Saturday, May 6, 2017

10 Of The Best Bikes For Women in 2017

In response to RedBull's recent list of 2017's best womens-specific bikes, I'd like to present an ACTUAL list of great bikes for women in 2017 (not just a collection of budget-ass rigs thrown together by someone who doesn't think that equipment matters to female riders).

1: LITERALLY ANY FUCKING BIKE THAT FITS YOU CORRECTLY, REGARDLESS OF GENITALS.

The end.

No. But seriously. You don't need a 'women's specific bike'. You need a 'human specific bike'. After all, a bicycle built for an elephant will probably be too large and heavy and a bicycle built for a fish is superfluous because what need would a fish have for  bicycle?

I digress.

For me personally, here are a few bikes at different price points that I love because of their features. Try one on if you like it, dismiss my opinion entirely, or shout mean things at me while throwing slushies from the chairlift. You do you, love.

2: Anything from Transition
These folks are getting the first mention simply because of their new take on the 'specific' marketing inside of MTB, but they also happen to make damn fine mountain cycles. They're also rider-owned and run, they have kickass customer service, they truly give a damn about the MTB community and... Okay, I'll stop. But really. Go. Go now.


Transition Bikes: Human Specific Design from Transition Bikes on Vimeo.


3: Anything from Pivot Cycles.  

Now, this may come as a shock to most people here, but Pivot has been making 'womens-specific' bikes longer than anyone in the market. They've also been making 'men's specific' bikes forever because they make size-specific rigs. What a novel fucking concept. Their bikes range from XS to XL and, like the Mach 6 pictured below, are hard-charging as they come. Their bikes aren't designed for the wallflower, either: Pivot's athletes range from kickass XC racer Jen Hanks to World Cup rider Emilie Siegenthaler and they've supported female racers at every level since before it was en vogue to back up marketing lip service. Pivot has consistently support efforts to get more #girlsonbikes and to create actual parity within cycling by hiring women at their Phoenix HQ, sponsoring women across the spectrum, making great bikes that fit people of all sizes, and not skimping on the build specs. That's why they made my list.




4: 2017 GT Sanction: 

GT is getting my endorsement because not only do they make kickass bikes with killer geometry, but they make (comparatively) affordable bikes as well as sponsoring female riders and hiring some really smart and rad women. Tell me that isn't a company worth supporting.  






5: Anything From Kona Bikes

Kona did away with most of their 'womens specific' category a while back and instead, opted to expand the sizing range offered to fit a better section of riders who want a good rig from a good company. Kona also supports massive amounts of lady efforts from CycloCross to the new Kona Supremes, an all-female squad in the PNW. Like Pivot, Kona's bikes come in sizes ranging from XS to XL -- enough range to fit people from 4'11" to 6'4". While different companies will have different geometries to fit different people, the Process 143 below comes in at a seriously reasonable $2699 USD with components that don't skimp on efficacy.  






6. The Evils:

With lower standover height and high-end appeal, anything from Evil comes with the ability to rule entire underworlds. Whether it's the 27.5 Insurgent or the 29 Following, these bikes are made for major fun (the type that might get you arrested). Ranging from size S to XL, they have highly-capable handling for even the most discerning lady. Evil has also hired one of my favorite lady-shredders this year, Kathy Pruitt, as their most recent addition to the staff... Between badass bikes built for people and hiring based on radness, that's enough for me.  

Image result for Evil Insurgent



7 - 10: Anything not branded 'womens specific'.

Listen: there's a huge difference between a company claiming to be 'women's specific' and a company that, instead of marketing their way into female hearts, actually earns a spot in our stand.

There are plenty of companies out there willing to tell women what we want to hear but not as many who are actually walking the walk with what they're doing behind the scenes. The list above is in no way a comprehensive or complete rundown of what the industry has to offer. It's more of a sampling of the companies out there offering actual bikes for actual people.  

While 'women's specific' bikes might make us ladies feel as though we're finally being given our (over)due, being 'given' a pre-selected and carefully controlled place in the industry isn't equality. All of the shiny pink and purple paint in the world doesn't cover up the desperate need for parity and real equality within cycling, and buying into the notion that women deserve lesser components isn't going to help us get where we need to go. Our industry needs wider sizing range for people of all sizes. This industry needs actual diversity, not just advertising efforts that try to capture the female dollar. If you want a bike, please buy based on your needs as an individual.

That's the only way we'll ever get bikes that fit.










I'm currently trying to raise the bar on my content production, race previews and recaps, free clinic offerings and media creation. If you enjoyed this post, perhaps you'll consider supporting my Patreon -- it's a labor of love, but it doesn't always pay the bills. 


