).

GO WITH FOLKS THAT YOU KNOW HAVE YOUR BEST INTEREST IN MIND. I was particularly nervous about being the only gal on this trip, but going with fellas who were patient and who I knew would look out for me made me feel like I was in good hands. I feared the possibility of running into creepy folks in the remote areas on our route more than I feared the wildlife we might encounter. It’s probably because I’ve watched too many scary movies or heard too many anecdotal stories, but I was much more at ease with friends who made me feel looked after.

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This is true in both a physical and mental sense. Eat your food, drink way more water than you think you need, and refill your bottles every chance you get when you’re in remote areas. We got into a slightly bummer situation in cow country, where it was tricky to find fresh, nonmud-puddle water. I was a bit panicked and pretty brutally dehydrated. Thankfully, I had Adam and Colin to help me keep my cool, and we ended up having just enough water for coffee our last morning. Still, I kicked myself for not taking advantage of a prior water opportunity.

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THE RIDING WILL BE MORE TAXING THAN YOU THINK AND PLAN FOR.

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I was also completely clueless about water needs and meal planning, and I had no idea how we’d cook our food. Both Adam and Colin had bikepacked numerous times, and letting them take the reins with meal planning for all of us was a huge relief. If I’d been on my own for that one, I probably would have just eaten Haribos for three days straight!

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OTHER NOTEWORTHY TIPS 1) Whisky is not a substitute for water. 2) A fresh chamois every day is mandatory (for me). 3) Plan a breakfast stop at a diner, if possible. It brought me back to life.

MEANIN

One of my biggest hesitations leading up to the trip was having so much time without distraction, and I really had to reconcile with the fact that I’d be spending a lot of time with my thoughts. I realized that I plan my days to be full of activities, like training, crafting, chores, and social stuff, because moments where I had to sit with my thoughts in the past (a.k.a. serious bike-racer time) meant listening to feelings of inadequacy—feelings that I’m not doing enough or being enough or that I won’t measure up as a racer or person. This was the most significant way in which I stepped out of my comfort zone on this trip. I had no idea what quiet time would look or feel like with my new sense of self, independent of racing. As it turns out, I needed it.

THE QUIET TIME IS ALSO MORE TAXING THAN YOU THINK AND PLAN FOR.

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ALLIED ALLIE WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY MICHELLE WILLCOX

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I started riding dirt just keeping up with the guys, but it wasn’t until I started riding in their absence that I learned about the importance of having and being an ally. Three years ago I went into my first season of racing cyclocross as the only female on the team. I barely knew what I was doing. I was a bike messenger at the time, which meant I had some level of fitness, and in my spare time, I had started to ride mountain bikes just enough to be okay with getting squirrely in the dirt. I was incredibly nervous before every race and was pretty bummed that, as men, none of my teammates could line up with me at the start. I was super grateful to have some of my close female friends to race against, but it just wasn’t the same as the camaraderie and support my other teammates experienced. What I didn’t realize until much later was that those male teammates were my allies, and they helped me become the strong rider that I am today. Geoff would take me to Golden Gate Park to session the sand pits and practice mounting and remounting. RJ and I would go on long rides in the headlands and share tips on how to maintain speed on the loose gravel turns we faced along the way. Brandon was basically my #1 cheerleader, keeping my spirits up and telling me I could do things that I didn’t believe I could do myself. And Cubby took me to the gnarliest slasher trails that no one else was riding, helping me level up my technical skills. They treated me as an equal, accepted me for who I was, and let me take space, and I learned so much from them in turn.

Last year, I found myself missing the MTB rides that I did with girlfriends before racing cyclocross, so I started organizing group dirt rides for women, trans, and gender non-conforming people in the Bay Area. I was equally amazed and impressed with the pure diversity of backgrounds, interests, and types of bikers that I came into contact with as a result. After doing a lap in Golden Gate Park or climbing up to Sutro, weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d usually sit down and have cold beverages as the sun set. We shared stories about feeling too intimidated to try racing and talked about what it was like to be the only non-dude on a ride, coming in dead last, the slow one that the rest of the group always seemed to be waiting for. Trans and nonbinary riders talked about how frequently they were misgendered in group settings; how, knowingly or not, people use gender-specific affirmations (like â&#x20AC;&#x153;Great job, ladies!â&#x20AC;?) and other language that conflict with their gender identity. This act can be extremely isolating and alienating for trans and non-binary folks on the ride. It was really empowering to have the space to speak so honestly and without fear of judgement. It was comforting to find commonality around feelings of self doubt and to have conversations about things that are discussed less often in the male-dominated cycling space.

With these stories and experiences in mind, I’ve been learning more about how folks can help foster a more inclusive space and the actions they can take to be better allies. For example, you can avoid assumptions and gendered language. Educate yourself on what it means to misgender someone. You don’t need to be an expert on gender identity to support non-cisgender people. If you notice one of your friends making assumptions or misgendering, approach them gently and explain why it’s not okay to do that. There’s an incredible amount of privilege in the cycling community, which is composed mostly of white cisgendered riders, and it might be hard for some to understand why gendered language is so important, but hearing about it from someone else in the community can be far more impactful than reading about the topic on a random Instagram post. When it comes to group rides with beginners, don’t complain about the slow pace of the ride. Maybe wait at the top of a climb for everyone to catch up. Instead of aggressively racing each other on rides, which can make folks really uncomfortable, maybe slow down and session tricky sections so you can practice and get better together.

