Not long ago, the notion of flying on a private plane meant earning a seven-figure income and chartering a Gulfstream V or an equally elite aircraft. But thanks to a growing number of players shaking up the noncommercial sector of the aviation industry over the past few years, travelers have more ways than ever to enjoy the perks of private flights without the historically prohibitive price tag.

Driven by crowdsourcing technology and the Uber-like on-demand model, operators offering semiprivate charters, membership-based services, and smaller carriers that utilize regional airports have helped democratize a mode of travel once reserved for the jet-setting crowd. Instead of having a connection to an individual or a business that owns a private plane, or shelling out for a broker to hook you up with one, these companies allow you to book your flight online just like you would for a commercial one—and trust you’re paying a fair price.

They are all catering to a common customer: passengers weary of endless commercial-airline fees, long security lines, packed airports, and overbooked planes. Indeed, it’s hard to understate the sweet glory of arriving at a small regional or private airport about 30 minutes before takeoff, breezing through a metal detector in seconds, being welcomed aboard with at most a few dozen—instead of a few hundred—others, with nary a single TSA pat-down or seat back slammed into your face. For the premium baked into ticket prices, most of these operators offer other perks, too, including seat assignments, refreshments, and free baggage transport (JSX, a Dallas-based operator with a network of short-haul routes across Texas and the West, charges nothing for guests’ surfboards, skis, snowboards, and golf clubs).

Another advantage of this type of air travel? Utilizing the vast network of regional airports across the U.S. that enable easier access to remote areas, which commercial routes are less likely to service or which may have been cut during the pandemic. “There are only a few hundred major airports in the country, whereas there are a few thousand public-use airports that are accessible via private charter,” says William Herp, CEO of , an on-demand operator based in Massachusetts. “We’ve had a lot of customers flying to places that are hours away from the nearest airline airport in Colorado, Wyoming, Utah, and all across the United States and Canada, to get to their vacation or activity sooner than if they flew to an airline airport and drove hours and hours.”

You can certainly expect to pay more for this kind of experience, yet how much more varies. For smaller operators with established routes, prices can be comparable to a premium-economy-class ticket (though sometimes significantly more). On-demand charter models might charge more than double that of commercial business class. However, passengers seem more amenable than ever to paying higher prices for a better (and potentially safer) experience. During the pandemic, many of these operators reported a sizable uptick in bookings from travelers seeking more socially distanced alternatives to commercial airlines, as well as easy access to outdoor destinations.

But knowing where to start can be overwhelming for the uninitiated. There are a wide range of options on the market, and they’re not all legit. (The now defunct JetSmarter, a membership-based player that touted itself as the Uber of private flying, was to members for failing to deliver promised services.)

We’ve broken down different options in the space that will likely appeal to outdoor-minded people. Though there are several other options, including operators that cater to high-net-worth clientele, with models based on memberships, prepaid jet cards, and fractional ownership, the following categories—on-demand charters and public charters—are best suited for recreational travelers for their price points and the adventure destinations they serve. A word of warning: once you get a taste for this kind of travel, you may never want to wheel that rollaboard suitcase onto a commercial airliner again.

On-Demand Charters

Traditionally, travelers looking to book a private charter had to go through charter brokers, who negotiate the price with aircraft owners or management companies. However, as Linear Air’s Herp notes, many customers don’t know how to assess the quotes they’re given. “That process has a lot of friction and potential confusion and hesitation built into it,” he says.

Companies like Linear Air and a host of other competitors, including , , , and , have changed the game with online “marketplaces” that allow users to search privately owned planes based on group size, destination, and travel dates (with flight options available for immediate booking), much in the same way that companies like Airbnb allow customers to rent owners’ properties. For private charters, generally the larger the group (15 to 16 passengers is the most common maximum-seating capacity), the more cost-efficient your trip, since you’re splitting the cost of the plane among more people. The total price can run from the low five digits all the way up to $50,000 or more, depending on the route, group size, dates, and aircraft type (generally, jets are pricier than single-engine turboprops).

