Lance Armstrong beat cancer. He won 7 Tours de France. He became, and largely still is, an icon. An icon of hope, victory, and optimism. He wrote, “When you think about it, what other choice is there but to hope? We have two options, medically and emotionally: give up, or Fight Like Hell.”

His victories became vicarious victories for cancer patients and their families everywhere. Suddenly, politicians, celebrities, and other athletes were wearing yellow wristbands. Livestrong became ubiquitous and inspiring. I bought 10 wristbands and gave them to my family.

Why? Because cancer had attacked us. I needed a way to cope with that. In the spring of 2003 my dad’s sister was diagnosed with cancer. Later that summer, during the Tour de France, my mom’s sister was also diagnosed with cancer. I felt powerless. I did the only things I knew how to do: I raised $1200 for Livestrong, and I pedaled my bike. That year Lance Armstrong won his record-tying 5th consecutive Tour.

My mom’s sister, her only sibling, died in February 2005. My dad lost his sister in November 2010.

My yellow wristband faded.

Lance Armstrong had became the face of the war on cancer. But he was more than that. He was an American dominating a European sport. 2003 was a year of exceptional discord and contention in the United States. Presidential primary elections, along with worsening and more bloody wars in Iraq and Afganistan had torn the country in two. Lance became, if only subconsciously, a symbol of American might and strength and machismo.

While George W. Bush killed Iraqis, Lance Armstrong beat Europeans (who opposed, and refused to participate in, the wars, mostly) at their own sport. His Tour victories angered the French, who had became iconoclasts of the War on Terror. His wins were our wins, as if imperialism and yellow jerseys were somehow linked.

Lance Armstrong was Captain America.

Then everything changed. America grew tired of war, and people began to doubt Lance Armstrong.

But it was too late. Livestrong was raising millions of dollars. Lance won Tours 6 and 7. He was firmly entrenched as The Most Tested Athlete Ever®.

As more and more of Lance’s teammates and rivals were banned from the sport for doping, more doubts and questions began to bombard him. Floyd Landis pulled back the curtain, and sent the cycling world reeling. Lance Armstrong was instantly polarized. You were either with him, or against him. And if you were against Lance, you were decidedly for cancer.

Captain America needed a new shield: Livestrong.

“If Lance doesn’t become the greatest cyclist in the history of the sport,” says Cork Gaines, “he doesn’t achieve the same level of fame, and he isn’t able to use that fame as the face of the Lance Armstrong Foundation.” After all, the ends justify the means. Democracy must spread. Cancer must be fought.

The Feds got involved. Barry Bonds, Marion Jones, and now… Lance Armstrong.

It wasn’t going to end well for Lance. The investigation alone hurt his credibility. Donations to Livestrong plummeted. Teammates were subpoenaed. Testimonies were gathered. Tyler Hamilton cried on national TV. Lance was doomed.

Except, not exactly.

Last week the Federal investigation surrounding Lance, and his USPS team suddenly, and inexplicably ended. Why? Nobody knows. What did the Feds find? Why was the investigation stopped, even though several of the people involved urged its continuance? As a tax-payer who helped fund the investigation, am I not owed an explanation?

Either the evidence found is so entirely damning that it will unravel the Myth of Armstrong instantly, or, there is nothing. But which is it?

Lance gloated that closing the case “…is the right decision, and I commend them for reaching it. I look forward to continuing my life as a father, a competitor, and an advocate in the fight against cancer without this distraction.”

Shield, engaged.

This much is clear; like Citigroup, AIG, Bank of America, and Goldman Sachs, Lance Armstrong is too big to fail. And like TARP, or the War on Terror, we’ve all been played for fools.

Related posts:

1. The Lance Armstrong Ending
2. Lance Armstrong: Sandbagger?
3. Interview: Lance Armstrong
4. Lance Can’t get a Break
5. Floyd Armstrong

Nevertheless, I suppose there is some truth in describing me as a “libertarian environmentalist”, although I’ve never considered myself an environmentalist. I prefer the term conservationist. Further, I self-describe myself politically as a classical liberal, although the differences between that and libertarianism are mostly semantic. And so, I’ll accept the charge, and defend it thusly:

“The voice of nature is always encouraging.”

