Dear Sundog,

I started using the fitness tracking platform Strava a few years ago and loved it. I could see my trail running times and distances improve and I pushed myself while ski touring鈥攚ith my friends there to cheer me on. But lately I鈥檝e started to sour on it: the one-upmanship, the preening, the feeling like someone is deliberately trying to beat me just to say they did鈥攏ot to mention getting hit on by cheesy dudes. Now I hear about : users pay someone else (faster) to carry their phone to get them a slot on the leaderboard. It seems nuts and somehow wrong. Should I just quit?

Full-on Krazy Times

Dear FKT,

Paying someone to achieve your achievement is indeed the highest expression of human folly. It may resemble paying someone to write a college term paper. But while cheating in school is clearly unethical, cheating on a fitness tracker is does not have an obvious victim. The stakes are so low that it鈥檚 hard to fathom the motives. It鈥檚 a sort of inverse prostitution: instead of paying someone to have sex with you (to provide you pleasure), you would pay someone to have sex for you (to deprive yourself of pleasure) and then brag about it online (to convince others that you are in fact having pleasure.) If just one person did this, we鈥檇 diagnose a mental illness. But when large numbers of otherwise sane people begin to depart their senses in unison, it鈥檚 worth digging into the cultural moment.

This discussion is about the outdoors鈥攖rails, mountains, canyons, forests鈥攁nd does not apply to those using Strava on the pavement or鈥擥od help them鈥攁 stationary bicycle.

And instead of focusing on the few weirdos who are making Strava a bummer for everyone else, let me examine weather鈥攚hen it comes to the backcountry鈥擲trava is itself an inherently flawed product.

I know that some users use the platform solely for themselves and don鈥檛 share their stats with other. I鈥檓 sure this is useful, but it鈥檚 not really what Strava is. You don鈥檛 need a social app to track your times and distances; you can do that with a GPS watch. Even a fledgling Luddite such as Sundog has started wearing such a contraption as he plods along the local trail, occasionally being passed by an elderly dog-walker, largely to know when it鈥檚 time to turn around before inflicting further damage on his old knees. What makes Strava a sensation is the ability to share your achievements and efforts with others who in the best case scenario will encourage you to go further and faster.

And what could be more American than the insistence that if you try harder and harder you will eventually succeed? Optimizing performance in wild places is the holy grail for the new crop of endurance athletes drawn to ultramarathons, gravel bikes and fastest known times. But let鈥檚 pause there: is the natural world actually the place to go faster and further and harder?

More than half a century ago, when the Grand Canyon was under threat of being dammed, dam boosters claimed that one benefit was the resulting reservoir that would bring untold recreational activities to the masses who would now be able to boat and fish afloat clear blue waters instead of having to descend into the gorge with its inhospitable rapids and currents and mud. The Sierra Club posted a full page ads in newspapers asking: SHOULD WE ALSO FLOOD THE SISTINE CHAPEL SO TOURISTS CAN GET NEARER THE CEILING?

What if I were to suggest that the Pope cordon off running lanes through the Vatican so I might better time my sprints, and install stairs for cardio work leading to Michaelangelo鈥檚 frescoes? One might say: this is a holy place, not one for competitive athletics and recreation. I might say the same about the mountains and canyons.

Do Strava try-hards actually damage the land? Oh, probably there鈥檚 some trampling done by the 24-hour races and days-long sieges of public lands required for an-ultra marathon. But I don鈥檛 think the environmental concerns are major. What about the fact that these overachievers are just a bit, well, irritating to others, such as yourself, FKT? That鈥檚 surely real, but I wouldn鈥檛 call it immoral.

So, no, I don鈥檛 think Strava is unethical. And yet I want to help answer your question, FKT, which is ultimately not about other people鈥檚 behavior, but your own. And in this era of magical, unprecedented, and addictive technologies, yours is a question that we all seem to face: why do I continue to do this thing that makes me unhappy?

Let me share my own story. As a mediocre athlete growing up in suburbs, Sundog was repelled by most soccer and baseball鈥攁nd even surfing鈥攂ecause the kids who were good at these sports were already calcifying into a personality type that with the wisdom of adulthood I might call 鈥渁ssholes.鈥� They were cocky, competitive, and quick to lord their superiority over the rest of us. And it worked! I was generally too intimidated and psyched-out to paddle into a wave or take a shot on goal for fear of being yelled out by some jock.

The place I finally found my teenage footing was on the crags and cliffs of Joshua Tree and Yosemite, where I turned out to be a good enough climber. It didn鈥檛 feel like the climbers of the eighties鈥攅ven the talented ones鈥攚ere there to prove their greatness. I discovered my people: misfits, artists, vagabonds and dreamers driven by curiosity more than competition who sought adventure and solitude and the mystical.