I’m no expert—I’m continually learning and educating myself on what it means to hold space for under-represented folks—but my hope is that more men in the cycling community make the effort to be allies for women, for trans, queer, and gender-non-conforming folks, and for people of color in the community, just like my male teammates did for me. When I look back at my racing career, I can see that without Geoff, RJ, Brandon, and Cubby, I probably wouldn’t be riding and racing like the dirt maniac I am, and I’m super grateful for them. These actions may seem small, but by having these conversations and putting in the work to be better allies for others, we can encourage a more inclusive and accepting space in the cycling community at large.

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WRITTEN BY VERONIQUE SANDLER PHOTOGRAPHED BY TOM GRICE & TOM ROBERTS FOR ADIDAS FIVE TEN

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Filming VISION was one of the raddest experiences I’ve ever had, and I feel so lucky to have gotten an opportunity like this just one year after becoming a pro mountain biker. It all escalated so quickly, and before I knew it, I was in the middle of filming my feature-length film— something that I’ve always dreamt of but was never sure would actually happen in such a male-dominated sport.

I think we are at a significant turning point for women in mountain biking right now. The sport is growing so rapidly, and I’m super stoked to be a part of it at this point in time. I grew up riding with men, mainly because there weren’t many women riders in the area. In my film, I wanted to capture how fun it can be for all of us to ride together.

The idea of having a massive session with my favorite riders from around the world didn’t seem possible. Everyone is so busy working on their own projects that it’s super hard to link up as a group all at once, especially when you all live miles away from each other. But somehow, we made it happen for VISION, and it was something truly special.

We had 16 different riders from four different countries come together for a full week of good times at Revolution Bike Park, located at the foot of the Berwyn Mountains in Wales. I learned so much while we sessioned, filmed, and hung out together. There was no division by gender—everyone was just shredding together as equals—and that inclusivity was the most important thing for me to capture on film. The amount of progression I witnessed from everyone over the course of that week was something I’ve never seen before! When it came to the final segment of the film, everyone was bouncing ideas off each other, and the vibe was all time.

Seeing how well this all went down has got me 100% stoked to try and build on it. I’d love to continue the hype away from competition. With the amazing experience of building the dream line for this event at Revolution Bike Park, I’m massively inspired to keep this thing going. We need to have more events like this regardless of whether they’re filmed. Bringing rad, like-minded riders from all over the globe together to connect and progress alongside one another—without the pressures of competition—has the potential to make a positive impact on the industry as a whole. Filming VISION has left me more inspired than ever and opened my eyes to the fact that all the things that I’ve dreamt of as a young rider may be possible with hard work and an amazing team. Stoked for the future!

EMMA MISS MISSALE EM AN INTERVIEW WITH EMMA MISSALE

WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY SILVIA GALLIANI

I’ve known bike messenger Emma Missale for a few years. Both residents of Milan, we first became acquainted through a combination of chance and circumstance, meeting sporadically at bike races in the city and elsewhere in Italy—but we had never exchanged more than a few words. Usually I’d see her riding her fixed-gear bike, competing (and winning) while I watched the race through the lens of my camera. One late August day, I was lazily scrolling through Instagram, when I saw that one of my friends was flying to Indonesia with Emma and three other couriers. Emma was on her way to compete in the 26th Cycle Messenger World Championship. Emma won, of course. Winning may not be new to Emma, but becoming a World Champion is an undeniably huge accomplishment, and I wanted to know what it was like. So I reached out and asked Emma to tell me about it in her own words, and she was kind enough to indulge me. We talked about the championship, her studies, and what lies ahead for the 21 year old.

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Silvia Galliani: You always hear it’s about the journey not the destination, so let’s start with the journey. What was it like traveling to the race? Emma Missale: It was beautiful but really tiring! Usually, during these championships, there’s a pre-event in another city a few days before the actual race. Then we usually reach the place of the main event by group riding altogether. For this race, the pre-event was in Bali, and the main race was a few days later in Jakarta, which is more than 1,000 kilometers away. Many riders said that the usual group ride would be impossible, and that we’d have to take a plane. But the five of us Italians didn’t want to take the umpteenth flight after our endless journey to Indonesia, and we didn’t want to re-pack our bikes either, so we decided to go on our own improvised group ride. SG: And how did that go? I understand there were some hiccups. EM: Well from Bali, we caught a direct bus to Semarang—but it abandoned us halfway there, so perhaps we should have read that as a sign! We happened to find a second bus by chance and ended up reaching our destination around six in the morning. But since we were already behind schedule, we had to start biking to Jakarta right away. It was really hard— 60 kilometers seemed like more than 200 because of the heavy traffic, the bad roads, and all the smog that we were breathing. After crossing the mountains the following day, we finally decided to take another bus the rest of the way to Jakarta. I had a fever, and it was almost Friday, the day the championship would start. Maybe the riders who told us that the group ride would have been impossible were right!