~Henry David Thoreau

The marriage of libertarians and environmentalists is not new. Thoreau is the obvious example. His stinging criticism of the state is only matched by his love for nature. He wrote, “Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be brought against a standing government.”

Nevertheless, Thoreau is best known as a naturalist, a poet. He famously wrote: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

That deliberate life is still the driving force behind wilderness occupation. The methodology has evolved; we hike, and ski, and pedal. But the intent—to see if we cannot learn—remains. Our lives, collectively as countrymen, are integrated into the wild spaces of desert and forest and mountain. As individuals we creep into wilderness, if only briefly, to confront the essential facts of life. In that sense, little has changed since 1845. Wilderness is still asking men the same questions it ever has. And men are still learning the answers to those questions.

For that reason, among others, wilderness preservation ought to be an essential part of the American character. Wilderness itself is a keystone of the American creation myth. The Republic was founded with westward intentions. Expansion meant economy, progress, and legitimacy. Exploration was, from the very beginning, a Jeffersonian imperative. The ink of the Constitution had hardly dried when Lewis and Clark were sent west.

An Unlikely Pairing?

Libertarianism and environmentalism are often thought of as contradictory. And as caricatures, they are. The common, but erroneous, assumption that libertarians are hellbent on paving over forests in pursuit of the almighty dollar is as misguided as the portrait of the environmentalist who is willing to watch men die, in order to save the life of an obscure woodland creature. Certainly both extremes actually exist, but the truth about both ideologies is far different. The truth, indeed,  is that liberty (the chief principle among libertarians) and wilderness (the primary goal for environmentalists) are symbiotic. The preservation of both wilderness and liberty are equally important to the preservation of American (or Jeffersonian) ideals. As Abbey said, “We cannot have freedom without wilderness.”

Libertarianism is generally described as anti-government. This is a true, but not a complete description. Libertarians oppose centralized power of all kinds. Centralized power can and does come in many forms: government, banks, churches, record labels, movie studios, news organizations, home owners associations, and so forth. Centralization empowers the few, at the expense of the many. Cultural (non-violent) revolutions are waged against centralized power. Modern examples of decentralizing revolutions include: blogging, file-sharing, digital photography and video, social media, crowd-sourcing, and self-publishing. Only a decade ago, individuals needed the approval and support of massive conglomerates to be heard or seen. Today, just a web connection will suffice.

Government is the quintessential embodiment of centralized power. Government draws its influence by force, and is a lagging indicator of social attitudes toward morality, value, and markets. Within our duopolistic electoral system, choice—and change—is non-existent.

“When confronted with anything resembling choice,” write Matt Welch and Nick Gillespie, in The Declaration of Independents, “most of us are now readier than ever to hop from one make or model to another.  Insurance, food, clothing, colleges, beer, wine, you name it–Americans, away from the political sphere, have learned how to demand what they want, and in a world of rapidly increasing choices, they are happy and excited to try out new things and move on once they get bored or disappointed with what’s on offer. In politics, of course, that choice has been artificially and dramatically restricted to effectively two options.”

Decentralization is a powerful force for good. It corrects incentives, eliminates cronyism, and empowers individuals. Decentralization democratizes power.

However, environmental policy is almost entirely mired in the swamps of federal bureaucracy.

Federal land agencies posses an abhorrent history. Land that ought to be developed is prevented from being developed. Land that ought to be protected is destroyed. Grazing permits are over-issued. Strip mines are illogically built. Zoning laws, environmental regulation—designed to enrich connected parties, rather than protect the environment—, and needless bureaucratic lunacy have done nothing to protect or conserve wilderness. Yes, the 1964 Wilderness Act was, and is important. But Wilderness designation is not a guarantor of preservation, nor a hinderance of overuse.