However, there are pitfalls to watch out for. Some companies that market themselves as on demand still rely on a traditional brokerage model, meaning consumers remain at the mercy of any humans behind the scenes negotiating the transaction, which might result in hidden costs. Many require at least an email registration to search flights. In addition, cancellations aren’t uncommon, as operators will shift their aircraft to more profitable routes, or owners may decide they want their plane for the same dates you’ve booked.

You can still score deals, though, especially with empty-leg discounts (“empties” in industry parlance), which happen when an operator tries to fill an aircraft while repositioning it to its home base or elsewhere. Such deals can save you 50 percent or more and make for an enticing last-minute getaway splurge: A recent email from FlyJets advertised a $1,213 single-seat fare on a Gulfstream from Westhampton, New York, to Miami. And a recent search with Linear Air’s one-way deals turned up a nine-person charter from Three Forks, Montana, to San Jose, California, for $10,221.

Public Charters

Another broad category in this space are companies that own or lease a fleet of private planes and sell tickets directly to the public, operating much like a small, regional airline. Here are three of our favorites:

Aero

The startup was created in 2019 Uber cofounder Garrett Camp. Its CEO, Uma Subramanian, says the company has also experienced an unexpected tailwind as a result of the pandemic. Aero recently announced and provides limited jet service from Los Angeles to ritzy vacation spots including Napa, California; Aspen, Colorado; and Sun Valley, Idaho. Aero also operates European routes including those to and from London; Nice, France; Mykonos, Greece; and Ibiza, Spain.

Prices are steep, starting at $1,000 one-way from L.A. to Napa, and $1,600 for all other U.S. summer routes. But it’s hard to beat the first-class feel in private airports and on board, with concierges who serve cocktails and snacks; swanky, hand-stitched leather seats designed in a one-by-one configuration (no clambering over anyone to use the restroom); and a maximum of 16 passengers per Embraer jet. “We want the experience to feel like your vacation is starting right now, totally hassle-free,” says Subramanian.

In addition, Subramanian notes, ticket prices remain consistent for the season, and routes are set. In other words, your flight won’t be canceled if the aircraft is rerouted for a more profitable booking. “We surprisingly have had very little pushback on price,” Subramanian said. “Our customers are really experientially driven. They’re people that really value their time.”

JSX

(formerly JetSuiteX) initially catered to business travelers between the San Francisco Bay Area and Los Angeles, when it began service in 2016. These days the Dallas-based operator, which brands itself as a “hop-on” air service, is hitting its stride with the leisure set, too: by August, JSX will service 24 U.S. markets, a figure that’s doubled since January 2020.

CEO Alex Wilcox told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű that most of its new routes were driven by “massive, massive demand” for recreation-centric destinations. Additions include Lajitas, Texas, near Big Bend National Park; Reno–Lake Tahoe, Nevada; San Diego and Monterey-Carmel, California; and Destin, a popular Florida Panhandle beach town. “We’re absolutely seeing a surge in outdoor travel,” he says. “Fresh air is the number one thing people are looking for after a year of lockdown and Zoom.”

One-way flights on JSX start at $99 but generally run a couple hundred dollars, comparable (and sometimes cheaper) in some markets to commercial fares, and passengers travel on spiffy, 30-seat Embraer 135’s and 145’s. In addition to its liberal baggage policies, pets up to 35 pounds fly free (provided they can comfortably fit in a carrier under the seat), and snacks and drinks (alcoholic ones, too) are also gratis.

Wilcox says that JSX is “hyper focused on transitioning to lower-emission or non-emissions technologies” as soon as possible. “We are talking confidentially to a number of all-electric and hybrid-electric aircraft manufacturers,” he says. “We want to be the launch customer for that technology.”