And yes鈥擨 actually did want to prove鈥攖o someone鈥攎y greatness, and became obsessed with pushing the numbers, wanting to climb harder routes that anyone else my age. By the time I was 18 I was already jaded and burned-out鈥擨 no longer enjoyed climbing some classic all-day 5.8 multi-pitch route in Tuolumne Meadows. I only wanted to be rehearsing some fifty-foot 5.11c. I drifted away from what I loved and ended up in a small circle of competitive jocks who, with the hindsight of adulthood, I might refer to as 鈥渁ssholes.鈥�

Likely I was one of them. What began as discovery and transcendence ended as vanity and striving after wind. I quite rock climbing by the time I was 19鈥攁nd even though through the next decades I taught climbing and canyoneering, it was at that point a job, and not a passion. I have some regrets. I always wanted to climb at least one grade beyond my ability, and as a result I took a series of lead falls that involved pulling gear, minor injuries, near misses, and scaring the shit out of myself and my partners. I鈥檓 lucky to have survived those years without tragedy. Now I look back and wonder: why did I have to try so hard? Why wasn鈥檛 I content to climb within my skills?

California has hundreds of gorgeous moderate routes that I never climbed because of my ambition. It鈥檚 clear now that through climbing I was trying to work out my own insecurities: I wanted to be great! I wanted other people to acknowledge that I was great! Were the cliffs of Yosemite and Joshua Tree the best places to work this shit out? Probably not.

Back to the comparison and competition that fuels Strava. There is likely a population of enlightened souls for whom this works. For the rest of us, Strava appears to be a product which鈥攍ike all other social media鈥攃ultivates some of humanity鈥檚 worst traits: public boasting coupled with private insecurity as we scroll through the superior public boasts of friends and strangers.

What if the outdoors is simply not the place for competitive fitness? Leave that shit in the gym, or on the asphalt, or on the Peloton. For those who really want to time themselves, compare themselves, and in any other way optimize performance, let me politely suggest a brisk sprint around the ovular track at your local high school. The outdoors calls for far more important things than physical fitness: laying prone in the trail to study a stinkbug, making love in a meadow, watching clouds drift past peaks.

鈥淧raise ignorance,鈥� says Wendell Berry, 鈥渇or what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.鈥� It may be true that what gets measured can then be improved. And yet there are no numbers in nature, no minutes or miles or measurements. When we humans overlay those stats on the untamed land, we likely miss the mystery it has to show us.

Mark Sundeen teaches environmental writing at the University of Montana. Got an ethical question of quandary of your own? Send it to sundogsalmanac@hotmail.com.

The post I Used to Love My Fitness Tracker. Now It Bums Me Out. Should I Quit? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

We recently bought a house in a mountain town where we鈥檝e rented for 15 years. It鈥檚 the perfect location: within walking distance of trails in one direction, and the old downtown of this former mining town in the other. Since the COVID pandemic, this lazy town has become incredibly popular鈥�and expensive. What our family of three could afford was a 100-year-old fixer-upper, 900 square feet, two bedrooms, one bathroom. Because our town is now hip, all our friends and family want to visit. And we want them to stay with us.

Over the years we often stayed with my brother-in-law鈥檚 family. They have a big house, and they always offered us a guest room with its own bathroom. We loved it and were so grateful. When they came to visit, we gave them a room, but one of them slept on the living room couch. Six people used one toilet and shower.

If they were our only guests, I might be more generous. But with all our company, it鈥檚 starting to feel like a hotel. So I鈥檝e proposed to my partner that when his brother鈥檚 family returns, we house them in the camper that we park behind the house in the alley. It has heat! It doesn鈥檛 have a toilet, but they can come into the house if need be.

But my partner thinks that would be rude, and that if we鈥檙e going to have guests, we have to house them indoors. But I argue that a hotel or Airbnb in this town costs $200 a night. They should be grateful for what we have to offer! Shouldn鈥檛 they? 鈥�Location Rich, House Poor

Dear House Poor,

First, let鈥檚 breathe deep and count gratitudes. You own a functional house in a great place. You have friends and family that you like well enough to invite into your home. You have a camper! Those facts alone speak of an abundance, even if the shabby home feels like poverty.

Visiting Family Creates an Ethical Conundrum

It鈥檚 tempting鈥攋ust ask your partner鈥攖o attempt reciprocating with family. They offer you a suite, you should offer them a suite! And yet the financial reality is likely not equal. You didn鈥檛 tell me enough about their home to know if they own a large house (because they are fabulously wealthy), or because the house is in some undesirable place where real estate is cheap. It doesn鈥檛 really matter: what matters is that your partner may feel some element of envy or shame while comparing your hovel to their mansion. That鈥檚 a strong driver of behavior.

Sundog finds your camper solution both elegant and charming. Your guests have presumably traveled to your mountain town not just to see you, but also to see the mountains. Let them rough it! You may even provide a down-home chamber pot鈥攁 five-gallon plastic bucket鈥攕hould they prefer a more authentic experience. No extra charge for the privacy. Your partner and child will be much more gracious of hosts if they all get to sleep in their own beds.

If your guests prefer luxury, then they can choose one of the pricey accommodations you mention. I understand your partner鈥檚 concern that it might be uncouth, but I don鈥檛 see anything unethical in offering what you have.