Friday, April 28, 2017

Getting Older And The Fires That Cleanse


I went to Moab this week to celebrate my thirtieth birthday.

As I'd been planning a trip to Sea Otter and then a detour through Yosemite to hike the falls, it was a last minute trip change due to a combination of some unforeseen circumstances and some undesirable outcomes. I wasn't thrilled at first, but it culminated in what I feel is probably an important series of lessons as I start this new decade. 

My twenties weren't easy. I don't think anyone's are, to be fair, but mine were particularly rocky as I battled my own willful stubbornness, social anxiety, traumatic brain injuries and a rapid (and completely unintentional) ascension towards sports infamy. While reflecting on these challenges, however, I was startled to start feeling grateful -- my severely-ADHD brain often moves too quickly to process more than brief bouts of gratitude, so my sudden onset of overwhelming thankfulness surprised me.

Mostly, I'm thankful I survived it. Literally. I'm lucky to be alive, have a roof over my head and have pickles in my fridge. Through no work of my own I've stumbled into some of the best friendships and situations to ever exist and whether it's fate or circumstance that has led me to where I'm sitting right this moment, I'm not about to look a gift horse in the mouth... Except I am. Because that's what I do. I'm introspective and curious to a fault, which often leads to much eye-rolling from my better counterparts. So as I critically examined the last twelve to fifteen years of my life, I figure that I'm either the luckiest person alive (no, I'm not kidding) or the universe has some ulterior motive in keeping me alive, mostly sane, housed and sort of well-fed. 

Don't ask me what it is.

After three life flights, two drawn-out medical sagas, one kidney down and more concussions than modern medicine needs to declare 'potato status', I am, very literally, incredibly lucky to be here. I've put myself in some very stupid situations, some very careless positions and a few needlessly ridiculous predicaments. And yet.

Here I sit. 30 years old and still punching back. Hard

At what point do I just point at the sky and kind of giggle? Is this the  right time to feel completely indestructible and go about thwarting evil (a la Bruce Willis in Unbreakable)? Or do I count my blessingsand simply walk away from further risk, content with the fires I've started? I'm not sure I can answer that. But what I do know is that while my neural plasticity exists, I'm going to try to suck everything I possibly can out of this situation called 'life'. What can I say? I'm kind of an opportunist. 

In keeping with my thirty-year streak of damn fine luck, this week has been no different. We rolled into Moab Tuesday afternoon to beautiful spring temperatures of 65F and nothing on the calendar but moderate sunshine and time on two wheels. A spin through town  proved it was still standing despite my emotional departure a month ago and a warm up wheel spin in the cool evening air of Klondike Bluffs ensured that we were ensnared with the possibility of more fun to come. You know the rides where everything works and your legs feel right while the smile just won't go away? Tuesday's quick ride was one of those, despite a loose rotor on my rear wheel, and as Brian and I got back to the car, I spread my arms wide and spun in circles as the sky brightened in the most beautiful sunset I've seen this spring. I've been #blessed to see so many sunsets. Seriously, though. Absolutely blessed.

  

It was quite the welcome.

Afterwards, we wandered to North Klondike to meet up with Isaac Miller and his fur son Rico who were posted up at their Airstream basecamp. As we chatted about the road life and tossed tennis balls  in the light of a halogen lamp, it struck me again: what a life. To be able to stand there in the chalky white moon dust and firelight reflecting on my travels and laughs with good people who loved me... That was a gift. And as suddenly as it had appeared, the thought spun off into the dark night under a blanket of stars as Rico approached with his second tennis ball.

I woke up the following morning in order to pee in sync with the tittering of sand pipers as the sun rose to highlight the blooming Sego lilies. With the grey clouds outlined in gold and the sky turning pink, it seemed an appropriate sunrise for the first day of my third decade. Shortly after climbing back into the tend, Rico puppy offered an excited jump on the walls of our temporary shelter demanding that we rise and start the day. 

We set off from camp with coffee in hand and a Porcupine shuttle booked. Our preparations didn't clue us into the hilarity that would  be the day, however. If they had, I'd have worn a bubble suit and carried a flask of tequila. We met up with The Jeffs* to grab a shuttle to the top of Kokopelli and after some hot-coffee-down-the-pants-and-into-the-shoes action, I was on my way! We bullshitted the entire shuttle ride up, chatting about racing, laughing at dumb jokes and mostly trying not to touch each other in a packed van. Upon  arriving at the drop-off point and finding it twenty degrees cooler, we all realized that an extra layer would have been prudent and bitched for a few minutes while swinging our arms and pretending we knew the finer points of human thermodynamics. 

