What the What

It’s bath time and I was using this parental free time to check up on what’s going in with our new Ompahloompah and Chief. Just and observation, but apparently I’m not allowed to customize my news feed ‘s range of input.

Breitbart is to news as drain field effluent is to a healthy, nutritious snake. Like so many others, I too would very much appreciate the ability to exclude fake, biased, and bigoted sources from my feed.

Google, just so you understand, this is the kind of bullshit design that quickly runs toward deal breaker in my book. Fix it, fix it fast, because normalizing racist, misogynistic crap like this has already done incalculable damage.

Shoutout to My Homies at Backcountry

BC's main office in SLC

BC’s main office in SLC

As many of you are aware my favorite pair of running shoes are on their that thread of life. I have only one pair of Brooks Running’s fabulous PureGrit 2s left in serviceable condition and apparently I’m pounding through them. Okay, guess that means it’s time to find some new shoes.

I’ve tried pretty much everything that Brooks makes these days and have come away feeling profoundly underwhelmed. They’ve apparently decided that they only want to make motion-controlled trail shoes with a ridiculous amount of heal lift. Add to this that both the PureGrit 4 and the more current 5 come equipped with a plastic heel cup that hurts as soon as I slip them on. Brooks, I love you guys, but you’re not making anything I can wear. This makes me a sad, sad running to be sure, but the ground is far too cold for me to go barefooting. I’m going to move on then.

I ordered a couple of pairs of last season Altra Superior 1.0’s from Backcountry. First, because I’ve read good reviews of this shoe and second because I found them half price at Backcountry.com. The cream on this little find was that last season’s version came in gray and orange — which I like — so you can imagine how excited I was when the box was dropped on my stoop.

I opened the shoes and slipped them on my feet only to discover that they generally fit small and apparently my foot has flattened out a little with age. Too small? Too small! Ack!

I set them atop the box with the hope that my foot would magically shrink overnight.

Here’s the good part, next morning I find an email from my Expert Gearhead Lisa Edlund awaiting my attention. She’s telling me about her excellent autumn weekend spent in the colors of Southern Colorado and asking how the shoes are working out.

“They don’t fit, what can I do?”

“Send them back to us. We’ll refund your money can you can find some that do fit.”

“Really,” I ask?

“Really. We’ll even cover the shipping.”

“Damn!”

Yeah, how about them apples folks? Not only will they fix a problem I created for myself, they’ve got a person assigned to me who remembers me. She speaks to me every time I order something even if it’s just to say “Hey man, what are you planning to do with this good stuff you just bought?”

I can’t purchase a pair of last season’s Altra Superior 1.0s in the size I need, they’re out of stock. But you can bet that I’m not going to waste my money elsewhere. New 2.0’s (in Racing Red/Chocolate) are on their way.

Thanks, Backcountry, and thank you, Lisa!

Atlatl Teaser

by Zane Kinney

by Zane Kinney

The eminently talented Zane Kinney has handed over cover work for the next episode of Up Slope, but I’m going to tease you all with it for a while because I’m not yet through copy edits on the manuscript.

Muh ha ha ha ha haaaaaa!

He’s also handed me a couple of pencil sketches which I daresay may sate your building anticipation. I get to meter these out.

The Atlatl making a Jupiter shot.

Secret Plans

I just answered the leader of my local writing group with this current description of my state of being. “Shocked, rudderless, angry, and feeling very solitary.” Up until I met with a physician yesterday I thought I might be coming down with a case of cancer, now that seems less likely, but yeah, still riding on my raw nerves.

And there are the election results, or should I say, then there is the expected Electoral College results. Mixed into that all the ridiculous and regressive ideas that have plagued our nation and held us back for so long. The result, I’ve lost skin, I feel flayed.

My friend Jefe recently posted this personal account of some of his troubles and it’s got me thinking. This is the same Jefe that has held the CTR course record since I started following the race and the same Jefe who has taken home top honors on the GDMBR too. Point is, the guy is a machine that gobbles up the miles and he’s always sort of been someone I look up to. But just like me, he’s recently encountered some challenges.