Morality aside, there may be a question of legality. Some cities expressly forbid occupying motor homes in the street and driveway. And for good reason. Setting up a HipCamp in your driveway will violate laws and enrage your neighbors. There鈥檚 a big difference between letting your family stay in the Casita versus running a pirate trailer park. Let your conscience be your guide here, and if a crabby neighbor complains, you can address that when it happens.

The last thing I鈥檒l say is that there may be some intra-family dynamics here that aren鈥檛 quite at the surface. That may be between you and your partner, or between your partner and his brother. If the camper solution blows up in your face, then you鈥檒l have to confront those tensions more directly, and perhaps come up with a new plan.

Should a Reader Offer a Refund?

Recently Sundog wrote about the ethics of selling used gear that may not last, specifically an old sailboat on an old trailer. Reader LittleTug chimed in with his opinion:

I read your article on should you give back more money to the person who purchased your old boat. No offense but that is ridiculous. Everything works the day before it breaks. I am sure that you did not make it break. If you lied about something other than your opinion on its condition when you sold it (that is fraud) you should not consider giving back one penny. They just want it for free.

If you bought it would you try to get more money back? I would not. He could have had a marine surveyor check it out before he bought it.

Mark Sundeen teaches environmental writing at the University of Montana. Got a question or a response? Send your questions and complaints to sundogsalmanac@hotmail.com

The post Our Home Is Tiny. Is It Rude to House My Visiting In-Laws in a Camper? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In May, California Governor Gavin Newsom announced upgrades to and dams in an effort to increase salmon populations. But Newsom鈥檚 plans are misguided and misleading.

These schemes would waste our tax dollars on ineffective and never-ending boondoggles that fail to solve the destructive impacts of dams on our fisheries and watersheds. Hatcheries harm endangered California salmon without addressing a major cause of their decline: migration-blocking dams that degrade our treasured watersheds.

These hatcheries and their derelict relative, trap-and-truck, which are also promoted by Newsom, require carbon-intensive facilities, diesel-powered fish 鈥渕igration,鈥� and billions in tax dollars to keep stumbling along indefinitely. No amount of upgrades can retrofit an entirely misguided concept. Advertising them to the taxpayer as climate resiliency measures is disingenuous.

These backward directives will use your money to into programs that, contrary to what proponents say, will not lead to salmon recovery and will compromise climate commitments.

Just ask hatchery and trap-and-truck promoters if these programs will lead to wild fish 鈥渞ecovery.鈥� They can鈥檛, because by definition, hatcheries and trucking fish do the opposite. They require endless human intervention. This model will never achieve 鈥渨ild, self-sustaining鈥� salmon populations, as required by the Endangered Species Act, to achieve recovery and delisting.

When hatchery salmon are released into our waters, they suffocate their wild counterparts with sheer numbers, weaken the gene pool, spread disease, and increase predation. , based on 50 years of data and published in the journal Fisheries, found that 83 percent of salmon hatcheries caused adverse effects on local wild populations. , published in the Environmental Biology of Fishes, found that wild juvenile Chinook salmon have a survival rate of between聽 7 and 31 percent. Hatchery salmon came in at 1.3 percent. An analysis from the Columbia River found the cost to citizens to harvest a single hatchery Chinook salmon was $68,031. Wild salmon do it for free.

California’s own Steelhead Restoration and Management Plan makes a timely point: “There is a risk that operation of an artificial production facility [hatchery] to rebuild a depleted population … can mask the real problems and delay implementation of long-term solutions.” Artificial truck migrations do the same.

What rings just as true today: recovered wild fish don鈥檛 ride in trucks鈥攁nd they aren鈥檛 born in plastic mixing bowls at hatcheries either.

There is a proven way to solve the problem, and Newsom should know it: restore unassisted fish migration to natural habitats they鈥檝e been blocked from by removing dams in favor of more climate-resilient water and energy solutions.

We can see the benefits of this action happening now in Northern California and Southern Oregon. On the , thousands of Chinook salmon regained access to 400 miles of habitat after four dams were removed. that plagued the former reservoirs have been replaced with a cleaner, free-flowing river.

Removing dams will also help us transition to smarter water storage solutions. is showing us a better way to capture stormwater on expanded floodplains that can still be farmed, provide wildlife habitat, safeguard communities, and recharge our depleted groundwater aquifers.

Some say removing dams is crazy. What’s actually crazy is our water agency鈥檚 lack of foresight to count on inefficient dams in a changed climate: According to in the U.S., their reservoirs lost the equivalent of 93 percent of the annual U.S. public water supply through evaporation. California鈥檚 own our depleted groundwater basin storage capacity is over 17 times greater than all the major reservoirs in California combined. Storing water underground eliminates evaporation waste and persistent reservoir storage loss to sedimentation.