SG: It sounds like you had a race against time just getting there! But ultimately you made it, and with or without a fever, you won the championship! EM: I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t even know how I did it! There were about 200 participants from all over the world, some Europeans and Americans, many Australians and Indonesians, and even more people to mess around and cheer for us. But the best part was seeing how excited locals were to have us there, even those who werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t directly involved with the race. During our group ride, for example, we stopped in a small town in the middle of nowhere, and the children from a local school went crazy when they saw foreigners there. It was all so exciting, and Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll carry these memories with me forever. The relationship between all the riders is also beautiful and lasting. You travel altogether, ride altogether, and it is nice to have friends all over the planet. After graduation, I could potentially go to work as a courier anywhere in Europe or around the world.

SG: That’s right, you’re studying urban planning at the Polytechnic University of Milan. How do you see your studies in urban planning in relation to your adventures as a cyclist? EM: Studying urban planning might seem like a contrast to my life as a bike courier, but in reality, these two areas of my life go hand in hand. Being a courier has allowed me to get to know Milan better, while urban planning has helped me understand how a city really works. What I see when I’m riding is no longer just a passive landscape that flows in front of me. Thanks to my studies, I think about how streets work. In my internship, I am carrying on a project with UBM, the courier company I work for. I have mapped all its clients, and I’m interviewing my fellow couriers and doing an analysis about the flows and the criticality of the streets. I’m trying to best combine these two great aspects of my life, trying to apply what I study to what I do and to what I like. SG: What are your plans for after graduation? EM: After graduation, I would like to take a gap year and work as a courier in different European cities. If I don’t find any of them interesting, I’ll probably move to Canada or Australia to work with some courier friends I met during the races. We’ll see! SG: Yes, what about races? Am I going to see you competing again any time soon? EM: I will compete in some bike races and alleycats in Switzerland and Italy during the winter. In August, there’s the European Cycle Messenger Championships in Basel and the Italian Championships in Verona. And in late September 2020, there’s the 27th Cycle Messenger World Championships in Bogotà, Colombia. If confirmed, I will definitely go. Hey, why don’t you come with me?

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ND FOCUS ND FOCUS ND FOCUS ND FOCUS ND FOCUS ND FOCUS ND FOCUS A COLLECTION OF PHOTOGRAPHS BY BRIAN BARNHART DREW COLEMAN GRITCHELLE FALLESGON JOE RICH SKYE SCHILLHAMMER

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SWAMP FEST

CHELSEA WOLFE Photography by Brian Barnhart

RACING WITH PURPOSE JULIE BAIRD

Photography by Brian Barnhart

“THE FIRST TIME I RODE WITH JULIE, I WAS COMPLETELY BLOWN AWAY BY HOW FAST SHE CHARGED INTO SOME OF OUR GNARLIEST TRACKS. “I’D NEVER PEDAL INTO THAT,” I THOUGHT TO MYSELF. AS I’VE GOTTEN TO KNOW JULIE BETTER OVER THE LAST YEAR, I’VE COME TO REALIZE THAT SHE IS REALLY GOOD AT RIDING ON THE EDGE. SHE’S ONE PART FEARLESS AND ONE PART RECKLESS. IT’S SUCH A TREAT TO WATCH.” - CHRISTOPHER SAN AGUSTIN

“BEING IN THE WOODS GIVES ME SO MUCH MORE CLARITY AND ADDS TO MY HAPPINESS. THERE’S ALWAYS SOMETHING TO IMPROVE ON WITH THIS SPORT, AND I LOVE ACCOMPLISHING NEW THINGS. I DON’T THINK I’LL EVER GET BORED OF IT.” - JULIE BAIRD

“WHAT GOT ME INTO RACING WAS THE INCREDIBLE COMMUNITY THAT CAME ALONG WITH IT. I WANT TO GROW THAT HERE IN PORTLAND, AND I HAVE THAT OPPORTUNITY NOW WITH THE NEW TRAIL SYSTEM OPENING UP NEARBY. I WANT THE SMALL-MOUNTAIN-TOWN VIBES IN MY HOMETOWN.” - JULIE BAIRD

BRENNA WRYE-SIMPSON

A FLOWER AMONG THE WEEDS Photography by Drew Coleman

MACHINES IN UTAH VIEWS FROM THE SADDLE

Photography by Gritchelle Fallesgon

IN THE SPRING OF 2019, I WAS INVITED TO RIDE THROUGH SOUTHERN UTAH WITH MACHINES FOR FREEDOM. THE RIDE CREW WAS MADE UP OF SIX OTHER STRONG AND TALENTED WOMEN, MOST OF WHOM I HADN’T MET BEFORE. OVER THE COURSE OF FOUR DAYS, WE RODE 287 MILES OF MIXED TERRAIN AND CLIMBED OVER 16,000 FEET. THE DAYS WERE LONG, AND THE CLIMBING WAS RELENTLESS—BUT THE LANDSCAPE, BREATHTAKING AND SURREAL, MADE UP FOR ALL OF IT.

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SURPRISE CANYON

DAY 3: HEADWINDS & PAVEMENT TO HANKSVILLE

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MASON

INTO THE WILD WEST

TEAMWORK MAKES THE DREAM WORK.