Legislative arguments about the proper permissions for public land use are heated, passionate, and partisan. However, in the end, land use policy is unchanged, regardless of which party controls the levers of power—over-grazing continues, needless construction rolls forward, and local input and opinion are ignored. Clearly, as SkiLink demonstrates, the federal government is readily willing to sell land to politically connected, financially influential groups, despite the majority opinion of the people who recreate on that land.

What Can Be Done?

Land management policy would benefit immensely from the disruptive powers of decentralization. “The focus on center stage should be on promoting institutions that empower people both politically and economically…” suggest Terry Anderson and Laura Huggins. “These institutions allow people to improve environmental quality indefinitely into the future. This stands in sharp contrast to the undying conclusion of the doomsayers for whom the environment and the plight of human beings will always be worse.”

Public land ought to be managed as locally as possible. State and local governments ought to assume stewardship over state and local land. Change is much easier to affect on a smaller, more local scale. Further, public land could be successfully managed by private entities—conservation groups, individuals, non-profit, and for-profit corporations, and co-ops. Organizations such as The Nature Conservancy, Ducks Unlimited, and the National Audubon Society  are each examples of private groups working toward environmental preservation. Richard Stroup writes that, “[u]sing the market, such groups do not have to convince the majority that their project is desirable, nor do they have to fight the majority in choosing how to manage the site.” If selling the land is not feasible, governments can hire private managers to run state parks, campgrounds, and forest land; this is already happening, and the results have been positive.

Why decentralization? Incentives.

Incentives are a remarkably powerful force. Under current land use permissions, which revolve around federal leases being granted to miners, ranchers, loggers, and other interested parties, there is no incentive for any of the various groups to act conservatively. There is no accountability. And so, ranch lands are decimated. Forests are clear-cut. And strip-mines spider-web unchecked across the countryside. Federal leases are a grand-scale demonstration of the tragedy of the commons.

Privately owned, or managed, lands fare much better. A rancher will not over graze his own pastures. A timber corporation will not clear-cut its own forests. But rather, careful consideration is placed on future uses of the land, and its potential longevity. Economic survival is contingent on ensuring long-term production. Long-term production is founded on sustainability. Federal leases disincentives sustainability, and eliminate accountability.

A study in 2000 “found that civil and political liberties, the rule of law, less-corrupt governments, and the security of property rights reduced deforestation rates in sixty-six countries across Latin America, Asia, and Africa.” A similar study in 2004 concluded “a strong positive correlation between several measures of human well-being and varying degrees of the strength of the rule of law. For example, countries with a strong rule of law have a 45 percent lower death rate by age forty than countries with a weak rule of law; 59 percent have more access to safe drinking water; and 79 percent have lower deforestation rates.”

Anderson argues that “[e]conomic prosperity emanates from the institutions of freedom—namely, private property and the rule of law—and environmental quality emanates from economic prosperity.”

In other words, liberty is wilderness.

Wilderness As Wilderness.

If there is inherent value to wilderness, as Stegner, Abbey, Thoreau, and so many others have argued, then there is also a market for the preservation of wilderness. Wilderness is an amazing and wonderful boon to our lives. If we, as a people, love the outdoors, and demand its existence, just as we demand iPhones, fuel-efficient SUVs, and carbon fiber mountain bikes, then, and only then, will true wilderness preservation thrive.

Today we have little say in how public land is managed and used. The federal government is unchecked in this (and every other) regard. We can sign petitions, and write letters, and make phone calls. But the whims of senators and representatives, secretarys and ministers, cannot be stayed. The responsibility to protect wilderness is ours, but in order to do that, we must wrest control of these lands from the tentacled grasp of the bureaucratic kraken.