Some state leaders are falsely touting hydropower as 鈥渃lean energy鈥� when the dams and their methane-emitting reservoirs are huge climate culprits. Dam removal eliminates this ignored emission source while restoring massive carbon sinks as these reservoir areas regrow into productive forests, grasslands, and forgotten farmlands. Legendary investor Warren Buffett owned those removed Klamath dams. PG&E is wisely throwing in the towel on its . Are these business leaders crazy to get rid of these dam liabilities? Or are California leaders crazy to double down with our tax dollars on degrading dams and welfare salmon smokescreens?

Fortunately, Newsom did come around to supporting the recent privately owned dam removal efforts. But what about the many California dams that we, the public, own? Why should we shoulder the financial burden to upkeep deadbeat dams when and more reliable solutions exist? Does Newsom want his legacy to be generations of Californians financing a future of decaying dams, receding reservoirs, Mack truck migrations, and hatchery hubris? With ambitions past the Governorship, this is an opportunity for Newsom to show his leadership on a key national issue. We need a leader to move us toward truly climate-resilient and safe water supplies, low-carbon energy alternatives, self-sustaining wild fisheries, and reduced tax burden for generations to come.

Yvon Chouinard is the founder of California-based outdoor apparel company Patagonia.

Matt Stoecker is a California farmer and fisheries ecologist.

The post Op-Ed: Yvon Chouinard Says Newsom鈥檚 Billion-Dollar Salmon Bet Is Doomed to Fail appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I鈥檝e never been outright opposed to the outdoors, but I鈥檝e long felt that the outdoors and I don’t always make a good team.

Ever since I was little, I鈥檝e been clumsy, prone to sweating profusely, and I seem to suffer from some form of seasonal allergy鈥攏o matter the season. My parents, gratefully, did not force the outdoors on me. We never went camping or hiking, and only on vacation would we go on longer bicycle rides.

But I鈥檝e long enjoyed a more casual means of being outside. I have a favorite path through a wooded area, a 10-minute drive from my home that I like to visit on the weekends. I love snacking on fresh farmer鈥檚 market raspberries while gazing at the river I live near as it rushes by. And I鈥檒l never say no to a chance to stand in my yard and stare at the sky when there鈥檚 a chance of an aurora sighting.

It turns out, in聽the words of 聽I鈥檝e been outsidey鈥攏ot outdoorsy鈥攖his whole time.

国产吃瓜黑料y Versus Outdoorsy聽

The term was introduced more widely to the online lexicon earlier this month by a TikToker named Brandon (). The video, seemingly shared from Cleveland Metropark in Ohio, has been viewed more than 5.1 million times and racked up some 550,000 likes.

learn the difference

In the video, Brandon is standing barefoot on rocks along the edge of a tranquil stream as he states that he鈥檚 always told people “I鈥檓 outsidey, not outdoorsy.鈥� He then goes on to explain the difference between the two.

鈥淩ight now, I鈥檓 in the babbling brook, OK? Notice, see, I just have my feet in here. I鈥檓 not going to go all the way out there,鈥� he continues, motioning further into the stream. 鈥淚鈥檓 just gonna, you know, stroll. I like to peruse, I like to gander.鈥�

Brandon goes on to argue that swimming in the stream is outdoorsy. Hiking in the nearby woods? Also outdoorsy, and therefore not really his thing.

鈥淣ow, will I have a little nice table out there with some chairs and have a nice charcuterie board? Absolutely. 国产吃瓜黑料y,鈥� he continues. 鈥淗iking? No. Charcuterie? Yes.鈥�

To further his point, and in light of the initial TikTok鈥檚 success, Brandon has shared several follow-up videos offering more examples of what qualifies as an activity fit for an outsidey person vs. an outdoorsy one. , he鈥檚 enjoying some grocery-store sushi with a book on a picnic blanket in a park. , he鈥檚 lounging poolside near a beach on Catawba Island, where Brandon says the outsidey vs. outdoorsy distinction also applies.

According to Brandon, being outsidey is all about 鈥渘ature for leisure鈥� as opposed to the 鈥渘ature for adventure鈥� element of outdoorsy activities. Backpacking, mountaineering, mud runs, and wearing hiking boots are outdoorsy, Brandon says. 鈥淏everaginos,鈥� Mary Oliver, mushroom foraging, and donning Birkenstocks are outsidey.

Is 国产吃瓜黑料y on the Rise?

As a newly identified outsidey type, these distinctions make perfect sense to me, but I had to wonder what bonafide outdoorsy folks would make of all this outsidey fuss.

Nathan Unsworth is about as outdoorsy as they come. He’s the deputy director of in eastern Iowa, and he previously served on the . He is also an avid hiker and runner. And he tells 国产吃瓜黑料 he鈥檚 on board with anything鈥擳ikTok trend or otherwise鈥攖hat gets more people outside enjoying the outdoors.

Replying to @bigfatteddycat

鈥淎s park professionals, we try to provide recreational opportunities that match all levels of recreation,鈥� Unsworth says. 鈥淎nybody that wants to get outdoors should definitely embrace it and just figure out what their niche is, whether they want to go bike riding or hiking or kayaking.” Indeed, these are all outdoorsy examples, it should be noted.

