Joh Rathbun
Archive of "It's All Downhill From Here!" Column
Originally published at www.shineridersco.com
Lean Into It 4.13
I was driving in a rain storm. I may have been a bit rushed; a bit in a hurry. Coming up to my exit, I signal, then maneuver over to the off-ramp. I see brake lights, but it's too late. I've got too much momentum, but I still slam on the brakes, so I skid out, heading towards the guardrail. Heart in my throat, I still some how manage to think and over-ride my panic. Panic had me braking, then steering the wheel in the opposite direction of the skid, screaming my head off. But, by steering into the skid, I regained control of my vehicle, even though it felt counter-intuitive. The guardrail holding, and my heart beat slowing down, I stopped, and I was fine.
Riding with fresh faces, eventually at one point there's panic etched on those faces when they go outside their comfort zone. Inevitably, they freeze, and they grab a fistful of brake. The resulting endo is not the outcome that was intended. Their panic told them to stop, to brake, but by that time, they had too much momentum. Much like being in a hydroplaning car, the momentum becomes a tormentor. But, speed is your friends, ladies. I know that seems counter-intuitive, but panic mode isn't productive. When you are approaching that feature, whether it's a rock garden, drop or jump, braking before the feature is only suicide. But, by leaning into it, as in being comfortable and confident with what you're doing, you will get over that feature quickly, and safely.
This coming weekend, I'm the fresh face. I'm competing in my first dirt jump competition. It's going to be fun, as it's the Sugar Showdown, hosted by Kat Sweet, of Sweetlines Coaching, but I'll be out of my element. I know the clinic will be informative—as I know that the coaches are amazing athletes—Tammy Donahugh, Lisa Tharp, Cortney Knudson, Gale Dalagher, and our lovely Lindsay Beth Currier. But, to learn a new skill, and in front of a crowd—the Santa Cruz Mountain Bike Festival—anything could happen. There is the risk that l may be awkward, but I hope that by going outside of my comfort zone—I will expand it—confident that I will succeed in my goal when I lean into this new experience.
Metaphorically Mountain Biking 2.13
I started riding Star Wars a little over 10 years ago. Although I didn't live in the area at the time, I was riding in Santa Cruz because of a couple of locals, and while the trail was all ready established by the time I got there, it's legal status hazy. Star Wars is a trail that cuts through the UCSC campus. While it's under utilized by the students—mascot the banana slug—it's a main artery for most mountain bikers on the West Side. The Provost and other UCSC officials are receptive to working with the locals to maintain the trail, the bureaucratic wheels move slowly. In the interim, expect freshly-cut trees and large boulders are randomly dropped on to the trail, but no one patrols the trail. The trail is a fun, curving singletrack to doubletrack that slices through the redwoods and florescent ferns while meandering through the campus.
Riding down Star Wars is like that scene in the Return of the Jedi where Luke and company are being chased through the Ewoks' home moon. Lush ferns, and monstrously-big moss-covered trees are transplanted straight from that fictional place and planted here, on a well-worn, yet short trail in Santa Cruz. It's appropriate that the trail is called Star Wars, and I know every twist, turn, and snag on that trail.
I remember one specific left turn, where the trail immediately swerves right, following a well-worn chicane. The trail veered to the right because of a big rocky outcropping. I always followed the trail that went around the rock obstacle. By rote, I pass the preternaturally green ferns clapping their approval, steering immediately to the right of the obstacle, continuing to follow the trail. But, today is different, because I then immediately change direction, and head towards the rocks.
The quickest way from point A to point B is a straight line. Hence, my change in direction. I feel my front shock dip as I hit the front of one of the rocks. Instead of stopping though, somehow I launch over, and therefore, further, down the trail. I had aimed directly towards my obstacle and not only overcame it, but went further than anticipated while blazing my own trail. All it took was a change in perception, and the willingness to speed at a literal obstacle in my path.
Any time I ride Star Wars, I now hit my line, which once was an obstacle on my path. While most folks still swerve around those rocks, I learned that pushing ones' self at high speeds straight at one's obstacle could result in furthering one's goal with unanticipated additional benefits. I've watched this trail get wider over the 10 years that I've ridden it, but I will always look for the most direct route down—which is down the middle—through the roots, ruts, and rocks. Applying this lesson to my life, metaphorically-speaking—I believe that I will further my life's goals with as-yet unseen additional benefits. And maybe just bypass some rutty trouble in the process. in the interim, I will continue working with Mountain Bikers of Santa Cruz to champion for grandfathered trails in Santa Cruz county.
Selling Yourself Short 1.13
I had a dream on the first night of the new year. In it, I was in a small bedroom disrobing. I was down to my underwear when a stooped old man walked into the room. Although the room was darkly lit, I could see him, and the bed, positioned prominently in the room. I was unhooking my bra while he got into bed and I reflected on the day. I had gotten married to this old man, and we were on our honeymoon. I knew what was next, so I slipped into the bed next to him. I then woke up.
My mom's generation was going to school in skirts—pants were not allowed—and as adults they may have been burning bras and fighting for equality—but their society was androcentric. Independent autonomous women were ostracized. And a woman went to college for her Mrs. degree. My mom copped out. I don't hate her, or blame her for it. She did what was expected of women of her generation—she got married.
My mom not only misunderstands my thirst for independence, but seems to be intimidated by it. I have this hanging over my head. This became glaringly obvious throughout my high school years, yet the disdain evaporated years later when I moved in with my boyfriend. After the break-up, I moved. While my mom doesn't understand, I moved on. I refused to be a cook and a maid to my then-boyfriend when he expected me to pay half the bills.