Taos Air

After suspending operations during the pandemic, this will resume twice-weekly direct flights on July 1 between Taos, New Mexico, and two cities each in Texas and California: Austin and Dallas, and Carlsbad/San Diego and Hawthorne (in the Los Angeles area). One-way flights start at $210, and the maximum number of passengers is 30 per plane.

Service out of a partnership between Taos Ski Valley and a group of area municipalities, and passenger perks include no baggage fees, shuttle service into town, and ski-gear rentals in the winter. “We’re hearing from a lot of people about how excited they are to travel again, and reservations are booking well,” a spokesperson told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű via email. Another draw for eco-conscious travelers? Taos Air offsets 100 percent of its carbon impact carbon-storage efforts.

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Maiden, from director Alex Holmes about the first all-female sailing team to race around the world, opens with a somber voice-over from protagonist Tracy Edwards: “The ocean is always trying to kill you.” In fact, the mighty seas were just one obstacle the young skipper—then just 27 years old—and her crewmates faced while completing the 1989–90 Whitbread Round the World Race (which later became the Volvo Ocean Race). During the nine-month, 33,000-mile voyage, spanning England, Chile, and Australia, the crew also had to overcome skepticism and sexism with courage and perserverance.

The film, which hits select theaters today, intertwines archival footage from the race and one-on-one interviews with crew members recounting their experiences surviving everything from monstrous waves in the Southern Ocean to the day-to-day challenges of sharing such tight quarters. It also illuminates gender inequality in the male-dominated world of competitive sailing, which Edwards broke into by talking her way onto the crew of a boat competing in the 1985–86 Whitbread. That year she was one of just four women sailors in a field of 23 boats and 230 crew members. “I had to fight to get onto a boat, but when I did, it was just the best thing,” Edwards, now 56, told me.

The experience inspired Edwards to put together an all-women team for the 1989–90 Whitbread. But as the documentary chronicles, she soon met another challenge: nobody wanted to sponsor her. That is until she reached out to the late King Hussein I of Jordan, who she’d met years prior during a yacht charter. He organized funding for the purchase of the 58-foot secondhand yacht that would eventually become known as Maiden. Edwards and her teammates refurbished her for months before the race kicked off. Holmes, a veteran documentary filmmaker, turns the ensuing voyage into a rollicking ride on the big screen. The team won two legs in its division, and while we won’t spoil its overall finish, it was the best result for a British boat since 1977 and still remains the best finish for an all-female crew.

The aftermath of the race wasn’t always easy, not least following the team’s historic feat. But a couple of decades after Edwards retired from sailing, Maiden is back in her life. In 2014, around the same time Holmes was raising money for the Maiden film, Edwards got word that her beloved boat, which was sold after the Whitbread, had been abandoned in the Seychelles. So she raised money to refurbish her again, this time from Princess Haya Bint Al Hussein, King Hussein’s daughter. “She was in an absolutely terrible state when we got her back, so there was a lot of work to do,” Edwards says. The boat is currently sailing around the world once again, this time promoting , a nonprofit Edwards founded to advocate for gender equality and educational opportunities for girls.

Ahead of the Maiden film’s theatrical release, we spoke with Edwards about how she learned to sail, the impact of the Maiden crew’s accomplishment, and why she’s OK with not helming a yacht anymore.

On how she got into sailing: “I got my first boat when I was 17, growing up in England, and learned as I went, with no real direction or plan of any kind. I just fell into each job and the next boat and the next boat. My first Whitbread experience completely changed my whole view on sailing, which up until then had been a job. It then became a way of life, my whole reason for existing.”

On what it was like being the only woman on an all-male crew: “Very smelly! That was my initiation to the joys of not having to wash and not caring what people think. I looked awful most of the time. There’s nothing glamorous about this type of sailing around the world.”