This present state of less than 100% has kicked my ass. Mentally it has crushed me. The past few months I feel like I have been pulling back on everything that has made me tick in the past. The passion for riding, racing and pushing boundaries has been so instrumental in keeping me moving forward, staying positive, and focused, has been subdued.

Since the seizures started. That’s the point I started to pull back, now every little twinge in my body gets treated a catastrophic sinkhole on the road to my health goals. And this messes with me, regardless of if I admit it to myself or not.

Add to this that my goals are somewhat divided. Often my responsibilities and my desires compete for my time and motivation. Balance is just a myth, a story we tell ourselves before we collapse into bed at night.

RAID Runner in Training

Here’s the deal, I’m never fully alive, never completely as mindful and living in the moment as when I’m trotting along some trail. I need to feel my heart pounding in my chest sometimes. I want to suck in chilly morning air that bites the insides of my nostrils. This is the way it’s always been.

The harsh reality I’m faced with is that I have very localized responsibilities. Kids, house, an aging dog, and now a need to develop our family’s independent sustainability for the impending doom of the Presidential shit-show consuming the country.

Since September I’ve been working on a slow comeback. I’m gotten religious about my Primal Endurance. I’ve been working with a coach as if I was new to the practice of running. I see my physical therapist regularly. I’ve lost weight, regained flexibility and swimming around the back of my mind is a long list of goals and ideas for places to go, things to see, races to enter, and trails to run.

Truth be told, I’m a long way away from racing or record fitness, but the motivation is still there. Besides, “winning” has never really been what it’s about.

But I can get out there, where I’m happy. I can run my butt off, run until there aren’t any more worries. I can be glad I can run at all.

Writing Dystopian While Living In One

Admittedly we’re not there yet, but given the US’s recent Presidential and Congressional results a dystopian future may very well be in our future. I’d point to prescient articles like this one in The Guardian.

“There are plenty who believe that if Trump went ahead and actually implemented his programme, he would create a different country: closed, xenophobic and at odds with some of the founding principles – religious equality or freedom of speech – that have defined the United States since its founding. The country would still exist – but it would no longer be America.”Yesterday I wasted nearly 4,000 words writing a detailed critique of the Trump Inaugural Rush. His 100 days plan is littered with self-contradiction, mutually exclusive steps, and pie-in-the-sky notions of what he’ll be able to achieve. It looks like half of these he made up on the spot. These conclusions should have been obvious to anyone who bothered to read what he said back in October.

Yesterday I wasted nearly 4,000 words writing a detailed critique of the Trump Inaugural Rush. His 100 days plan is littered with self-contradiction, mutually exclusive steps, and pie-in-the-sky notions of what he’ll be able to achieve. It looks like half of these he made up on the spot. These conclusions should have been obvious to anyone who bothered to read what he said back in October.

Right now, I’m nearly 30,000 words into a dystopian thriller, a project that I’m working on for NaNoWriMo. I stepped back from another dystopian storyline I outlined in October because I wanted to let it settle a bit before I started writing. And there’s yet a third outline plus partially finished manuscript cooling its heals while I search for ways to increase its impact. All of this writing is gritty, is intended to make the reader think, and will hopefully sweep you into the narrative.

Now, I’m looking down the barrel several potential catastrophes. Trumps trade policies, as outlined, have the potential to destroy American jobs and plunge our economy into never ending trade wars. His foreign policy will likely plunge us into more wars. His domestic and security policies are little more than rewritten McCarthyism. On immigration, energy, manufacturing and anything else you can write a policy for he’ll be trying to reclaim the prosperity of the post-WWII liberalism by instituting failed 19th-century industrialist dogma.