NINA BUITRAGO THE MOST INFLUENTIAL WOMAN IN BMX

Photography by Joe Rich

“THERE ARE FEW THINGS AS WONDERFUL AS SHREDDY BICYCLE ADVENTURES WITH A COUPLE GREAT MENTORS AND FRIENDS.” - SHANNA POWELL

SMILES FOR MILES

SEEKING TRANSITION Photography by Skye Schillhammer

“SHANNA IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE RIDERS TO FOLLOW—SHE’S FAST, PLAYFUL, CREATIVE, AND PRECISE. THIS PICTURE REMINDS ME OF ALL THE AMAZING TIMES WE’VE SHARED SHREDDING TRAILS TOGETHER, WHICH IS ACTUALLY A LOT OF TIMES CONSIDERING WE LIVE ON OPPOSITE SIDES OF THE COUNTRY.” -ANGI WESTON

“IT WAS A PERFECT FALL DAY FOR SHREDDING THE SQUAMISH SLABS IN THE SEA TO SKY REGION, WHERE THE TRACTION WAS PERFECTION.” - CHRISTINA CHAPPETTA

WITH A FOCUS ON SPEED, BONNIE STAYS LOW AND FAST ON HER LOCAL TRAILS. 72

ELLA IS A PILLAR OF THE WOMENâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S RIDING COMMUNITY IN EAST BURKE, VT, SHOWING YOUNG GIRLS THAT THERE ARE NO LIMITS FOR WHAT A FEMALE CAN DO ON A BIKE. TO TOP IT OFF, SHE IS ONE OF THE NICEST PEOPLE ON THE PLANET.

RIDING BIKES IS ABOUT HAVING FUN, AND I WOULD CHALLENGE ANYONE TO FIND SOMEONE WHO HAS MORE FUN THAN ANGI. SHE ALWAYS BRINGS A GOOD TIME.

WRITTEN BY THE WRANGLER AND THE POET ILLUSTRATED BY BIG DIPPER PHOTOGRAPHED BY LITTLE DIPPER AND THE CHAMP

Five strangers met in Wyoming to ride under a bright October chill. On the edge of shifting gravel waves, Emily and Ellen tipped, shoulders plummeted, bodies born on bikes speeding down. Earth to earth, their wheels spun a hush and whir that drew us down each descent, two ladies weaving the path, tugging, coaxing, holding us forward. Up on the mesa, the wind spilled my breath out of my belly, chest, and head; the formation’s surface was so flat and colored with scrub that it rippled left and right. I wanted to slow each stroke of the pedal, each roll of the wheel. I wanted to suspend us on the road through those cycles of first knowing each other, of just tracing each other’s rough shape then sensing—there, yes—a fine outline of you and you and you and you. We kept riding through tall, gnarled fields of sagebrush—waves and waves of brush bending and bowing and billowing, blowing waves of scent across our path in this relentless Wyoming wind. “It’s all blooming right now,” I said flippantly, transporting myself back to the previous year when the sage did not bloom, when stricken with drought, the sage drew water from strong taproots stretching deep into the ground; it was dormant in appearance but not reality. At lunch in the middle of the shortest-longest day, Lauren shares her rage with us. Her grief washes over us in waves and is lost in the vastness of the landscape. As we pedal on and off course that afternoon, it occurs to me that a grieving woman and sagebrush surviving drought are similar. Perhaps womxn are capable of such recovery, such survival because of tenuous networks tapping into deeply hidden reserves. And maybe this WTF bike gang that we had stumbled into that weekend was a community of these reserves from which we all could sip for a few glorious miles. 74 74

We’re all surviving something out here—many things at once even. We layer our stories of the ways we move and carry it all while parsing the parentheses and eyelashes of the earth. In the mornings, there are layers of frost; we are giddy with the cold of it. Breakfast is so nourishing and grounding that we can almost trace it filling out across our bodies with each bite. We leave camp feeling whole and ready to take on the terrain. Men stake fences across our path, and we are forced left and up. Jillian and Emily launch themselves up the path crafted so intentionally to obstruct our way that I suddenly feel the pressure of men slipping around us.

What I wanted in this ride was to breathe and spin my legs next to womxn engaged in the same experience and movement. I wanted to hollow a space of privacy and quiet that was distinctly void of quiet, too. The fence across the road was a reminder of the ways we elbow onto the land. The rutted-out path we turned to was densely lined—brush on one side, fence on the other. Elbows out, knees tensed, we trekked our loaded steeds up through peels of laughter and a few well-placed grunts, too. With each fence we encounter, we’re reminded of men and all they bring and claim and demand. Later, when we are lost and unlost, we regain our own space away from fences, winding through loggers’ and hunters’ camps to find our own pocket pitched between meadow and trees. As we wash and refill bottles at the river, the quiet and still and unfenced land that opens before us is overwhelming. We gather around food and laugh as we recall the short-long day and admit our challenges and fears. Among us, we’ve been riding with grief and rage, loneliness, and resolve. We swap tips to stay warmer that night, building links that support one another throughout the night.

Riding bikes through the fenced rangelands of the semi-arid highdesert plain becomes a form of world-building—a reimagining of the land as it was while moving through it as it is, pedaling the machines that could rebuild the world after colonialism, machines that can reintroduce us to the land. World-building can be a means of survival, a way of processing past hurts and misdeeds, a way of response-ability; world-building can be many things, but it is always messy and often hard. We’re reminded of this struggle as we encounter our final fence two miles from our destination, just within sight of the ranch. By now we know we belong here, in communion with each other and our surroundings, but a firmly worded sign makes us think twice, momentarily sending us off track and off plan until we remember that we can rebuild the plan. We turn around to find the gate dummy locked, and a glorious descent awaiting us beyond it! When you think about it, that’s what we’re all doing anyway: making plans, rebuilding our world—getting lost and then found and then lost and then found, together.