Then we dropped in. 

This is where I think I'm supposed to start lying. I should probably tell you what fun Porcupine is. I'll explain the different stages, how I crushed them all, then how we all ate lunch at the overlook at sang Kumbaya.

But I won't. Instead, I'll tell it how it really happened: we dropped in, I almost ate shit in the first turn, sucked wind on the fire road pedal, then had to stop to check Trailforks to make sure we hadn't missed  the turn onto UPS. After that, we took some pictures, rode some rocks, had intermittent bike weirdness and then met a friend. This was the cool part, because what had been four was now five. Me, Brian, Jeff Richards and Jeff Skalla had to stop because Brian's bike  was a bitch and blew a shock. Somewhere along the way, Skalla's friendliness had extended to a solo rider and this rider rolled up on us to chat and compliment me on the weird staircase that I had rolled, clipped in halfway. As I stood eating my strawberry M&Ms, we exchanged some chit chat about where this rider was from, what the hell we all were doing, etc etc etc. And then came the question: "Do you mind if I tag along?" 

FUCK NO WE DO NOT, ROMAN FROM MONTREAL!

As it turns out, Roman would become a fixture in our trip and despite having recently started riding in June of 2016, is a total badass on two wheels and a whole lot of fun to hang out with. Go figure. Trail friends, amirite?

I should probably lie to you all a bit more about how I stole the QOM on Porcupine and rode triumphantly to the finish in a cactus confetti shower with music and cold beers and back slaps.

But I didn't. I crashed 1/3 of the way down on one of the easiest drops, broke a couple of ribs, couldn't breathe, got back up, whined a bit, and then whined the rest of the ride while alternating between mad sprints and struggle-bus seated pedaling. I finished it off by angrily hiking the bottom portion of Porcupine rim and mutter-shouting "who puts a fucking trials course at the bottom of a 20-mile-plus descent?! ASSHOLES! That's who!" 

Good times.

Then we pedaled into town and wheezed over to Milt's where Brian treated my already sizeable ass to a double Santa Fe burger and large peach milkshake as we all sat around and commiserated about the ridiculousness of the day and how we'd likely not do that again. 

The perfect birthday.

In all reality, it taught me a few things about not expecting situations to be enjoyable because they're overhyped and that my sort of 'fun' is still consistent with what psychiatrists call 'type 1.5' fun. In other words, I don't want to struggle. There are struggle riders and there are struggle fun riders and then there is me. If it's not immediately threatening my life while being totally enjoyable at the same time, I'm unlikely to avoid whining. 

These are good lessons to know when one is entering the hallowed temple of thirty when everyone else seems to be a grown up and one still has Cocoa Puffs debris stuck to one's shirt.

I am Jack's milk-saturated cocoa puff. 

Of course, Wednesday culminated in birthday cake and ice cream courtesy of both the hilarious waiter at Moab Brewery and Brian, who orchestrated the most obscene public birthday spectacle known to man: the restaurant-staff birthday song. My fellow bike compadres were deaf to my pleas as they laughed their asses off in the corners of the booth (I will get you both, Jeff and Roman), so I was left to sit and blush furiously over the remnants of our nachos and a delicious brownie cake thing. 

Yum.

After a bit of tequila and more cake and ice cream, I settled into the $29 hotel room like a bear preparing for hibernation: with full intent on not coming out for a few months. Unfortunately, I had to wake up the next morning, despite a sugar hangover and a pounding head. While an interesting experience at a bike shop didn't dull my headache or the pain from my broken ribs, it made for a funny story and provided a fascinating Twitter saga that would unfold as the day progressed, as well as an interesting look into why I still fight so heavily for an inclusive sport. It was also narratively consistent with me turning 30: nothing says "I ain't changing" quite like keeping up  my usual antics. Who said brain function doesn't improve with age?! 

We met Skalla and Roman for a quick jaunt up Hymasa to ride the massively-overhyped Captain Ahab (I'm sensing a theme here) and after Brian and I bailed at the upper intersection, we ran into the third  faith-restoring character of the week: Rob from Tahoe. Now, Brian has been looking at new bikes recently as he jumps back into MTB (pun intended) and after the horrific demo experience Thursday morning, needed a bit of a pick-up and some positivity that I couldn't really provide. Enter Rob, the YT Capra-riding patron saint of size-small MTB riders everywhere. As we pulled over to yield to uphill traffic, Rob pedaled towards us before inadvertently catching a pedal and swinging off his bike to hike the rest of the rocky corner. Brian, upon seeing the YT logo on the frame, immediately asked "hey, which model is that?" This wonderful, beautiful dude of a man grinned and said "The Capra" before handing Brian the bike. He really did. He smiled at two strangers he didn't know from Adam and then proceeded to hand over his BRAND NEW RIG that had TWO FUCKING RIDES ON IT for Brian to inspect. As B asked what size it was and then ogled the ride and began asking if he could maaaaaybe just swing a leg over, Rob gestured to the trail and says "Hop on, man. Take it for a spin. Seriously. Great bike."