On the crew’s attitude toward her: “I don’t think they were being sexist, but they just didn’t want a girl on the boat. It was just, ‘No one else has got a girl. Why do we have to have a girl?’ But then we won the leg coming into New Zealand, and I went from being a nuisance to their lucky charm. They were suddenly all very protective, and then it was, ‘We’re the only professional crew with a girl on the boat.’ So it changed into something good.”

On meeting King Hussein: “I was doing day work in Newport, Rhode Island, and someone asked if I wanted to do a crewing job for the day. The guests turned out to be King Hussein and Queen Noor. Their son, who’s now King Abdullah, was graduating from Georgetown University, and they took the boat out for the day. I guess because I was 21 and didn’t really know who he was, I just treated them like I would treat anyone. I think he liked that. We spoke for a long time, and he was fascinated with my lifestyle. Over the years, we formed a very special friendship. He was an extraordinary human being who changed the course of my life.”

On the process of refurbishing Maiden for the race: “We had to literally take her apart and redesign her to make her more effective for women to sail, strength-wise. We opened up the interior, removed all the heavy wood, and replaced it with carbon fiber, honeycomb boards, and resin. We begged and borrowed tools and parts. When we launched, she was perfect.”

On the criticism the all-women team faced from the media and male competitors: “What is shocking to me now is that we just accepted that was the way things were and pretty much ignored it. Some were openly laughing at us, and that really hurt. It just proved how much we had to do and how important it was to succeed, because if we didn’t, it would be harder for women the next time.”

On the skills she needed to skipper a team around the world: “I’m not the best sailor in the world. But I pick great teams. I pick people who are better than me. I’m a good leader and a good navigator. I’m just fascinated with navigation and finding my way and using, in some cases, equipment that was used hundreds of years ago. I love that element of it.”

On where the original footage of the 1989–90 Whitbread came from: “One of the rules of the Whitbread was that everyone has to take a camera. We felt it was really important to document what we were doing. So we sent Jo, the cook, on a camera course, and she ended up doing a lot of the filming. Also, we were the only boat that had a camera affixed to our radar mast.”

On the challenges of being aboard a boat for weeks at a stretch: “The constant deprivation of normal living conditions. Having to steady your body all the time and be aware of every single movement you make. Women have great stamina, so we just got used to it. I think also taking care of each other was something I had never seen on a big racing boat with men.”

On the toughest leg of the race, through the Southern Ocean: “It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s miserable, it can be horrifying. But then the sailing is absolutely amazing, and that’s the payoff. By the time we left to go into the Southern Ocean, we’d done so many miles together. We’d done a lot of training. We really felt very strong as a team.”

On Maiden’s reception at the end of the race: “All the ships were around us blowing their horns—it was just amazing. People were throwing flowers onto the boat. Fans had heard that we were starving at that point, because we’d run out of food the week before. A boat came out with hamburgers in a basket. But we couldn’t accept them because that’s taking outside assistance, so we could smell this gorgeous food and we couldn’t accept it.”

On the impact of her Whitbread accomplishment: “I don’t think we knew how important it was when we finished—we just went on and did the next thing. But when I had my daughter, Mackenna, in 2000, everything suddenly became so much more relevant. I wasn’t just fighting the fight for me and other women, it was for her next generation. I don’t want her to have to go through what we went through. You can say, ‘Oh, things have changed,’ but not enough.”

On how much sailing she does today: “None. After surviving the whole Whitbread without one single injury, in 1992, I was kicked in the base of my spine by a horse and broke some vertebrae and did some serious damage. I ignored it over the years as I was sailing, and I’m paying for it now. My back injury is so bad now, sailing would just be stupid. But I love running the Maiden Factor Foundation, and I’m happy to provide the vehicle for everyone else to sail her now. And I’m also happy to be warm and dry.”