#MOABISNOTBROAB WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY JULIE KRASNIAK

PPENS NADIANS, 1 FRENCH OAB?

WHAT HA WHEN 4 CA 1 AMERICAN & GO TO M

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN 4 CANADIANS,

WHEN 4 CANADIANS, 1 AMERICAN & 1 FRENCH GO TO MOAB?

APPENS APPENS ANADIANS, ANADIANS, & & 11 FRENCH FRENCH MOAB? MOAB? MOUNTAIN-BIKE PARTY CHECK LIST: (A LOOSE ROAD TRIP PLAN) LACROIX MORE LACROIX MOUNTAIN BIKES ONE HOT TUB WINE A CHEF A MAGNUM OF CHAMPAGNE FRESH SOCKS A SPRINTER VAN A PIT STOP AT A CHOCOLATE FACTORY CONDITIONER AND SPARKLES

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“OUR BATTERED SUITCASES WERE PILED ON THE SIDEWALK AGAIN; WE HAD LONGER WAYS TO GO. BUT NO MATTER, THE ROAD IS LIFE.” – JACK KEROUAC, ON THE ROAD

PENS ADIANS, 1 FRENCH OAB?

BELLE DE JOUR

CYNTHIA YOUNG, A.K.A. LACROIXLIC OR MTB GOAT WHO’S HUNGOVER?

BELLE DE NUIT

SHAMELESS PROMOTION OF THE SOCKS THAT I DESIGNED FOR MY COMPANY, THE ATHLETIC COMMUNITY. THANKFUL FOR GIRLFRIENDS (WITH AMAZING LEGS)!

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RAVITO* *Snack

RITUAL CHOCOLATE PARK CITY, UTAH

RITUAL CHOCOLATE STARTED IN DENVER AND MOVED THEIR OPERATION TO PARK CITY BECAUSE LESS HUMIDITY + HIGHER ALTITUDE = MORE FLAVOR. THE SKIING AND MOUNTAIN BIKING MAY HAVE BEEN A DECIDING FACTOR, TOO. MAYBE?

WHAT HAPPE WHEN 4 CANAD

ENS DIANS,

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN 4 CANADIA AGO TO MOAB?

Me.

Full disclosure, Moab is not that cool. Don’t go there. The views are meh, the riding is passable at best, and there aren’t a lot of good gluten-free options in town. Did I mention there are zero bros there? None. Nada. Nothing. Rien. (Wait, is that good or bad? I don’t even know anymore!) If you must go, do listen to local bike-shop mechanics, who have already been there and done. Follow their recommendations to the letter, as they always have sound advice, like sending you on the gnarliest track on your first day in town or recommending the blue or the green trails because you are with a group of ladies. Basically, Moab is where you can wipe out all the stereotypes with your dusty braid flying in the desert wind.

THE END.

DISCLAIMER: THIS TRIP WAS NOT SUPPORTED BY LACROIX, BUT WE WOULD GLADLY ACCEPT 85 FUTURE SPONSORSHIPS SHOULD THIS EVER COME ACROSS YOUR BOARD MEETING AGENDA.

WTF WTF WTF

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WTF

BIKEXPLOR BIKEXPLOR BIKEXPLOR WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY GREY DIATION

THE BANKS-VERNONIA STATE TRAIL WAS STREWN WITH A SLIVER OF THE FOLKS GOING TO VERNONIA SPRINGS FOR THE 2019 WTF BIKEXPLORERS SUMMIT.

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A few workshops, such as “Bike Fit for Everybody” and “FUN-damentals of Bike Handling,” focused on the tactile aspects of being a Bikexplorer, but the most radical sessions addressed “White Allyship,” “Dismantling Toxic Masculinity from Within,” and “Building WTF Power Locally.”

We left the summit reminded that the bicycle is not only a tool for healing the mind, body, and spirit, but even more so, it is a vehicle that connects us to each other and the natural world.

Between sessions, folks with short torsos and legs swapped their bikes for a chance to try a smaller frame.

Bikes parked on Chinook and Clatskanie land.

Olivia pieced together a Frankenstein-monster chain out of three separate chains; if thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not rad, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know what is!

#PreserveBlackSpace #RepresentationMatters #MobilityJustice

The Portland crew left from the Chris King HQ and biked together through Forest Park and on to Vernonia, OR for the second WTF Bikexplorers Summit.

As much as the summit was about bicycles, it was truly about making the space and time to connect Bikexplorers who represent all colors of the rainbow in honor of intersectional feminism and mobility justice.

Trans men and nonbinary folks interested in bikepacking tend to avoid WTF spaces for fear of being read as cisgender, but the WTF Bikexplorers community includes everybody except cis men. You are welcome here.

