New: Women’s ADV Rider Magazine, Now Live!

It’s been a busy month for European rider El Gerai as she gets ready to launch a women’s adventure rider magazine- the first of its kind! Get inspired to explore our world by reading stories of intrepid women from all corners of the globe. Learn about Ola Trzaskowska as she travels Afghanistan on two wheels, or Christina Pefani’s accounts of single-track riding through The Republic of Congo (and a dozen other countries). Join us to discover the ins and outs of financing a motorcycle journey, tips on mechanics, health and well-being, gear reviews, and so much more!

“This magazine, just like women ADV riders all over the world, is in constant metamorphosis. The way we ride, travel, and tell stories changes every day, but with every day, we grow. We get better, stronger, and more daring. We go further; we push our limits, test our resilience, and get bolder. Now, as we release the first Women ADV Riders magazine, we say it’s time to get louder, too!”

http://womenadvriders.com

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*Photos from http://womenadvriders.com

Alcan to Ocean: Alone on the Kaskawulsh

The 3:30am night air bit into our exposed skin as we dismantled camp and prepared for the long ascent of a 15 mile day. Lynne would be dropped off at 5,500 feet, where the snow was more stable. Just the day before, Jim had punched through a very well-hidden crevasse while we traveled unroped, incredibly lucky it hadn’t been wider. To avoid the hazards of that section, and to meet Lynne before nightfall, we caught a few hours sleep before waking up for the big push. Continue reading Alcan to Ocean: Alone on the Kaskawulsh

Alcan to Ocean: A Close Call

Following in J’s tracks (“Jim” for now on, for the purpose of these accounts), I used my ski poles to probe for crevasses in front of my feet. It seemed like overkill given the area, but better safe than sorry, I’d thought to myself. Jon was behind, but would catch up after “using the bathroom”, the inadequate expression still part of my daily vocabulary.

Through my fatigue, I glanced up in time to see Jim half disappear into the snow, his right leg invisible to the thigh. Quickening my pace, my mind began putting the pieces together as he shifted his weight to his left foot, pushing off his ski poles until he could get his back leg out of the hole and onto solid snow. “Did you just almost fall into a crevasse?”, I said Continue reading Alcan to Ocean: A Close Call

Alcan to Ocean: The Unravelling of a Team (And Some Lessons Learned)

Ice turned to snow over the rugged glacier. Our makeshift sleds tumbled, rolled and pulled as we slowly tottered ever higher. Miles of snow and ice greeted us at the crest of each new hill. Descending required traversing around and often through pools of 7-Eleven Blue Slurpee slush. Hard work and monotony reigned. Ice broke, flooding boots with cold, clear water.

I watched silently as Jon tightened something here, loosened something there, repacked bags and hung water bottles in the most balanced way possible. Jim cursed loudly far ahead, as his carefully tied up gear tipped and unravelled. Later, he looked back (could he hear me screaming his name at that distance, I wondered?) and I waved frantically in threes, willing him to come back with my urgency. He waved twice, and continued onwards. I watched in disbelief as our team rope (my rope) slowly increased in distance. As Jim disappeared yet again, Jon (our calm, peaceful leader), yelled “This is bullshit! He should not be leaving us this far behind! What the hell is he thinking, leaving us without a rope!”

I won’t sugar coat things, even if a part of me wants to: Was this a massive mistake?

Hours ticked by. Days wore on. Blisters formed, and healed, and formed again. Devoid of even a scrap of greenery, mountains loomed, watching our slow progress as we shuffled by, a team of just one, followed by a team of two (and a reclaimed rope). Only when the most obvious of danger presented itself did we form our original party of three. “Jon, if things don’t change, I’m gonna fly out early,” I announced during a break. “This isn’t safe.”

Jon sighed heavily, perhaps feeling the burden of his role as unofficial guide. “I know. I get it. He’s frustrated we’re going so slow. He’s pissed off, thinks I’m too inefficient. He’s racing, and doesn’t realize he needs to slow down. This isn’t the minor leagues. We’re in the major leagues here, and we’re in it for the long haul. We need to go slow, conserve energy, take breaks.”

What Jon lacked in time management, he made up for in experience, knowledge, thoroughness, patience and goodness. He didn’t really need us. But we needed him.

“We’ll have a team meeting when we reach Lynne’s landing point. Two more days” he said. It was agreed. We’d ask Jim to be a better teammate- learn to help, as we helped each other- or he should leave.

I learned the life saving skills before stepping foot on the glacier- skills Jim inexplicably refused to practice with me in the Yukon before departure, as we waited for Jon to arrive. But life in these mountains -or Jon- taught me everything else I needed to know. Like how to dry boot liners by using them as stinky pillows, or how to dry socks at night by sleeping with them next to your body. Jim ignored this lesson, and hung them up above his head at night, gagging us all.

I learned the art of putting up a tent in the snow, storm proof and cozy. To discretely pee with company, a skill I hope not to use again. The art of melting snow efficiently liter after liter, and to enjoy the finer things of mountain life: a snowy bird-bath, a cleansing, highly exfoliating experience. How to keep the inside of my mouth from blistering from the combination of hot sun, harsh wind and heavy panting. To navigate in a white out, or more importantly, to not bother navigating in a white out. To read the contours of the glacier, the nearly imperceptible dips in the snow, the slight changes in hue- crevasses lurking at our feet.

And I learned to pace myself, which was far harder than anything else.

 

 

Alcan to Ocean: Night on the Kaskawulsh

“Dig the side of your boot in! Dig it in!” Jon shouted, his arm extended toward me over the mound of dirt and rock separating us, the steep hill sloping sharply downward. “I am!” I shouted back. “I’m sliding!” I shrieked Continue reading Alcan to Ocean: Night on the Kaskawulsh

Feeding the bug one frugal adventure at a time.