If we value wilderness as an idea, and as an ideal, then preserving it is imperative. We need wilderness to remind us that even today, in the technocratic world of 2012, that we are a wild species, an untamed and primitive creature that thrives in the uncertainty of forest and desert and alpine. Even if only in the pursuit of recreational fantasy. Do we value wilderness? If so—and I believe we do—then we will preserve it. Whether as private property, cooperative holdings, or with guns and pitchforks, we will preserve that which we value. And that is why liberty and wilderness are so symbiotic. They are similitudes of one another.

Government, while paying lip service to both, does not have any interest in the preservation of either. After all, a free people, left to explore and to recreate in a free land, are hardly governable.

In the end, the fight for environmental freedom is always a fight worth fighting. After all, ”the voice of nature is always encouraging.”

Related posts:

1. Stop The SkiLink Gondola
2. On Christmas
3. From the Archives (Boots not Bikes)
4. Abbey’s Freedom and Wilderness
5. For Me, But Not For Thee

National news is grim. It’s an election year. And here in in Utah, the winter has been perfunctory.

But cynicism is tiresome.

And anyway, spring is near at hand. And with it, all the brightness and optimism that follow in its wake. Baseball. Singletrack. The White Rim. And of course, summer.

Cyclists are inherently optimistic. Eyes forward, plotting, planning, hoping, focused always on the next. The next lap. The next race. The next season.

And that next season is fast approaching. Indeed, it’s already here. It is now. And that leaves me feeling very, very optimistic.

Related posts:

1. Stretched Thin
2. ‘Cross is Now
3. Of Pie and Winter
4. More Thoughts
5. The Winter Difference

Instead of chasing people around the St. George desert on mountain bikes, I will be home. Healing from cornea transplant surgery. I’m disappointed to miss camp. But I’m happy that I will no longer see the world like this:

I know some of you are thinking that no matter how good my vision becomes, that I’ll always see the world a little bit blurry. Maybe. But hopefully my ‘cross and mountain bike skills will improve with enhanced depth perception. As far as my perception of the world? You’re probably right. It will always be skewed. Blurry? No. Skewed, yes. But that’s a good thing. After all, if I agreed with you, then we’d both be wrong.

I am disappointed not to be going to St. George. I will miss the riding. But I can make up for that. Mostly I will miss the people. And the post-ride dinner-time conversations. Burritos and mountain bikers are one of the world’s most compelling and enjoyable combinations. So, if you are in St. George, riding with the usual suspects, know this: I wish I were there. But don’t let my plight ruin your good time.

In the meantime, I’ll continue trying to focus my eyes. And my worldview.

Related posts:

1. One More Hour
2. Photo of the Week (Week 9)
3. Primary
4. Camp Lynda (Photos)
5. Dixie Flee

Big Cottonwood Canyon

The never-winter is over. Pacific storms moved into Utah last week and dropped more than 40 inches of snow in the upper reaches of Little Cottonwood Canyon. The rapid arrival of new snow has turned the backcountry into an avalanche haven. The weak, persistent layer that formed in October is collapsing under the weight of the new, but badly needed, snow. Which means, to quote today’s UAC forecast, “If it is steep, white and smooth – no way.” But the new snow has opened up heretofore inaccesible possibilities.

Steep, white, and smooth are the best kind of ski slopes. But not right now. Instead, mild and treed will have to do. And they do just fine.

After all, skiing is better than not skiing. And I’ve spent enough time this winter not skiing. At long last the drought ended. The snow was punchy, but nevertheless, most welcome. Watching an aging night transform into dawn never grows tiresome. A hearty skin is a most excellent way to start the day.

Welcome back winter. Go ahead and stick around a while.

Kessler Peak

Related posts:

1. The Winter of Our Discontent
2. No Name Bowl
3. Winter Horizon
4. Winter is Coming
5. Photo of the Week (Week 22)

But the views have been nice.