WOMEN WOMEN WOMEN WOMEN

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WRITTEN BY CORRINE PREVOT, INGRID LAROUCHE & TORI BORTMAN

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHRIS HORNBECKER, DANIEL SHARP & PATRICK MEANS

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Tori Bortman Trans-Cascadia, both the work party and events, are some of my favorite times of the year. What has continued to bring me back over the last four years is feeling like I belong—which definitely isn’t a given in such a male-dominant, brodeo arena. 85% of Trans-Cascadia racers and volunteers identify as male, and the talk leans toward beer and brapping, without much thought toward male dominance, the patriarchy, Me Too, or other issues near and dear to my heart. The women who race are tough-as-nails bad-asses—the kind that can easily hold their own with the boys. I couldn’t keep up with any of them even on my best days. But I know how to put my head down and give 110% on trail-work parties, which allows me to see the trails, get a little riding in, and know that I’m making my mark in some small way. I also take a lot of pride in making racers feel welcome and safe at the race, like we’ve got your back no matter how hard the stage is the next day, and often that’s fucking hard. Of course, the people I volunteer side by side with give this much, too. Each time I’m pushed to work harder, longer, and further than I thought possible, and even though it’s not by racing, Trans-Cascadia gives me a safe place to go beyond my perceived limits. When we all come together in camp at the end of the day—whether it’s at a trail-work party or on race day—I’m greeted with dirty faces full of love, appreciation, and enthusiasm of having contributed to something larger than myself. I’m a part of the family and helping build the TransCascadia legacy. This past summer, I had the privilege of working on a trail project with a team of mostly women, which hadn’t happened before at TransCascadia. The work we did will likely hold up for the next ten years of hikers, equestrians, and mountain bikers to come, and I’ve never been prouder. Even more so than the pro racers who kill it on race day, those women are my heroes and my inspiration, because they’re doing work for something bigger than themselves. One last perk: I REALLY like driving big trucks. My heart wants a big, jacked-up truck, but my brain knows owning one in Portland is completely ridiculous for my lifestyle and budget. Trans-Cascadia gives me a chance to drive other people’s trucks like I own them on twisty, pot-holed, landsliding back-country roads. That’s pretty good, too.

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TORI BORTMAN

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NGRID LAROUCHE Ingrid Larouche Trans-Cascadia truly blurs the lines between race and adventure. Long days spent deep in the mountains, out of service, and totally at the mercy of unpredictable weather is my idea of an adventure. I’ve done other multi-day events, but this one proves to be unique. The trails are mind-blowing, the dirt is perfect, and the views are absolutely breathtaking with panoramic vistas revealing four 12,000-foot volcanos on a clear day. Fully catered world-class meals more than fill the belly, and chilling with like-minded shredders around the fire fills my soul. The stoke is so high at that event, it’s contagious. To me, it’s the coolest camping trip I can take knowing I will ride dream-worthy ribbons of trail all week long! At the finish of a ripping descent, I’d say, “Wow, this must be one of the top-five most fun trails that I’ve ridden!” Then I’d go on to the next stage and find myself saying the same thing. This year was my third time going to Trans-Cascadia. I was initially introduced to it by my boyfriend, Aaron Bradford, who’s raced every edition since it started back in 2015. He would say this is the one race you don’t want to miss, and I understood what he meant right away. After my first TC, I knew I would register again the next year and the next. I must say, the 2019 edition may have been my favorite yet, with a little rain and a bit of snow to spice things up and just a stellar crew of people. The vibe was unreal out there. It was so chill, stress-free, and fun-loving that I found myself forgetting I was actually racing. All I’d see were ear-to-ear smiles and high fives! The camaraderie among the women was at its best. I think every one of us “party trained” at one point (if not the entire time) during the race.

INGR

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RID LAROUCHE I jumped in with the “Transition Loam Town Express” on a couple of stages, trying to follow Kelan Haws’s wheel with Christina Chapetta (who placed second at that event) dropping in behind me. She would woo-hoo, hoot, and holler the entire way down. I dig it! Racing is, of course, rewarding when everything comes together with little mechanicals or major mistakes, and it all connects. To me, multi-day blind enduros are the closest to how I typically ride my bike. It’s most definitely the kind of racing I will continue to pursue. In my quest to ride new trails, winning a bike race is always the icing on the cake. Day 4 was special to me. With the temps below freezing and something like six inches of snow overnight, racing was canceled. Instead, a hundred or so of us braved the cold and snow for the biggest group ride ever. With this white canvas out as far as the eyes could see, I didn’t expect much in terms of mountain biking. Well, I was in for a surprise. The trails we rode that day were unreal, and somehow, they had grip. I later found out that all the ride options were equally amazing, making me appreciate how the Trans-Cascadia crew really know these woods and how much time has been spent out there working on trails and mapping it all out. The quality of riding out in that element made it a surreal experience. So much to discover! Thanks to all the volunteers, builders, emergency personnel, fire stokers, and countless others who make this event a reality.