As a result of the pandemic, Unsworth says his Iowa county鈥攍ike 鈥攅xperienced a surge in usage of its public parks. Some of聽the聽newcomers were taking part in decidedly outdoorsy activities like kayaking or camping, but others were engaging in more casual, outsidey strolls.

Using federal American Rescue Plan Act funds, Scott County installed new one-mile paved trails in two of its main parks. The trails have proved popular, as Unsworth says nearby parking lots that previously sat empty are now frequently packed.

鈥淲e鈥檝e seen so many new faces in our parks just by providing this new amenity,鈥� Unsworth says. 鈥淭hese are the people that aren’t the hardcore outdoorsy people. They’re just coming out for a stroll with their kids, their significant others, their friends, or their dog.鈥�

Jenna Valdespino is the global brand marketing lead for , the popular campsite booking platform that offers thousands of options鈥攊ncluding 250,000 new sites it recently added鈥攔anging from pitch-your-own-tent, off-grid sites, to swanky glamping spots. She says the company has also seen a rise in its glamping-style arrangements in recent years, particularly among families and first-time campers who might even consider themselves outsidey. Still, she added, customer interest in its more rustic offerings 鈥渋sn鈥檛 going anywhere.鈥�

Simply put, Valdespino tells 国产吃瓜黑料, there鈥檚 room for both outdoorsy and outsidey types in the outdoors. After all, there are all types of micro-genres of outdoors enthusiasts, from dirtbag climbers and overlanders to birders and beyond.

鈥淭he video feels like a nice reminder that there鈥檚 no single 鈥榬ight鈥� way to enjoy the outdoors,鈥� Valdespino says.

Emily Mills, a Madison, Wisconsin-based marketing professional for a large environmental and conservation nonprofit, agrees. Mills tells 国产吃瓜黑料 they identify as 鈥渇irmly on the 鈥榦utdoorsy鈥� side of the spectrum鈥� but also enjoy outsidey activities, too. In other words, maybe appreciating the outdoors doesn鈥檛 have to be such a binary matter to begin with.

鈥淚’m all for making space for and welcoming anyone and everyone into connecting with outdoor spaces in any way that’s ultimately respectful of those spaces and of each other,鈥� Mills says. 鈥淭hat can only help lead to a better world.鈥�

The post Not Outdoorsy? No Problem. Try Being 国产吃瓜黑料y Instead. appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Dear Sundog,

I listed an old sailboat for sale for $3,000, which happened to be the amount I鈥檇 put into it with a new engine and other repairs. No takers. I dropped the price but still nothing. Finally I slashed it to $1200, and got three buyers immediately. One guy said he’d buy it sight unseen. I was out of town when he came by and hauled it off on its trailer. Well, 19 miles later, the axle bearing shit the bed. The tire blew out, and the sparks of hot metal dragging on pavement started a small grass fire, which the guy was able to contain. The only way I know this is through a series of increasingly angry texts and photos. The buyer then paid $600 to a wrecker to haul the boat and trailer to his house. Now the buyer is texting me asking for some money back. I鈥檇 just hauled the boat and trailer a hundred miles the week before, and did not know that it had any problem. I still think the buyer got a good deal. Am I obliged to refund any of his money? 鈥� Seller B. Wary

Dear Seller,

We all know how much new equipment costs: boats, trailers, ropes or skis. It鈥檚 prohibitive! How can a semi-unemployed vagabond make it in the outback today when it costs tens of thousands for the basic outfit? We do what your buyer did, and cruise the bargain basements for steals too good to be true. But here鈥檚 the thing. It usually is too good to be true. The raft has slow leaks. The truck chassis is rusting. The thing broke in two but was repaired in the garage and will probably, almost certainly, perform good as new.

During the pandemic, a peculiar inversion occurred. When factories and shipyards shuttered, new equipment was expensive or even impossible to purchase. As a result, owners of used boats, trailers and trucks could unload their junk for nearly as much as they鈥檇 paid a decade earlier. This bubble persisted for a couple of years, and even now you鈥檒l find ambitious sellers asking retail prices for cracked, dented, leaking, rusty gear. It would appear that you, Seller B. Wary, did not fall into this category, and quickly adjusted the price of your old boat to what the market would pay.

To be sure it鈥檚 a bummer for the buyer. Blown tires, a day wasted, expensive repair, and a wildfire to boot: What a mess! These things happen to those of us foolish enough to haul trailers filled with gear around the hinterlands. Sundog himself once toppled a trailer full of kayaks on a dirt road in Baja California some two hours from the nearest town or auto garage. In this case he left the trailer, drove to a garage, and hired a mechanic to come back with him and fix the thing where it sat. The Mexican mechanic brought a chain and a block of wood and a small tool kit. Upon getting the trailer to run, he looked with satisfaction at his two hands and pronounced, 鈥淧uro mano.鈥� (pure hands).

Nonetheless, by the basic premise of the familiar slogan 鈥渂uyer beware,鈥� his problems are not your responsibility鈥擨鈥檇 add that your responsibility decreases in direct proportion to the sales price.