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Name: Deanna Curtis
Job: Director of falconry at the Broadmoor Resort
Home Base: Colorado Springs, Colorado
Age: 52
Education: Graduated from Estacada High School in Oregon

For Deanna Curtis’s two sons and their Cub Scout buddies, it was an extra-special pack meeting, featuring a birds of prey demonstration put on by an organization called HawkQuest. But for Curtis, then a stay-at-home mom, seeing those majestic creatures in action almost 20 years ago was a life-changing moment that inspired her to pursue a career in the ancient sport of falconry.

“At that point I had no idea that falconry even existed,” Curtis says. But she immersed herself into her newfound passion, learning about different species of birds of prey, their history with humans (which, according to some experts, may go as far back as 10,000 B.C.), and the exacting care involved (measuring their weights pre- and post-flight, for example, right down to the gram). Soon after the Cub Scout meeting, Curtis attended her first falconry meet, where falconers gather to share information on training techniques, go on hunts, and, Curtis says with a laugh, “come back and tell tall tales.” She was hooked. “The light bulb moment happened: Holy smokes, I can have my own birds. I can hunt with them.”

About two years later, Curtis joined the staff of HawkQuest and eventually became licensed as a master falconer, a designation that comes after seven years of apprenticeship, training, and passing a 100-question exam. She also founded her own nonprofit, , which cares for birds that have been wounded or injured and are unable to survive in the wild. She currently owns five birds. “As a falconer, you can take birds from the wild, but they cannot be an adult,” Curtis explains. “They must be a young juvenile bird, and we know this from the way their plumage looks. You can also purchase them from breeders.” (Curtis notes that falconry is a zero-impact sport, meaning falconers have no impact on wild raptor populations, as noted in several studies, and can even help them survive when they otherwise would not.)

Curtis joined the in December 2017 as director of falconry and, along with a co-worker, oversees eight birds of prey, including Harris’s hawks, a Eurasian eagle owl, and Saker falcons, and leads falconry demonstrations for the resort guests. There’s also a class for those with some falconry experience. Curtis hopes to offer hunting outings soon as well.

On What She Loves About Her Job: “Being able to work with wild animals. To think you can have this wild animal, trap it one day, and be hunting with it in two to three weeks, working with you as a team member—it’s kind of a romantic thought.”

On Why It’s Legal for Licensed Falconers to Take Birds from the Wild: “It’s something I try to go over in all of my classes. People at first are like, ‘What? Why would you want to do that?’ But falconry is a zero-impact sport, and 70 to 80 percent of birds in the wild will die their first year, mainly due to starvation, but also things like being hit by a car, electrocution, being shot by people. But the main thing is starvation. They grow so quickly, then Mom and Dad kick them out, then winter comes and the prey population decreases, which makes it much harder for them to survive. So we take them, train them to hunt with us, and then you can release them at a later date, when the bird has a better chance at survival. You don’t have to release them, but I’d say a big percentage of falconers catch new birds every year and release them every spring.”

On What She Would Be Doing If She Wasn’t Involved in Falconry: “Working with wildlife in a different type of setting. But education is really important to me, so there’s not much else I could do and be able to get this kind of fulfillment. Perhaps falconry-based bird abatement, where you use raptors to keep pest species like starlings and gulls away from airports, vineyards, and resorts. Dassi is one of our Saker falcons who was used at JFK, keeping the airways clear of birds that could bring down airplanes. You hear a lot about the bird strikes at airports, and a lot of airports are using falconers now to help keep the runways clear.”

On an Ordinary Day: “I’m typically at work by 9 or 10 a.m. Then I make sure the birds are at [proper] weight for flying—not too heavy, not too thin. I also get all the food prepped for our classes. I will take Chase [one of the Broadmoor’s Saker falcons] and put him outside and weather him for a bit, which basically means getting him some vitamin D in the natural light and getting him used to the weather conditions prior to flying. Then I will load up the birds into their cages and into my car. Then we’re off to do the class. We’ll do a class or two, maybe three, then I clean the chambers thoroughly. Then I go home.”