Related posts:

1. The Show Went On
2. The Hierarchy of Human Propulsion
3. Hurt So Good: UTCX 1
4. Sneak Preview
5. Dewey Bridge to the Slickrock TH

This was the country the Mormons settled, the country which, as Brigham Young with some reason hoped, no one else wanted. Its destiny was plain on its face, its contempt of man and his history and his theological immortality, his Millennium, his Heaven on Earth, was monumentally obvious. Its distances were terrifying, its cloudbursts catastrophic, its beauty flamboyant and bizarre and allied with death. Its droughts and its heat were withering. Almost more than the Great Basin deserts, it was a dead land…In the teeth of that—perhaps because of that—it may have seemed close to God. It was Sanctuary, it was Refuge. Nobody else wanted it, nobody but a determined and God-supported people could live in it.

~Wallace Stegner, Mormon Country

The Colorado Plateau, and its surroundings, is a fierce, rugged, and remote place. Even today. Only 200 years ago it was entirely unknown to mapmakers, industrialists, or pioneers. Lewis and Clark missed it entirely. The Dominguez-Escalante Expedition passed through much of the region in 1776, including Utah Valley—my home. The expedition reported abundant water and game in the valley, and friendly Indian tribes. But most of the explorers and settlers saw Utah, and the Plateau Country, as a harsh wasteland—waterless, shadeless, merciless.

Brigham Young saw home. Inexplicably. Perched on the east bench of the Wasatch Front, his sick, tired, eyes looking westward, couldn’t have been an optimistic vantage point. Stretched out before him, beyond the naked valley was the North American Sahara. But optimism was all that Brigham and the Saints that followed him had. After months of plodding, they had reached the end of everything. Somewhere over the horizon was the Pacific and California. But California would be overrun by Gentiles. Brigham needed solitude, isolation. His people were worn and tired. If he had led them, they’d have crossed that salty sea. And most would have perished.

Jedediah Smith crossed the Salt Flats in 1827, and is thought to be the first white man to do so. He survived, but only just. 19 years later the Donner-Reed party would experience costly delays crossing the Flats, delays that led to the greatest human tragedy in the westward era. For Brigham Young, the right place, was the only place.

And so Brigham Young stopped. “Here we will build a temple to our God.”

But Brigham Young, and his people, built more than a temple. They built an empire. An empire of outposts—small, reclusive, self-sustaining settlements. Stakes in a tent. A claim. A claim on what became, and largely still is, the Mormon country.

Wallace Stegner’s Mormon Country, while written from the perspective of the Mormon immigration (Stegner himself was not a Mormon), is more than a recounting of history. Rather, it is a glimpse into the culture, mindset, and mantra of the many different people and parties that tamed what is now Utah, northern Arizona and New Mexico, western Colorado, southern Idaho and Wyoming, and eastern Nevada.

The account is detailed, instead of sweeping. Stegner is more interested in people than he is their collective movements. That is, Mormon Country is about Mormons, instead of Mormonism. Miners instead of mining. Explorers rather than exploring. And so, he writes about the outlaw Rafael Lopez, who escaped justice after slipping into the shafts of the Apex Mine in the Oquirrh mountains. We read the account of Niels Nielson, who offered rest and food to a traveler who he believed with certainty, was one of the Three Nephites. Stegner highlights the careers of J. Golden Kimball, Butch Cassidy, Jesse Knight, and others—individuals who represented the heart and soul of the American West. People who were typical of the intrepid, hearty, stubborn breed required to make a home in a region God didn’t seem to intend for human settlement.

And while some of the featured cultural quirks of Mormonism have vanished, many of them persist. Mormons are still an inward, self-perpetuating people. A people that roost in tightly knit flocks, wary of the outside world, but welcome and open to outsiders themselves. The outposts still remain. Some have grown. Many are ghosts. And others still, someplace in between. Places like Hatch or Circleville or Wallsburg. Hamlets and villages whose roots stretch into the depths of Mormon, Utah, and American history.

The Mormon country itself hasn’t changed much either. Paved roads have connected the outposts. Tourists flock to National Parks. Mining, timber, and ski operations pock the landscape. But much of the region is as empty as it has ever been. Just as remote and inhospitable as ever. As easy to get lost in, to die in, to never be found in, today, as it was when Everett Ruess, Jed Smith, or some ancient equivalent wandered through the shelved, colored plateaus and cedar forests of this labrynthed, unexplored world.