Sundog also learned the same lesson the hard way. His first car ever purchased was a 1969 Plymouth Fury that was already 22 years old when Sundog bought it from a trollish hippie named Bobby for $500. Having driven approximately half a mile from the point of purchase, Sundog was dismayed when he heard a loud clank followed by a thunderous roar from the V8. The exhaust line had snapped, and the muffler dragged on the asphalt.

I was pulled over by two separate cops on the short drive home, and issued a fix-it ticket. This being California, registering the Fury would have required a new exhaust system, a smog check, and God knows what else. I didn鈥檛 know how to do the work myself. I was going to have to pay hundreds鈥攖housands, maybe鈥攆ar in excess of what I鈥檇 paid for the Fury just to get the thing street legal. When I took this news to Bobby and asked for some refund, he remarked memorably if not justly: 鈥淗ey man, you can鈥檛 squeeze water from a rock!鈥�

Sundog received little sympathy. When I told people I鈥檇 paid $500 for a 22 year old car that turned out to be a lemon, they said (I鈥檓 paraphrasing here): 鈥淲ell, duh.鈥�

I鈥檇 imagined myself the kind of guy who could fix a car, or if not that, the kind who鈥檇 run the risk of driving around an explosively loud unregistered beast. I was neither. I ended up paying a wrecker a hundred bucks to tow the thing to a junkyard. After that, I bought better cars. Lesson learned.

You鈥檙e not obliged to refund his money, nor to pay the $600 for the tow. The buyer could have made other choices: repaired it on the side of the road. Had he towed it back the 19 miles to your house and asked for a refund, you鈥檇 have more of an obligation to take it back. If you鈥檙e going to buy decades-old gear at rock bottom prices, then you should be the type of person who knows how to repair it. Inversely, if you can鈥檛 repair equipment yourself, you should buy new or at least newer gear, with the warranties and peace of mind that comes with it. It would appear that your buyer wanted the best of both worlds: dirtbag prices with dealer assurances. It didn鈥檛 work out that way.

Indeed, your buyer got a deal that was too good to be true.

Mark Sundeen teaches environmental writing at the University of Montana.聽Got a question or a response? Email聽sundogsalmanac@hotmail.com

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Cars are tools, not jewels. Just ask my friend Brian and his Fiat 500. While I eye-rolled him for years from a place of Subaru superiority, Brian, with the help of his trusty mini-steed (adventure pony, perhaps?), logged more trail hours than our entire friend group combined. We all spent time on mods, maintenance, and the mechanic bills that went with them. Brian, however, tucked his ego away and found the whip that not only did the job but kept him out on the open road. Oh, and parking? Yeah, that guy zipped circles around us every day of the week.

When it came time to upgrade my wheels recently, I scanned forums and used car sites, hoping to find the next dream vehicle to support my outdoors lifestyle鈥攚hile still holding onto my Seattle city existence. If the onslaught of recommendations and ranking was dizzying, the price tags were downright vertigo-inducing. Sick of it all, I remembered Brian. Maybe I鈥檇 been barking up the wrong tree entirely. Maybe I didn鈥檛 actually want a fancy adventuremobile. After all, a sedan could get me to the trailhead just fine.

There鈥檚 a lot to love about a mobile basecamp, but do I really need it? After years of being groomed to think that I had to wake up on a memory foam mattress in my vaulted ceiling Sprinter van, accompanied by a nice pour-over courtesy of my solar-powered built-in stovetop, I had to take a hard look at some facts. First off, I don鈥檛 even drink coffee. Second, I live 45 minutes from the trailhead鈥攚hat am I doing exploring a second home (and mortgage) on wheels?

As a casual hiker, my car should be a means to a trail鈥檚 end; get me there and let my body do the rest. The thing isn鈥檛 bagging peaks, so why does it need all of the hypothetical gear to do so (rope, axe, first aid kit, shovel, etc.) strapped to its exterior while it sits in the parking lot? At this stage of my outdoors recreating, everything I need is in my pack. The rest is just an advertisement for a product I鈥檓 not equipped to sell.

The more I pull back the layers of my adventure rig conditioning, the more I realize how personal of a problem this has become鈥攁nd how easy it is to solve. Find the right tool for the project. If it鈥檚 a four-wheel drive minivan for your ski adventures, great. If it鈥檚 a smart car with just enough room to strap down your canoe, hey, that鈥檒l get it done. Nobody ever talks about the shiniest hammer, but they鈥檒l always remember a job well done.

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There鈥檚 nothing quite like it. Not the spa cold plunge. Not the chlorinated pool. Not even the ocean I lived beside for nearly a decade. I鈥檓 talking about a true alpine lake dunk鈥攖he kind that leaves your skin tingling, your breath caught in your chest, and your mind somehow quieter.

I got my coldwater start at Fern Lake in Rocky Mountain National Park. Since then, I鈥檝e dipped into Trillium Lake near Mount Hood, launched into June Lake in the Eastern Sierra, and once hurled myself into the lake beneath the glacier on Mount Timpanogos, where I genuinely wondered if I might die of hypothermia. Worth it. Every time.