Okay, so what does that mean for me, a guy who, ultimately, likes to tell stories about catastrophe?
My knee jerk reaction was “Holy shit! No one is going to want to buy or read dystopian fiction in the middle of a crisis.” Fiction is, at its heart, an escapist activity. For those of us who regularly partake, we’re trying to get away from all of our problems, anxieties, and sorrows. When zombies are roaming the land, when they just ate your grandmother, you’re not going to be interested in reading about roaming zombie hoards.

Here’s the thing, dystopias aren’t actually about all the trouble. They’re more about people, our heroes overcoming those challenges. In fact, that’s exactly why I love to write stories just like this. My protagonists often face what seem to be insurmountable odds with little more than their ingenuity and luck to carry them through. They MacGyver the shit out of those problems (which I really enjoy writing).

So my first reaction, “Oh no, more wasted words!” may not have been my most thoughtful. Dystopias can serve as a medium of inspiration on so many levels. Hang on, expect a wild ride.
I am a writer. My essential tool in this life is the written word. And history shows us that words can be the most powerful tools at our disposal. I intend to write stories of hope, in which ordinary people overcome significant resistance and enormous power. I mean to tell stories that will leave this man impotent and lost to time. Dystopia corrected, dominance destroyed.

When it’s done, when these four years are over, we can get back to putting America together again. We can get back to the hard work of making the world more just and welcoming.

I hope that this will serve as a reminder, as the last days of our brief golden age expire, we can all look forward to that next ballot. We can have those conversations that we were afraid to have before the election, we can confront bigotry, and motivate the lazy. We are the government we deserve, make this your story arc.

Tomorrow is Veterans Day

Tomorrow is Veterans Day, and right now I’m feeling raw. Six years of service to my country as a soldier, six more before that working the front lines of public lands and somehow its become pointless. All that sacrifice. While the rest of you were out there getting college degrees, I was up reading over radio intercepts from DPRK, trying to puzzle together what the fuck those assholes might be about.

I gave my oath to defend the Constitution and this land ultimately because I grew up with a strong land ethic. I read Aldo Leopold’s A Sand County Almanac while huddled against a rock for shelter in Colorado’s Flat Tops Wilderness. My radio had died two days before, a storm had moved in, and all I could do at the point was wait it out. Several months later, with my new wife, I found myself back in Florida searching for work with health insurance. My youngest brother had signed up, and damn they made it sound like all you’d have to do was work hard. I’d done that, months wondering the wilderness picking up hunting trash and endless summer days swinging a Pulaski. So I took my work ethic, my young wife and, my land ethic and I signed up expecting that someday I’d return to the wilderness.

My relationship with that woman, my foot, my time, and so much more of was burnt in the tabernacle of service to my country. Until now, I’ve been at peace with this.

I’ve recently been told “Wait and see. Everything is bound to work out for the best.”

Veteran’s Day is the anniversary of the signing of the armistice, which ended the World War I hostilities between the Allied nations and Germany in 1918. Veterans are thanked for their services to the United States on Veterans Day. Veterans Day honors those who served the United States in all conflicts, especially veterans.

How can this be so? Where is the honor in this?  A man who lied and manipulated his way into office. The Electoral College intends to install a man into office who doesn’t understand the concept of sacrifice. Who, unmindfully, has the land ethic of the Once-ler. A man pathologically unwilling to share. A person with whom I have no common values. Someone as to be so unlike me that our only commonality is the shared genetic heritage of our species and the randomness of the geographical land of birth.

Typically, I’d be writing to ask that people hold their thanks. Frankly, it makes me uncomfortable because it feels like a request. Maybe you want to know what I did, where I’ve been, who I saw die; I don’t know, but the request is made when you say “thank you for your service.” I hear the anticipation in your voices. It’s not a movie, it doesn’t work that way. When I left the service of my country, I left a broken and desperately screwed up person. Not the same guy that gave his oath six years before.

It’s taken me sixteen years and a lot of hard work to feel “normal” around the majority of you. I find grace only far beyond the things of man. In the wilderness. And for a man who holds this as his essential ethic how could I want the esteem of a people that would elect a man with no respect?