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NNE PREVOT

ORINNE PREVOT WOMEN WOMEN WOMEN WOMEN

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CORINNE PREVOT

Corinne Prevot As a skier and mountain biker from Vermont, having a little snowfall was more enticing than intimidating. I found the aesthetics of the whole event particularly pleasing, but it’s the sheer volume of satisfying single-track descents that brought me back for another go at Trans-Cascadia. The conditions were perfect, a sliding vortex between trees. The speed gives you tunnel vision. You’re climbing in these epic landscapes and descending fast, speed-favoring descents packed full of surprises. It is a constant balance of enjoying the environment and yourself. If that’s not nirvana, I don’t know what is. With cold temps and precipitation in the forecast, I packed a lot of layers and dug out all of my cold-weather accessories from under the bed. But it’s not until you break through the ice while unzipping your tent that it becomes real, and staying warm becomes the utmost priority. When we take off, the name of the game is managing your heat and pedaling a fire road. Layers. Now it’s a hike-a-bike. Am I hydrating? My bike is on my shoulders. I need a snack. Groups of guys cruise by me. I’m still snacking. Walking again, the bike is back on my shoulders. I can’t believe these dudes ride motos up this trail. I hear laughter and chatter on the trail below. The trees are thin, and we’re on a ridgeline. The view literally takes your breath away. My eyes open wider to try to take it all in. The landscape consumes me. I have so much admiration for the group of women at the race. Conditions were tough. But since there were so few ladies, there was a warm comfort in their presence. A solidarity in knowing that it takes a certain spirit and grit to win the day and end it with good company and smiles around a fire.

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WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY CARLEY ERICKSON

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“How long are you taking to ride it?” This was the first question out of a cyclist’s mouth when I told them I was riding the Oregon Outback, a strength test loaded with presumptions posed by strangers and acquaintances. Once, after explaining that we’d take seven days to complete the 364-mile route, a journey that spans nearly the entire length of the state by way of remote high-desert gravel roads, I was met with, “Oh, so you’re only riding like 50 miles a day?” Maybe this sense of competition comes from the ride’s early years, when a course record was set at 28 hours. Maybe people are surprised to see someone other than a man taking on such a challenge. Maybe it’s both. I rode the Outback with a group of cyclists I met at WTF Bikexplorers Summit and through the WTF community in Portland that grew from the momentum of the inaugural event for women, trans, femme, nonbinary, and genderqueer cyclists. We weren’t out there to break records or challenge ourselves to complete the route as fast as possible. Rather, the experiences we sought took time. We wanted to take in the beauty and mystery of the high desert, a landscape that we had little familiarity with; we wanted to separate ourselves from the strain and worries that accompany our everyday lives, to fall asleep under a strawberry moon to the sound of frogs croaking in the distance. Our choice to ride at lower mileage brought luxurious freedoms. Our days were filled with snack breaks and long lunches consisting of food way tastier than PowerBars, and we never had to race the sun to get to camp. We witnessed the high-desert basins turning into forests as we climbed up slowly, enjoying each other’s company along the way. On our shortest day, we got to camp early in the afternoon, which afforded us time to bathe in a freezing river, dry off in the sunshine, read, journal, and take naps. It felt like lounging at a beachside resort after three days on the saddle.

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On our fifth day of riding, a car pulled up beside us. A man in a cowboy hat popped his head out the window to ask us a few questions about what we were doing out in the middle of nowhere. “I think you gals are crazy as heck,” he said, his border collie beaming from the passenger seat. “Crazy as shit,” he said as he passed us again later that day. We didn’t start to feel crazy until the last day. We had been riding with 20–40 mph headwinds all day and much of the previous day, too. When the wind wasn’t doing its best to push us back to Klamath Falls, it was turning our frame bags into sails; if we stopped pedaling forward for even a moment, we were propelled across the road by sheer force. I was ready to get out of the wind. Imagining how nice it would be to get a reprieve from the persistent howling, I put on some music. It was faint compared to the gusts crashing around me, but it was the motivation I needed to keep pedaling. By early afternoon, we were getting close to the end and would soon cross paths with a couple of friends who were biking out to meet us. I began imagining them waiting for us at the top of every hill I climbed. “I think I see them,” I’d exclaim, reaching the crest to realize it was just two posts side by side. Crazy as shit.

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About 10 miles from the finish line, a man in a pick-up truck stopped to ask where we were coming from. “Klamath Falls,” I told him. “WHAT?” “Klamath Falls,” I repeated. “Do you even know where the hell that is?” Before riding the Oregon Outback, I didn’t know where Klamath Falls was. I probably would never have visited the other towns along the route either if it weren’t for my friends and I wanting to go on an adventure together. We chose to take the race out of the Oregon Outback, because for us it wasn’t about competition as much as it was about perspective. Venturing out into the vastness of the basins, sagebrush, and juniper made our anxieties feel so much smaller. And in exchange, we felt whole.

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WRITTEN & PHOTOGRAPHED BY SERENA RIO