Now that I live in Salt Lake City, alpine lakes feel like a seasonal treasure I have to earn (though I did kick off 2025 with a frozen river dip in the Wasatch, ice chunks and all). As an unapologetic winter person, I actually think I might need them. Summer Sierra is sluggish, sweaty, and prone to dramatic sighs. It鈥檚 safe to say I鈥檝e deserved to be told鈥攁t least once or twice鈥攖o go jump in a lake. Honestly? That鈥檚 great advice.

My best friend Jill and I call our ritual a 鈥渄ope dip鈥濃�攕hort for dopamine dip. We dunk three times, saying a gratitude with each submersion. Sometimes the only things I can think of are 鈥渢his view,鈥� 鈥渢his person,鈥� and 鈥渕y still-attached toes.鈥� At other times, I鈥檓 able to take it slow, to really observe my environment and my body within it. Those are the best plunges.

Afterward, I鈥檓 calmer. Clearer. Less of a grouch, more of a human. It鈥檚 no exaggeration: I am a better person after I鈥檝e jumped in an alpine lake鈥攊f only because I鈥檝e shocked the bad attitude right out of me.

Craving your own dope dip moment? Here are some of the best swimming holes in U.S. national parks to get you started. Want to know why cold water works such magic on your nervous system? explains the science behind it.

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Not a day goes by that we don鈥檛 hear about an aspect of human ability made redundant by the powers of artificial intelligence. Let鈥檚 face it: AI is on the march. And when it comes to action sports, . Earlier this year, an artificially intelligent robot鈥攏icknamed 鈥淭he Owl鈥濃�攋udged practice events at the Winter X Games in Aspen, Colorado. Its analysis of the men鈥檚 superpipe competitors correctly predicted who would stand atop the podium. It was deployed again last month for the Summer X Games. Now, Jeremy Bloom, who became CEO of the X Games late last year, has with the goal of improving judging in all refereed sports like gymnastics and figure skating.

Perhaps this news makes you queasy. But human error鈥攅ven when obviously unintentional鈥攈as long been a problem in professional sports. The human eye is fallible. Ask any serious baseball fan how they feel about umpires judging balls and strikes, or any tennis fan whether or not they long for the days before the system. Question a soccer fan on whether or not new technology has made more accurate. In short, there have been improvements made in the sports we love, and technology is a big part of the equation.

Action sports, of course, are different balls of wax. The complexity of tricks, the motion of the body, the intricacies of each spin鈥攖hese elements are hard to score as black and white objective measurements. Judging, even at its best, is somewhat subjective. Does this leave room for robot intervention?

Bloom and his cofounders said told the聽Colorado Sun that聽the goal of Owl AI is not to replace human judges, but rather to complement their work. If that鈥檚 true, I鈥檒l watch with guarded optimism to see how this unfolds. There are aspects of competition鈥攁 certain flare and style from an athlete鈥攖hat a human judge might be better equipped to evaluate. But if AI can more consistently score some complicated elements of action sports, it might improve the experience for the athletes, the fans, and maybe even human judges themselves. Maybe.

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I ran my first marathon in a basketball jersey. Not just any basketball jersey, a vintage Chris Webber Golden State Warriors number, bright blue and straight from the mid-nineties. As racers lined up at the starting line of the Sunflower Marathon in Mazama, Washington, I looked out of place next to technical T-shirts and space-age microfibers. But in many ways, that was also kind of the point: Did it really matter what I was wearing? We were all about to run the same race, did we have to look the same too?

Running is an intensely personal experience. Beyond the run club hoopla and Strava route sharing, getting up and going is an internal affair, one driven by any number of motivations, but ultimately completed by a team of one. So why, then, has running fashion (and function) become such a crowd-sourced affair?

Sweat-wicking material, temperature control technology, flat seams, lower friction points鈥攖he innovation in our outer appearance has never been as good as it is today. But it鈥檚 also intimidating. The pressure to get the exact right gear as everyone else can add an extra barrier of entry to the run game, and for some it can be a downright turnoff. Let鈥檚 be real, dropping an extra $200 on an over-designed tank top isn鈥檛 exactly screaming 鈥済o out there and have some fun.鈥�

Truthfully, for most of us, the shirt that we feel most comfortable in is, and always will be, the ultimate running shirt. Not nanotech, lab-engineered comfortable, but 鈥淗ey, this is me鈥� comfortable. That might mean a baggy cotton tee, a high school era cutoff, or a vintage basketball jersey. Comfort does not come in a singular box.

Sure, chafing is a scourge on the planet (this is one of the world鈥檚 only universal truths), but most of us simply are not out there pushing the technological limits of our sportswear on our morning jog. We are, however, fighting to get out the door in the first place, battling a laundry list of excuses (and a few sore muscles) in the process. Frankly, adding a uniform to the mix just gives me one more reason to hit the snooze button.