Now, I'm going to stop right here because I've suddenly started leaking from the eyes and my keyboard is covered in some weird, viscous nasal slime. I wanted to blubber like a goddamn baby yesterday and right now as I write this, the reality of what happened on that trail is hitting me again. This random rider, not knowing a  thing about the two goobers descending Hymasa, saw the look on my friend's face and without pause, handed his brand new bike to a stranger so that the stranger could see if it fits.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANT TO US?! I mean, I may as well have been hit by lightning as I stood there with my stupid mouth agape and nearing a full on emotional monsoon.

I've had a crisis of faith for so long, thinking that the spirit of mountain biking has slowly died off. I have cried into my hands at the lack of respect on our trails, in the forums, at the way we portray other riders and disciplines and each other. It has slowly killed me and eaten at my core to see the very thing that saved my life and my soul turn into something ugly and cruel. The disrespect, the pettiness, the lack of sustainability... It's wrecked me.

But then along comes Moab with its strangers and incredible examples of the very best parts of this sport and it destroys the hope-sucking monster that is disappointment. These people inside of this thing, outside of this thing, just getting into this thing.

These people.  

Three days, three experiences, three prime examples that the soul of everything I love still exists. 

And now I'm crying again.

Because this is what matters. The fringe bullshit, the constant turnover of technology, the hype, the nonsense, even the bad attitudes (like my own) can all disappear in the face of what is still the greatest thing to ever happen to me. Bikes saved my damn life. Bikes gave me back everything I thought I had lost, everything I never had, everything I'll ever become. The goodness that lives inside of me exists because of what I've learned on two wheels and what they've taught me about the world. My perspective and undying hope were created by the balance struck between where I've been and where I'm going, and the eternal lessons of forward momentum. Who I am and what I bring to any situation have been irrevocably and unfalteringly built by the bicycle and the people who also love two wheels.

Everything I am is because of experiences like those of the past week and these experiences have been shaped by the people in them.  

May I always strive to be that person for someone else. 












*Jeff Skalla and Jeff Richards, two of the best people to play bikes with.









I'm currently trying to raise the bar on my content production, race previews and recaps, free clinic offerings and media creation. If you enjoyed this post, perhaps you'll consider supporting my Patreon -- it's a labor of love, but it doesn't always pay the bills. 






Sunday, April 16, 2017

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

In the transcendent words of Aretha Franklin, 'R-E-S-P-E-C-T.' The queen of R&B may have been singing about romance, but she knew that any functional relationship revolves around respect. I've been giving this particular topic a fair bit of thought lately as I rocket towards the third decade of my existence and reflect (as most people are prone to do) on what I've sort of got figured out. The answer is mostly 'nothing', apart from my basic knowledge including the constant laws of the universe.

Take gravity, for instance -- it's what holds us to the surface of this planet, is our greatest challenge and our biggest fear. But like the inevitability of death, we know it's there. We have a healthy respect for it while we gently push the boundaries of how we can manipulate it. The same goes for death. Bear wrestling and downhill mountain biking seem to examine that fairly well. But what about respect itself as a universal law?

That we seem to have a bit of a struggle with.

In an attempt to engage and mobilize the Utah trail community, I've recently begun talking more about my efforts to give back; while I've been a pretty outspoken advocate of public dig days and responsible use for the majority of my bike-riding adulthood, I tend to keep my shovel antics behind the scenes. My low-key approach stems from a combination of feel-good anonymity and, until recently, a belief that most enthusiasts within the trail community step up when they're needed... That and nobody wants to hear about how I spent my weekend digging holes in some random corner of the forest. Trailbuilding is a good outlet for me, but not a riveting story one relates at parties. Due to the current debate around trail access and the explosion of growth in the outdoor enthusiast market leading to a boom in trail use, however, collaboration with land managers and cities is more important than ever. It's been good for me -- In spite of my anarchy-driven solitary soldier style, I've gotten a bit more involved with the local organizations responsible for trails, because everything about MTB has changed. We're a high-school sport now rather than just a few crackpot bike guerrillas bucking meat in some dark corner of the planet, and as such, organization is more important than ever. In working with these groups, I've been a bit surprised by the low level of public relations functioning and the amount of information and engagement that happens with the community, so it seemed like an appropriate time to broach the subject publicly from whatever diving board/soap box I have.