Hans left at 5:30 in the morning to catch the gnarly 80-mile fixed-gear ride from the W-Base bike shop in Tokyo to a small campground atop Mount Fuji. Four hours later, from the warmth of our ninth-floor Airbnb, the rest of us scrolled through Instagram, laughing at the late start, the 6,500 feet of climbing, and the racers’ choices of attire. The weather report promised rain that day, and it promptly delivered. My whole head pulsed as we packed up our wet bikes. Last night was the Tracklocross World Championships welcome party, and the colorful lights from Shibuya had seemingly burned into the back of my eyes. Beers were poured foamy off balconies. We ate onigiri, drank sake and tried out a strange drink called Strong, which lived up to the hype. Racers went bowling; people did track skids. There were millions of pedestrians to dodge that night, and my brain felt broken from turning left onto the wrong side of the street; the streets that were so clean and honest they made my cheeks blush hot rose for America. The uniform of the night was a cute blue 2019 Tracklocross Worlds headband wrapped and knotted in Japanese fashion. People had traveled quite far for this event. Everyone spoke eagerly as they reunited with old faces and bonded with new ones. Between me, Terry, Michelle, Geoff, and Jackson, only two of us were racing, but we all took the train in solidarity that morning. I pressed my cheeks against the cold window of the Shinkansen, Japan’s famous bullet training. Like a proper anime dork, I was too excited, gawking at the pretty show of Hayao Miyazaki mountains drowning in fog, lush green surrounding the wooden triangle architecture. At times, the train reached neck-breaking speeds of 320 kph, but those who were attentive enough were rewarded with glimpses of the ocean that surrounded the island. The gaping valleys and looming mountains were almost reminiscent of San Francisco’s landscape, if someone remembered to water it.

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From atop Mount Fuji, this terrain would be our backdrop for the race. The introductory night at camp was sloppy and happy. Most were recovering from the 80-mile fixie hill climb. Michelle joked, pushing me to “sabotage” some key threats by getting them wasted. While there were eight of us that night, one fell sick by morning (not my fault, scout’s honor!), which meant only seven femme bodies would actually be racing—a stark contrast to the 80+ men in attendance. The morning was thick and wet with fog, and you could smell coffee and grass. Small vendors in cute, square Japanese vehicles began pulling in to set up shop. Emily and crew from Squid Bikes unloaded a bike stand that people took turns hogging. People exchanged nerd speak and chainrings alike. Cars shuttled people to a Japanese 7-Eleven down the road. Nikki was fully preoccupied, zip-tying a stuffed ET to her basket. “There’s 10 points for racing in a costume,” she explained as she sliced the sleeves off a red sweatshirt. The races began with qualifiers for the men, but everyone pre-rode them in the interim, fooling around, crashing, and laughing (or not laughing). “I’m just here to have fun and not die,” pledged Tasha, a colorful and muddy WTF racer. The foot down and fixie skids came before the WTF race and men’s final race. Max, an Australian, officiated the skid competitions using one of his socks as a hand puppet. Him and Oaklander Jean earnestly checked to make sure every WTF rider that wished to skid had skidded. Most stepped up to the plate. Monica won the foot down, and Michelle pulled the farthest skid. WTF riders lined up for the race, and people stood, loud and attentive. JP gave the signal, and the racers exploded out of the line. Nikki squeezed into the holeshot around the first corner. Emily rode with a broken collarbone, holeshot Nikki blew it on the technical bits, and Adoria sustained the lead for most of the race. Michelle got a flat on the first lap and ran a whole lap shouldering her bike before eventually winning the race. The mutiny occurred after Adoria got a flat herself. But she threw on a new wheel, and the race ended with Michelle, Adoria, and Jenny, the wild card who just recently started racing, in the lead—an exciting finish to an exhilarating race.

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In contrast to the one-and-only WTF race, the men’s final race was comprised of 10 of the winners from each of the four qualifying races and lasted an extra 10 minutes. Highlights involved vein-bulging yelling, high-carnage pile-ups, and some sick tricks. 40 racers is a lot of people! As the officiated festivities wrapped up, men and WTF riders were ceremoniously awarded identical prizes, including sparkly new Squid frames and other swag. And as the champagne was popped, the mob gathered around a backyard projector, where we were treated to some videos on bike messengers. It sort of looked a little like a Verizon Wireless commercial, but it was tenderly filled with the babyfaces of our now adult friends and the living faces of friends now passed. There were vintage bags and gear and facial hair—images of a life once lived or still proudly living. It was a fitting and sentimental conclusion to a pretty awesome day. Would any of these WTF riders race the men’s field, full of high-speed yelling and carnage? Probably not. It’s not necessarily that femmes are weaker—there might be science behind the differences in the “average” male and female physique, but human bodies exist on a spectrum, and like gender, it’s not a binary. But most WTF riders, for a variety of reasons, grew up socially excluded from organized team sports. They weren’t afforded the same years of physical practice that came with a traditional male upbringing, much less the luxury of playing in an environment free of intolerance, violence, and bullying, the presence of which traumatically extends beyond performance. And while this is just the tip of the iceberg, it’s part of why it’s so crucial that WTF riders have equal space, free of discrimination and the sense of being a “burden,” when they’re invited to play. To coax people out of trauma and onto the field may require more patience and self-education; it may require holding spaces open for people to gain equal footing. Some already have.

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This race wasn’t perfect, but it was nice how thoughtfully it was handled, and it’s hard to penalize those who are genuinely trying. It might have been held in a sea of bros, but the bros floated this WTF race in the best way they knew how—no pressure, no expectations, no impatience, and aside from those 10 minutes, no inequalities—just with support. Perhaps next time, they’ll have lessons on pronouns, and hopefully, they’ll make an effort to recruit trans participants. It wasn’t perfect, but it has the willingness and potential to grow in a culture that is still learning the definition of WTF. As I sat at the picnic table watching that film, I turned away to shed a tear and caught Nikki shedding one herself. It was a warm reminder of why we were all there.

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#DREAMOFTEN #DREAMOFTEN #DREAMOFTEN

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