Running is a pure pursuit: one foot in front of the other for as long as we can. The rest? That鈥檚 all extra. Let鈥檚 start treating it as such. This isn鈥檛 hockey鈥攖here are no pads, no jock straps, no laser-cut helmet designs or skates making the millisecond difference in our daily neighborhood loop. Let鈥檚 keep it simple, folks. If putting on a familiar shirt gets you to the start line, that鈥檚 a win that even the most highly specialized workout top can never deliver. So get out there and let that garment game fly.

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Dear Sundog,

Some friends and I recently booked a big house for a mountain biking trip. It wasn鈥檛 cheap: $800 per-person for the week, and we reserved months in advance, with a strict no-cancellation policy. Since then I broke my collarbone and can鈥檛 ride my bike. I told my friends that I can鈥檛 come and that I don’t want to pay. My injury has cost me thousands in medical bills and missed work. I鈥檓 also bummed to be missing this upcoming trip. They don鈥檛 want to pay extra for my empty room. One of them suggested that I go anyway, even if I can鈥檛 ride. 鈥� Reader

Dear Reader,

On the surface this quandary is simple: you basically entered into a contract with the homeowner to pay the rental fee, knowing that with the cancellation policy, you鈥檇 have to pay even if you didn鈥檛 attend. By that standard, you should simply cough up the dough. If it would be enjoyable to hobble around a rental house while your pals ride bikes, then do it. If not, stay home.

But this situation is complicated. Our human relationships are not merely financial. The people demanding that you fulfill your promise aren鈥檛 bots or banks or faceless property managers: they are your friends. They are under no ethical obligation to bail鈥攐r buy鈥攜ou out of your commitment, and yet, if they refuse, it would certainly be worth examining the true depths of their friendship.

I would like to think that a friendship is built on a stronger foundation. Friends might be willing to make a sacrifice for one of the group who has fallen on hard times. This would be quite different if you鈥檇 merely changed your mind about the trip or got too busy with work. Then they could rightfully tell you to go pound sand.

But what you describe appears to be a legitimate hardship, and you鈥檇 not be crazy to hope your friends would step up. I suppose I am also considering that people who pay $100 per night each to go mountain biking (instead of, say, camping out) are fairly comfortable financially. I assume they could feasibly pay a bit more (or invite someone else to take your place).

Sundog鈥檚 verdict: ask your friends to cover your costs. If they refuse, pay what you owe and consider finding new friends.

In a recent column, Sundog discussed the question of homeless people camping on public lands, determining that he himself would not take action to evict. One reader opined that reporting such campers was actually the ethical move:

The bourgeoisie don’t accept everyone. That is a fact鈥攈aving compassion and patience for people disregarded by society is a spiritual endeavor not suitable for everyone. Having experienced violence inflicted on me that was initiated by a local newspaper article that declared war on homeless tents, and having my home of 6 months destroyed and stolen within one day, I understand the trauma inflicted by societal norms. My camp was clean and tidy yet was gone nonetheless because of a front page headline that enabled any citizen to destroy my camp and tent. That is all.

Another reader took the position that compassion trumped legality:

I would definitely work with the Forest Service/ BLM and local police to alert them to the presence of a camp, and to schedule it to be cleared after fair warning. These are much like graffiti, they spread if left unmitigated. It鈥檚 not OK and violates local and federal laws. We live near Alpine, Wyoming, on the Palisades Reservoir where seasonal construction workers live and camp way past the maximum permitted stay. Even if left clean in the fall/winter, the continuous occupancy damages the site. Cat holes with human excrement from months of use don鈥檛 go away and leach into the reservoir. Many camps aren鈥檛 left clean, and they are scary as heck to walk/ run/ bike near ruining the co-existence with local home owners and family weekend campers. So yes, you are entirely justified and, in my option, compelled to report illegal camping. Leave a note, then call the authorities.

A different but related column asked if we should report to police if we found someone squatting in a vacant Airbnb. Sundog told the questioner she was not ethically bound to report this. A reader disagreed:

No offense. Read the article. Definitely see both or all three sides of the argument. Not in agreement though.

I live in Whitefish, Montana Between the pandemic and the TV series Yellowstone, Whitefish, Bozeman and most of western Montana have been inundated with people moving here or buying up properties.

It鈥檚 both flattering and annoying. I wasn鈥檛 born here, but I have owned property here for 35 years, before Ted Turner and so many affluent people came. So I consider this to be my home, and myself to be almost native. So I can see why locals are upset: higher taxes, lack of affordable housing, etc.. But two wrongs don鈥檛 make a right.

If you see a crime, you say something. It doesn鈥檛 matter if it鈥檚 someone illegally parking in a handicapped spot, squatting in a vacant rental or abusing their dog, child, etc. Apathy and lack of respect for others or their property and the rule of law is never acceptable. That鈥檚 what is happening everywhere nowadays鈥攅specially our politicians (both parties) and their lack of accountability for their actions.

It鈥檚 just my opinion. I don鈥檛 have to like someone before I would do the right thing. And the right thing would be to make sure the squatters know there are consequences for their actions.

Mark Sundeen teaches environmental writing at the University of Montana.聽Got a question or a response? Email sundogsalmanac@hotmail.com

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