The only problem? Public awareness campaigns never begin when the situation is manageable. When informing and educating the members of a community is imperative, it's always because the issue has reached terminal velocity and must now be dealt with thanks to years of neglect. And neglect, unfortunately, breeds contempt. It's safe to say that most public relations and advertising in the mountain bike community (and outdoor industry at large) has been less than informative about our responsibilities as enthusiasts. Less Americans understand the 'leave no trace' edict than ever, trash and vandalism are at an all-time high, and as America battles for the preservation of it's most precious public lands, a few of us are left scratching  at our scalps and wondering how on earth the situation deteriorated to this point.

Neglect is sneaky like that. One day we're on top of our collective shit and the next, we're fighting to keep oil companies out of national parks.

But I digress.

So we're raising awareness, discussing the need for public involvement as a local community, setting up dig days and suddenly, there's backlash. 'Backlash to trail maintenance?', I can hear you ask.

Yeah. Something like that. Or talking about responsible use and appropriate behavior. See, that's the other problem with neglect -- when the standard of operation goes by the wayside, it's essentially every person for themselves. When there's a vacuum left by bad/nonexistent leadership or lack of guidance (aka, public awareness), the community at stake will flounder without gentle direction and reminding that yes, this is a functional relationship between the land and the users of it. Without Smokey the Bear smiling at us as we enter the forest and explaining that only WE can prevent forest fires, would we even think about forest fires? I grew up on Smokey's influence as he stood there leaning on his shovel, or pointing at me from under the brim of his ranger's hat. He was the edifying deity of my childhood and possessed more authority than Jesus himself... Because who wants to disappoint a friendly, talking bear by setting his home ablaze?! Come on now.

The same lack of care extended to the sports industry in the early 2000's as the 90's fight for women's equality faded, girl power reached peak saturation and lazy marketing took over -- because we didn't actively fight sexism in cycling, it began to rule our lives like a virus run amok. And now the same issues are back on the equality table once more as we talk about things we covered twenty years ago and solve problems that were supposedly solved then. And in the 50s. And in the 60s. And 70s. And 80s.

Human instinct requires maintenance. Evolution and progress demand vigilance, but we can't pass (or take) the baton of responsibility if we lack a basic understanding of the need for it. This is where the backlash to awareness and my girl Aretha meet up.

Responsibility is accepted based on the level of respect one has for the issue. Accountability is rooted in a healthy appreciation for whatever subject needs maintenance, and maintenance stems from respect.

These are laws that apply to car mechanics and public lands alike. Like gravity and death, respect and accountability are immutable laws of function upon which society rests. Without them, we have nothing. Literally. We lose what we don't use and what we don't use, we neglect. When a wound is neglected, gangrene will set in. Gangrene will kill us. Even as a rule breaker, I follow these rules. Chalk it up to the ripe old age of 30, but respect for my environment and my place in the ecosystems of functional relationships has driven me to more value than any other single motivator... Even death. Or gravity. Combined. But I grew up on tales of respect. I cut my teeth on the stories of heroes who fought for something greater than themselves, for a higher plane of existence. My brain developed to the music of legends who built noble legacies with the bricks of respect and loyalty and it still took me years to embrace the concept of respect as an undeniable law.

As cliche as it might sound, fostering and promoting a sense of respect towards each other, our surroundings, the planet and the situations on that planet won't hurt anyone. What's the drawback of understanding history and taking part in how the world moves forward? Where is the negative consequence of respecting those who have come before us, those who come after us and living in a way that honors and benefits both? What do we lose by operating with respect, and not as a weapon to be tossed around, but a living, breathing embodiment of what and who we are?

Respect and it's inverse aren't the ego-driven concept that we're accustomed to. It's not a reason to kill or maim  (i.e., "They disrespected me"), but rather as a rule of functional relationships inside of a healthier existence at every level. Respect breeds respect. If you earn respect, you'll be respected. But we can't earn respect without showing respect, and the idea of respect demands self-discipline and control based on the functional respect carried for that subject.

Kids who respect Smokey the Bear don't set the forest on fire. People who respect the autonomy of others don't make jokes about rape or portray other people as sexual objects to be used and abused. Riders who respect the planet respect the scientific evidence that protects natural habitats from damage and neglect, and they respect the work done by other respectful users to maintain that delicate balance. People who respect the delicate balance want to learn more about it, and they educate themselves and help other people learn more so that a higher level of respect begins to build.

