If sliding down a mountain slope on your butt is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
What goes up, gets to come down.
Glissading is by far the simplest, and most fun way to get off a mountain summit* until I learn how to paraglide. By it’s definition, glissading is simple: the climber sits on her butt, leans back, lifts feet, and slides down the angle quickly and efficiently. Of course, there’s technique and considerations if you’re on a steep angle and/or carrying an ice ax (checking Climbing.com for that information). And if you know me at all, that ain’t my game.
For your viewing pleasure:
Glissading done well:
Glissading done… not well (sound on):
As if I ever do anything with style and grace… A nylon skirt, well packed trail and a just right angle were ingredients for one seriously fast and funny trip to the bottom. You’re welcome!
*I am not a mountaineer, ice climber, or other high-octane adventure seeker. I stick to low angles and elevations. Glissade at your own risk!
I’m back on my bike after weeks of not riding, and it was a complete and total reset on my Monday mood. Without much else to write about, I opted to fall-back on inspiring or hopeful quotes about cycling, and instead found the following:
No worries – my husband and bicycles are both pretty new and in good-shape. No trade-ins planned. Ha!
The Seward Highway is one of the United State’s Scenic Byways, a picturesque stretch of road that provides unmatched views of ocean, glacier, rivers, wildlife, mountains and other Alaskan beauty.
It is also one of the most dangerous highways in the United States, given its windy turns and narrow stretches with limited areas for passing. In the summer, it’s highly congested with RVs, cars and trucks heading both directions. In the winter, it’s snowy and slick and drivers are moving particularly slow, with caution.
Recently, Adam and I loaded up the car and went to Homer for a weekend getaway. We were only an hour and 20 minutes or so from Anchorage (it’s four-five to Homer) when Adam (driving), looked in the rearview mirror and says: “Oh shit, my bike just fell off the car“.
Thank goodness it’s the shoulder season, and there were no cars behind us. We pull off to the side of the road immediately to see the damage.
By the grace of one pedal, the falling bicycle had hooked onto the still secure bike and nothing touched pavement. Oh em gee. We laughed, and laughed, and laughed with gratitude and relief that our bicycles, cars and selves were safe, reaffixed them and hit the road again to Homer.
And before we left to come back to ANC the next day, we totally readjusted the bike rack and made sure those bad boys were loaded and it would not happen again.