Permanence is the legacy of the Mormon country. That is, it lasts. Outlasts.

True, we humans are doing our best to push the limits of its lasting power. But, comforting enough, I do not think we posses the will, nor the power to truly conquer the Colorado Plateau or the West Desert. It is far too patient, too vast, and we, severely distractable, soft, and ultimately, mortal.

The very same landscape that overwhelmed Powell, nearly killed Jed Smith, and that hampered and hindered the Mormon settlers, is today, inspiring artists, poets, explorers, and activists.

However, each new generation of Mormon country inhabitants must discover for itself the value and the beauty of this unique, mysterious, wonderful, place. Like Mormonism, one has to experience the minute details, the personal revelations, and the intimate encounters with the divine, to appreciate and to love the high deserts and rugged mountains of the Colorado Plateau.

Each generation must decide what value the Mormon country has to them. Is it merely a resource for ore and timber, coal and rock? Or is there something more than simple physicality? That there is an intangible, spiritual aspect to the land is undeniable. But is there value in preserving such bromidic ambiguities? Stegner’s answer was obvious. Even the early pioneers who timbered and mined and damned understood the divine—literal for Mormons, then and now—nature of Nature. For any place to be called home, that place must hold sway emotionally, more than physically. That intangibility sent Everett Ruess into the unknown depths of the Escalante, it moved the brush of Thomas Moran, and turned Edward Abbey’s monkey wrench.

Stegner concludes that the Mormon country is “good country to look at, and with the initial hardships out of the way, good country to live in….For all its homley domesticity and its tradition of laborious piety, it is a country that breeds the Impossibles.”

Wallace Stegner feared that the wilderness of Utah, and the West, would be lost, swallowed up by the jaws of industry and concrete. That fear was not unfounded. Our cities have grown. But so has our capacity to preserve. Our need for resources has expanded, but so have the methods for extracting and replacing those resources. We are, in 2012, equipped to live among the mountains and the deserts more cleanly, quietly, and efficiently than ever before—despite the sheer enormity of our numbers. However, our technological progress will be meaningless if our love for wilderness fades.

I do not fear the bulldozer. I fear apathy.

This generation—my generation—values the mountains only as a form of entertainment. We are a people led by steel cables and dashed, painted lines. We explore, but only until the pavement ends. We stand at the edge, our childlike wonder diminished by the expediency of “reality” and “practicality”. There is nothing beyond the red tape of the resort, or the shoulder of the Scenic Byway. If it cannot be viewed mechanically, it cannot be viewed at all.

Apathy is the bulldozer.

In his watershed Wilderness Letter, Stegner wrote: “What I want to speak for is not so much the wilderness uses, valuable as those are, but the wilderness idea, which is a resource in itself. Being an intangible and spiritual resource, it will seem mystical to the practical minded—but then anything that cannot be moved by a bulldozer is likely to seem mystical to them.”

It was an idea that brought the Mormons to Utah. Indeed, the very idea of Heaven pulled the Saints across plains and mountains. That the Mormons found their Heaven in the shadows of the Rockies and among the tablelands of the Plateau is beyond coincidence.

The Mormon country is still a refuge and a sanctuary. If we are willing to trade that for the false promises of convenience and modernity, then we deserve our fate. However, if any imagination still lurks in the hearts and minds of men, then hope and optimism remain. If we are willing to slow expansion, and preserve the idea of wilderness, then we may yet pass on the animating wonder of the Mormon country. We may yet leave a record of reverence, appreciation, and wonder that, like Stegner and others have left us, will ignite the future rediscovery and courtship with this landscape. A landscape that is—and always has been—the homeland of the Impossibles.