You see how that works?

Now imagine for a second that everyone operated on some level of basic respect for life. Yes, ALL life. Humans, plants, animals, molecular, historic, life. Imagine that respect folding into the other plane of thought where we respect life so much that we choose to respect the actions of people as long as they don't negatively impact someone else. Why would they? After all, if everyone respects everyone else and life in itself, there wouldn't be a reason to NOT act with respect and autonomy.

Respect is a universal law. We either have it or we don't. But when we respect something, we begin taking accountability for ourselves.

Think about it. Or don't.

I respect your decision. 

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Are Women's Specific Bikes Benevolent Sexism?


I've been in the anti-womens-specific bikes box for a while now, despite being one of the industry's 'most outspoken' feminists and an athlete who has repeatedly alienated a large portion of her 'target audience' by standing up for women's equality and equal payout. It's an intricate and complex issue, but at the heart of it, I don't believe that female anatomy demands a separate and wholly different construction of bikes.

I think it's hype. Even worse, it's bad business.

Why? Well, for one, a 'women's specific bike' doesn't actually make physical sense. The current model of 'women's specific bike' is built for smaller-framed women with lighter suspension, smaller grips, shorter frame dimensions, women-specific saddles and often, a belief that this bike will fit women. The only problem with that logic are the millions of women who disprove it. Tall, short, medium heights -- all with different and separate proportions. I'm a walking embodiment of this. At 5'8", I struggle to find shirts that are long enough, yet have the femurs of a person who is 6'2" and the tib/fib lengths of someone 5'4". I am a conglomeration of contrasting parts, which means my bikes must be as well. The kicker here? I'm not an anomaly. In fact, most human dimensions fail to fit the exact specifications of the majority of bikes, which is why 'bike fitting' is a crucial part of the industry. And yet, the entire 'women's specific' bike schtick is predicated that THESE bikes will fit women because all women (or most of the women on bikes) have roughly the same dimensions.

Are you kidding me?

This is a lie. It's also endorsing and perpetuating the problem that's known as 'othering': "to view or treat (a person or group of people) as intrinsically different from and alien to oneself." Women are not 'others'.

Women make up 51% of the planet's human populace. We are not mystical, strange creatures that exist to baffle the male mind and confound even the most sensitive of researchers. We are HUMAN. Part of being human is that we will be diverse and made up of a large variety of human characteristics, regardless of our genitals.

Homosapien embryos are formed using combined DNA from two different and individual DNA strands. In the womb, those embryos are relatively genderless for the first eight weeks until the indifferent gonads separate and become either testes or ovaries. It's a complex process of unpredictable ratios, but the gender of a human being is often decided by genetics, as is the hormone wash that continues throughout the nine-month cycle of birth. A baby comes out as a product of parental DNA and hormones, not to mention hidden (or recessive) genes that can hide for decades. Medical science has established the power of heredity and its effects on the human race, and yet, the bike industry thinks that gender is what defines a rider?

Size, strength, scope of experience and even physical fitness affect what bike will work best for an individual, but gender? Gender does not. Pretending that gender will influence the bike frames women need hasn't mattered since 1895 when women were breaking the Victorian traditions of wearing dresses. To sell an entire category of bicycles to women as though we're strange and alien creatures who defy the title of 'individual' isn't just insulting, but it's sexist.

"What do women want?" Is a question bandied about by billion-dollar companies in their ever-present race to win the female buying power (which is very real). But the question is null, because 'women' don't want anything as a collective group. 'Women' is a gender. That's it. It's not any more important than 'what men want', and it's just as fluid and extensive and nebulous as every individual human is. Why are we so willing to nail down a 'women's-specific' bike when the idea of a 'mens-specific' frame is absolutely absurd? Of course there's no such thing as a men's specific frame, because men are complex and unique with their own separate motivators and skill levels and sizes.

Why can't women be as well? Why does the bike industry feel as though women need a separate class of colors and 'women-specific sizing' when WE ARE NOT ALL THE SAME? We aren't even close to being the same and yet the bike industry (and world) is more than happy to smash us all into the tiny compartment titled 'WOMEN'.

What do women want? Well, we want the same things that men want because, you know, we're people. What do people want? People seem to want variety that fits their budget and skill level. People want accessibility and a proper fit. People want to have fun. Here's the kicker: different people will want different things.

Now, I know that sounds crazy. Differences in the human race in motivations and wants and desires?! Good lord. What will happen next?