So, I moved. I got a degree. I moved again. I dated, but nothing serious. I worked, but nothing serious. Then the USA went into an economic depression. I lost my job. I found another one. I lost that job. I searched for another job. For years. Literally. In the interim, I started writing. I honed my craft. I pitched. And I pitched some more. I developed relationships with different editors and became a published writer. All the while still looking for full-time work.
I've been living below the poverty level since 2009, when I lost my last job. I don't miss the job. Missing slinging eggs and scrubbing boysenberry syrup off of myself after each shift? Right! I do miss the security it provided, though. I was renting a sweet little beach bungalow on Depot Hill in Capitola—not even a quarter mile away from the Pacific Ocean. I fell asleep to the surf crashing against the sand nightly. And I could walk down to Capitola Village for a meal whenever I wanted. But, when I was late with rent and threatened with eviction, or sleeping with the landlord, I chose to move. Even if I had been attracted to that man, I was afraid of the slippery slope that sleeping with him for rent would set up.
I found a room to rent. I was sexually harassed. I found another room for rent, but was harassed for financial reasons. My options felt limited—a single woman without any savings left. I struggled. I'd go to bed hungry and wake up crying. I got tired of eating nothing but my pride, so I applied for food stamps. When a friend in Fresno offered me a room at the back of his house free of rent, I put my life's belongings in storage and took it. I miss Santa Cruz, I miss having my own place, and I miss my community almost as much as I miss the trails.
I still stay in Fresno in the off-season. I could continue renting rooms from shady characters in Santa Cruz, hoping to find another job while dealing with housemates. Or I could build a career for myself, and in the process fight for more opportunities for women in our male hegemonic culture. I've taken the road less traveled—and I'm pursuing my passion even though I struggle. Yes, it'd be easy to marry someone for financial reasons. Yes, many women still do it in our society. But I won't do it, and neither should you. Don't marry for any reason other than love. You'll be selling yourself short—because a gilded cage is still a cage.
Homecoming 6.13
I took my first mountain bike clinic in April. It may seem strange to have ridden for over 15 years, before taking a skills-building clinic. When I started riding, there was no Trek Dirt Series, or Sugar Showdown. No one was around yet to See Jane Jump. I listened to my ex-boyfriend's advice to “just do it,” even though I didn't have the advantage of having grown up with a bike between my legs, which translated into an understanding of handling the bike and a solid skill-set.
I learned my lessons the hard way. I earned my racing stripes with visits to the ER. In the process, I stopped racing downhill because I was getting injured, and I just felt masochistic at that point. It seemed that there was no paradigm of honing my skill-set in a safe environment. Even though I had stopped racing, I continued to ride. There's no place like home, and I've always felt at home on singletrack.
Because of my singletrack state of mind, I couldn't stay away from the cycling industry. Landing in Santa Cruz after graduating was a fortuitous move because even though I knew my goal was to ride after graduating, I wasn't sure how I would manifest it. If not racing, then what? I advocated for multi-use trails in Santa Cruz County for a local non-profit by being their secretary, but the fit just didn't seem right. I wasn't home.
The women's freeride movement was starting to come together, though. As I gravitated back towards pumptracking and dirt jumping, women's clinics started popping up. I covered the inaugural See Jane Jump, on Vancouver Island in 2010 and the Trek Dirt Series started offering their female-specific clinics stateside. I volunteered as a trail sweep for them one year, and while it was fun, I still didn't feel I was using my strengths to the best of my abilities—I wasn't home.
Covering these gynocentric events, though, just seemed right. I came home. As I evolve as a writer and athlete, the women's freeride movement evolves as well. I remember a brainstorm session with some gravity gals. Lisa Tharp had pointed out that if we wanted the coverage, we, as athletes have to step it up. She's right. My mind-block on jumping was valid—after a few surgeries and numerous hospital bills—my mind-body connection seemed severed. I had stopped growing as an athlete.
This is how I ended up taking the Sugar Showdown, presented by Diamondback in Santa Cruz, California, last month. Evolution had led me from announcing the dirt jump jam at last year's SCMBF to competing in this year's female-related event. I took the Sugar Showdown to face down my dirt jumping fears. My coaches, Tammy Donahugh, and Lisa Tharp are compassionate, and knowledgeable athletes. Just a few tips from them—in a safe environment—and I've pierced through my mind-block. My mind-body connection wasn't severed, but hidden under past trauma. I found home again by building on my skill set in a safe environment. It's such a pleasure to see the women's freeride movement evolve, and to be a part of the evolution, both as a writer, or and as an athlete.
Big thanks to MBOSC for the successful 4th Santa Cruz Mountain Bike Festival, Kat Sweet of Sweetlines Coaching for organizing the Sugar Showdown, Lisa & Jimi Tharp for making steezy jumps, and Bicycle Fabrications for lending me the amazing Pocket Rocket. Thank you, Tammy & Lisa for taking my fears seriously and pushing me to live up to my potential. Lastly, thank you, LBC for giving me a platform, where my voice can be heard. Ride on!
Joh Rathbun is a freelance writer, downhiller and columnist for shineriders.com. To stay up to date on West Coast events, like her Facebook page at http://www.facebook.com/johrathbun , or contact her athttp://johrathbun.wix.com/freelancewriter
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