Related posts:

1. Paradox: The Bearded Mormon
2. The Book is Done. Almost.
3. High Country
4. The Art of Walking
5. Long Live Steve Jobs

What an odd winter the American West is experiencing. Dry. Warm. Almost spring-like, even. Snow, or rain, is supposed to arrive shortly. Which will only further complicate the precarious backcountry snowpack. Indeed, I have emotionally written off the possibility of skiing deep, light powder before next winter. Which is not to say that I wouldn’t jump at the chance to do so much sooner.* But currently I am fixated on spring, on mountain biking, and weathering the strangest, and possibly the most pleasant, winter I can remember.

*I am optimistic that the spring corn will be stellar.

After all, any depression incited by the lack of skiing has been offset with singletrack. Real singletrack. In mid-winter. With dirt, and even dust.

It won’t last. It can’t last. Can it?

Perhaps the most telling sign of how truly bizarre this season has been is the disappointment incurred when a storm is forecast.

“What? A storm? I was going to ride today!”

How quickly our expectations, even for January in Utah, have been skewed. Nevertheless, the eternal-November has been (in the short term) rather intriguing. A gift from the bike gods? Alas, it is a gift that could (in the long term) prove more burdensome and costly than any of us would like. Shallow winters usually precede droughtful summers. However, last winter was so entirely spectacular that perhaps 2011-12 is but a regression to the mean. A simple statistical correction.

Whatever it is, or turns out to be, I won’t complain about the terrible skiing. Not so long as the distraction of singletrack remains.

Jeff and the January Spring

Related posts:

1. Welcome Back Winter
2. Winter Fade
3. Winter? It’s Coming.
4. The Winter Difference
5. Winter is Coming

Forward movement is the means to every human end. Progress, such as it is defined, is often elevated above all else. Politicians speak of progress in reverent whispers. For athletes and coaches, it as an eternal pursuit. The businessman is obsessed with his progress up the corporate ladder, or the growth of his bottom line. But progress is ambiguous, and in our bizarre world, often regressive. However, physical progress, the literal act of moving forward, is definite, obvious, and everywhere.

We walk. We run. We hike and skin and ski. We pedal. We propel ourselves forward. Upward and onward, progress is the result of every human action.

But not all methods of forward progression are created equal. Some are inherently better—more efficient, faster, more enjoyable—than others.

The Hierarchy of Human Propulsion

My conclusions below are based on my own experiences. Your own conclusions may differ, however, I think many of you will agree with my observations. These ranking are independent of any terrain considerations. Clearly different tools are better for different roads and trails. But efficiency doesn’t always equal enjoyability. And all of the activities listed, except for road running, and post-holing through snow, are inherently enjoyable—but not equally. I’ve divided the activities into 2 categories: Summer and Winter.

Summer

Mountain biking > Cyclocross > Road biking > Trail running > Hiking > Walking > Hike-a-bike > running.

Winter

Skinning > Snow biking > Skate Skiing > Snowshoeing > Classic skiing > Post-holing.

A couple of notes: I didn’t include traditional alpine skiing because the uphill is lift-served, and the skiing itself is incorporated into ski touring, which I’ve listed above as skinning. Also, cyclocross is listed not exclusivley as ‘cross racing, but rather, as ‘cross riding, a mix of pavement, trail, dirtroads.  In other words, Roadirt. (Cruuuush!)

Oh, and yes. I would rather spend 2 hours pushing my bike, instead of 2 hours running down the street. I’ve done both, and at least a hike-a-bike comes with the possibility of an enjoyable decent or traverse, whereas running (is what criminals do) along the road is forever and always a painful exercise in self-flagellation.

Now, clearly there is an apples-to-oranges aspect to comparing bikes and feet. Wheels beat legs. And wings beat wheels. But wings are slightly more difficult to obtain than wheels. And anyway, I’m not sure there is any method of human flight that can be considered human-powered.

Anyway, the rankings above are not perfect. There are always exceptions and caveats. But they do reflect my order of preference for the time I spent outdoors.

What’s your hierarchy look like?