I know. It's heavy. But what about offering people a better range of options based on their size and skill levels and individual needs rather than the non-item of gender? Call me crazy, but I have an inkling that if bike companies and bike dealers put as much effort into educating the wider bike-riding populace as they do about promoting the horseshit that is 'women's specific bikes', we'd all be a lot better off. We might even have an informed user base that understands which bikes they'll need based on their body sizes, desires and skill levels! Imagine that!

Women's specific bikes is the dehumanization and 'othering' of a group that is connected solely by gender and gender orientation. It is nothing more. It is nothing less. And it's time we stopped pretending that gender is a barrier between humans, or that it dictates or predicts what human beings need or their individual desires. The theories behind 'women's specific bikes' aren't based in conclusive fact or scientific evidence from an objective third party. The 'science' and 'numbers' have been issued as evidence by companies who have invested millions of dollars in selling the lie that every woman is (or should be) a certain size with specific proportions. That's not remotely true or even physically possible. While it might coincidentally be true for some people, to call a bike with specific and biased proportions a 'women's specific bike' is both alienating to anyone who doesn't fit those proportions and prejudicial for those who do. If a woman happens to fit a 'women's specific bike' but has larger hands or can't use the seat that comes with the bike due to anatomical differences, does that mean she's a freak? Because yes, folks... Not all lady parts are the same. Not all women have lady parts at all, or in the complete array of the 'anatomically correct Bike Ride Barbie'. And what about the guys who need a smaller sized frame with a different seat and smaller grips? Suddenly, they've wandered into the terrible 'girl bikes' section and thanks to our industry's obsessively toxic masculinity, OH MY DEAR GOD. And for women who don't fit the mold? Gee, I guess I'm just too 'manly' for those women-specific bikes. I suppose my proportions make me a completely separate creature rather than a rider who just wants a bike that fits.

Stop telling people what they need and start giving them what they want. If that want is to be special based on gender, then the industry needs to cater to that need equally and start making men's-specific bikes. If the want is to have sizing available from XXS to XXL, then perhaps we need to start building bikes and equipment that fit real people. If the end goal is actual equality, we need to stop perpetuating the myth that women are all made the same and stop selling bikes to women that they don't need. Sell them what they want. Give people options, educate your buyers and then empower them to spend what they can on something that will work best for them as an individual.

The bike industry is peddling damaging myths and lies about an entire gender to benefit the bottom line, and eventually, the pseudo-science behind 'women's specific bikes' is going to emerge as something created to support a crap theory made by sexists who have fabricated evidence to support their sexist beliefs about what women are and should be. When it does, those companies with their sticky fingers in the bullshit pudding will face huge losses of both revenue and public trust.

Women aren't the same because humans aren't the same. End of story.




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Friday, February 10, 2017

So. Much. Fury.

Humans are probably the dumbest 'intelligent beings' this side of the Centauri system. Our wasted sentience is only outmatched by our total disregard for the fact that we are sentient. Most days, I feel as though opposable thumbs are entirely wasted on 99% of homosapiens.

I went to the Chaffetz Town Hall this evening.

Yeah, I know. You don't have to say it. I expected it to be rowdy, but I assumed that the other self-aggrandizing internet liberals would at least formulate somewhat coherent arguments that possibly resembled an overall goal.

I was so, so wrong.

What I ended up with was a splitting migraine and an animalistic urge to start swinging my fists at throat-level while exiting the building. Instead, I rolled my rage into a tiny ball, stuffed it behind my eyes and made a beeline for my vehicle while breathing in a 1-2-1 pattern to avoid spontaneous combustion. Can I.. Can I just say something real fast? WHAT THE EVER LIVING FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU POTATOES?!

If you want to see what's wrong with democracy, just wander into any political meeting these days and stand there for ten minutes. If the current speaker doesn't incite a riot, just whisper 'Trump' into the air and wait for the hair to fly (or the sky to fall). Tonight was a warped version of that, but push the 'naïveté' dial into the red zone, drop the 'general world awareness' bass all the way down and let that fat lady sing: you'll have a rough estimate of how I spent my Thursday evening.

Now, I don't mind a good 'boo'. I'm not going to begrudge anyone of that oh-so-satisfying pleasure, nor will I respect someone any less for a well-timed and overwhelming show of disgust and disapproval. But after one long, loud 'boo', it tends to lose its weight for about sixty minutes. Even the ghostbusters knew they had to stretch the ghoulish antics out in order to avoid saturation -- it just doesn't hold the same appeal after a while. Nobody in that room seemed to understand the art of the boo, nor much of anything at all, if we're being honest. From talking and shouting over each other to bandwagon-ing on the 'Answer the question!' demand, there was too much rage.

I am the queen of the rage.

If I'm saying that there was too much rage, it means that the rageometer is broken and the world is exploding. Hell, I've build a brand on rage. But you can't rage all the time. You can't even rage most of the time, because the effect of the rage wears off. You have to mix it with some humor, a dash of actual threat and a solid dose of really terrifying facts. Nobody can rage all the time... Not even me. While I generally try to avoid giving away the illusions behind my rage magic, this seems to be a really important time. Listen carefully:

Politicians don't care about your rage. Business people (real business people) don't give a damn about your anger. They don't listen to your screams, they're not vulnerable to your shouts and cries, and they do not give a single fuck about all the tantrums in the world. Here's the other secret: tantrums make great press. Fits of rage are the single best headline-stealer in all of news history. THE BIBLE HAS STORIES ABOUT JESUS THROWING PEOPLE OUT OF A TEMPLE, okay? So they get headlines. But a tantrum must have something dangerous behind it in order to do any good. A fit must contain an element of strategy that holds attention much longer than a headline or a news cast.

Politicians don't care about your tantrums. They throw them all day, everyday. It's called 'grandstanding', and they are the masters. This is their role, on their stage, in their stadium. Your tantrums, while sincere, do not matter.

Do you want to know what scares these people? I'll give you a hint: it has something to do with speaking softly and a something, something "big stick".

Here's one more teaser: if you set the bar at one height to accomplish one thing, the bar cannot stay at that height to accomplish an entirely different thing. Throwing tantrums is great. But the allure of a tantrum fades, and if you won't speak softly, you'll become what is known as a 'blowhard'.

You must speak softly at exactly the right time.

We did not speak softly at the right time tonight. We did more of what we've been doing, and what half the country is mocking us for: throwing fits.

Few facts were presented tonight. The reasonable, data-based questions were nearly nonexistent  and there was very little specificity in demands or in theme.

Add to that the antagonizing that Rep. Chaffetz did with his DeVos question, the 'I like ________" statements. He was baiting those in attendance, and they took the bait.

Hook, line, sinker.

There was no solidarity. There was zero organization. There seemed to be little awareness of the policies on the table and almost no discussion of how they affected Utahns. There wasn't a SINGLE mention of the economy. Now, I don't know about you all, but my rent doesn't get paid by some magic fairy in the sky. Money matters. And to the people in that room tonight, they seemed very unconcerned by how bad policies affected both humans and economics.

Know thy enemy.

You want to beat the opposition? Know what they want. Figuring out what someone wants is the easiest way to control them. Do you know what Chaffetz wants?

A senate seat.

How do we control that? By not screaming at him, but exposing his economic failures that also happen (cough, cough) to affect human beings, too. You don't just scream about the wall. You ask what the wall will cost. Where will that money come from? What will the US lose with an immigration ban? What benefits do we currently get from the countries on that list?

Big picture thinking, folks.

I sat in that auditorium while people around me leapt to their feet and shrieked incomprehensible demands at him; hundreds of people shouting aggressively about whatever pissed them off at that moment. They didn't just interrupt him, either: they interrupted each other. Whether it was shouts of "answer the question!" or cheers for something they liked, it wasn't a controlled demand from one person saying "Answer the question, representative." It was a mob.

Like it or not, unless we change things, we will continue to be forced to defend ourselves from the 'paid protestor' lies because people don't know what to believe. The easiest way to solve that? Cut it off at the pass. We stop giving them something to lie about.

Be aggressive, but be easy about it. Lure them into a friendly interaction as though we're on their side, then go for the political jugular. The best trap? Open with a smile, thank them for coming and then bring them to their knees with facts. Not with shouts or screams, but with words and strategy. With forceful personal stories that demand to be heard... And not just to be heard by Chaffetz. But by the media, by other politicians, with stories and facts so strong that they speak to other people across the country.

There is a time to scream and shout. You wanna do that? Go protest. A town hall is not it. Whether you like it or not, people will stop listening the more you scream. If you need therapy through shouting, go somewhere else. But stop acting like your screams scare these people. They don't fear you. They fear people who can beat them at their own game.

They terrify people who acknowledge them, give them what they want, speak softly...

And then you create a diversion.

You organize. You have one group throwing a small tantrum on one side of the room, and the other half of that group sitting silently, waiting to ask questions that hammer away at policies, at facts, at the damage done by this individual.

Stop thinking small picture. You want progress? Fight for it.

You want change? Be willing to outsmart everyone else.

You want noise? Stop focusing on the noise and think about the end-game.

What is your goal? Work the puzzle backwards.

And then stop ruining these fucking meetings.