Related posts:

1. The Human Experience?
2. Big and Bigger
3. Run!
4. The Joy Ride

Ultimately dirtbaggery is about one thing: respect. Respect the alpha-dirtbag. Respect the gear. And respect the mountain.

Respect The Alpha-Dirtbag

A true dirtbag is an expert at his craft. He can ski. He can ride. He’s not stupid. He doesn’t put himself or others at risk because “duuude, gnarly!” In fact, he never (un-ironically) uses the word gnarly. Or brah, planks, shred, and siiiick. No, a dirtbag is a reliable partner in the backcountry and on the trail. He’s intelligent and savvy. Well read, and full of amazing stories that are actually true. The dirtbag demands respect because of his expertise, leadership, and ability. Up and coming dirtbags must recognize the alpha-dirtbag in any group, and concede thier own ambition to his alpha-status. In return, he offers reciprocity. The results of cooperative dirtbaggery are epic.

Respect The Gear

Gear—bikes, components, skis, binding, boots, tires, clothing—is at the heart of every outdoor adventure. If the gear is junk, then so is the experience. But that doesn’t mean every piece of equipment has to be the most expensive, highly reviewed, editor’s choice gear. Well maintained stuff will last a long, long time. Especially if it was well built and designed in the first place. A dirtbag finds ways, even without the overt financial means, to acquire solid core gear. For example, a dirtbag backcountry skier will have comfortable, light boots and durable bindings that might be ten years old. But they work, and work well. Why replace them? His money is spent wisely, on the equipment that matters most. What’s the point of pairing $450 ski pants with cheap plastic bindings?

A few gear shortcuts:

Leather work gloves. For as little as $8, one can purchase a pair of leather winter work gloves that can be weatherized into being ski gloves. For $25 one can purchase a pretty darn nice pair of leather winter work gloves. Work gloves make excellent uphill and backcountry gloves. They also work in a pinch at a frigid cyclocross race.

Shop glasses. Shop glasses (or shooting glasses) are no longer the embarrassing, ill-fitting goggles you wore in 7th grade. Today they look and fit almost like $200 sunglasses. Except they don’t cost $200. Rather, a fine pair of shooting spectacles will cost less than $10. The clear lensed pairs are excellent for night-riding.

Bulk CO2. CO2 cartridges are expensive. At bike shops. But at big-box stores the 12g cartridges that are meant for paintball guns are 25 for $15. In fact, as repulsive as big box stores can be, they offer some really fantastic prices on decent outdoor clothing. Wicking t-shirts especially.

Store brand. Not everything in your pack needs to be name-brand. Store branded gear—REI, Stoic, etc—can be every bit as comfortable and functional as name brands, but usually cost less. Dirtbags don’t care about trendy name branded gear. Dirtbags want function and durability, and store brands offer it in bunches.

Packing Tape. Packing tape isn’t duct tape. But it can be really useful in its own right. One example: Ski tails. A layer of packing tape on ski tails can help prevent delamination and other wear-n-tear from the tail clips on climbing skins. It’s not a perfect solution, but it does work.

Respect the Mountain.

Dirtbags are smart. They don’t cross rivers that shouldn’t be crossed. They don’t pressure others into dangerous or uncomfortable situations. They respect and understand the inherent danger of the mountain. Dirtbaggery means knowing the terrain. Maps are a dirtbags constant companion. He studies them with religious zeal. He knows where trails lead and what the morning’s avalanche forecast reported. Dirtbags become dirtbags because they live to ride and hike and ski another day.

In fact, I don’t know that a true dirtbag can be younger than 40 years old. Someone that young just doesn’t have the experience, the knowledge, or the conquests to qualify. Until 40 the best anyone (myself included) can hope to achieve is neo-dirtbag status. And even that is fleeting, and will need consistent tutelage from a bona fide, through-and-through dirtbag.

Someone like Tom. The best dirtbag I’ve ever known:

Related posts:

1. $8 Ski Gloves
2. It Begins
3. Ski Tour Clothing