On Her Least Favorite Part of the Job: “One of the food sources we have for the birds is day-old rooster chicks. Nobody wants the roosters, so they get offed on their first day. So it’s kind of a nice way to not let them go to waste. It’s pretty easy food prep, since you don’t have to cut up rabbit or quail. You can just pull off a leg, which is a small enough tidbit that the bird will want to continually fly. You have to keep them very closely weight managed for flying, so if I was to feed the bird the entire chick, the bird would say, ‘Well, I don’t need to fly to you anymore. I’m full.’ But there are drawbacks, too. Because they’re only a day old, the chicks still have that yolk sac inside them, and they can burst. Recently, when I was flying Chase, I was lure-flying him, and I was a little klutzy and the egg yolk exploded on me. With Rosco, the Harris’s hawk, sometimes I’ll fly him to the fist [industry terminology for the bird landing on the falconer’s outstretched, gloved fist] for a day-old chick, and I’ve had the yolk sac explode in my face as he’s eating it. That’s a bad day at the office for me. You just hope the guests can handle it.”

On Being a Woman in Male-Dominated Field: “For every woman, it’s probably a little different. I read on falconry forums how some women feel like they’re not taken seriously by men. I’ve not ever felt that at all. I always feel like I’ve been welcome. I don’t feel like I’ve been treated any differently than anyone else. I don’t walk around going, ‘I’m a female falconer.’ I’m a falconer. If you want to be good at something, you’re going to be good at whether you’re male or female, black or white.”

On More Women Getting into Falconry: “We’re in an age where we’re realizing it’s good for our kids to see we’re not just moms. You’re seeing a growth in women in not just falconry, but in hunting and all sorts of other outdoor sports. We’re not being told that we can’t do it anymore.”

On That Iconic Glove and Other Gear: “The glove is made out of leather. You can have them custom fit, or you can buy a generic glove. I get mine from a place called , and I will trace my hand, and they will make a glove based on that. I go through mine in a couple of years. Jesses are the leather straps that are put on the birds’ ankles so you can hold them without them flying off. You can also use bells so you can hear them as they fly.

As far as the hood [for the bird], people are always curious about that. You need to have a hood to keep them calm and focused. The hoods came about in the beginning of time, and there are several different types. There’s a , made around the time of Genghis Khan, and you have , invented by the Dutch, and many others. You have some that are very ornately decorated and some that are that are just very plain. If you train the birds properly, they don’t mind it. If you can relate it to a dog, if you pull out your leash, your dog gets excited because they know they are going for walk. So if everything is associated with positiveness—the hood comes off and the bird gets a reward—the bird accepts it very nicely, and you start that at a very young age.”

On How Technology Is Changing Falconry: “—which is the use of a transmitter that the bird wears and a receiver that the falconer uses to track it—is the newest invention with falconry. Now we have GPS telemetry, which can track how fast your bird flew, how high it flew, how far it few, the temperatures it flew in. You can tell if he had a good day, or you can see he really wasn’t trying, was he?”

On the Most Fulfilling Part of Her Job: “When I get to see people smiling from ear to ear after experiencing a connection with these birds, that tells me it might make a difference in the future of that species. That’s how you make change—you make a connection with something. It happens in every single class. There has never been a grumpy person when they’re holding Chase.”

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Do ’s Farley fat bikes bring to mind a certain “fat, loud, sturdy, rugged Midwesterner”? According to a lawsuit filed by the family of Chris Farley, the Wisconsin bicycle maker intentionally named the bike line after the late comedian in order to profit from his brand. In September 2017, Make Him Smile, by Kevin Farley, Chris’s brother, filed a against Trek in a Los Angeles court.

“They chose the brand name ‘Farley’ to welcome and encourage potential customers and the bike industry generally to immediately associate [their] Fat Bikes with one of their favorite famous ‘fat’ and ‘loud’ comedians,” the lawsuit states. “Trek’s executives knew what they were doing.”

As reported by and other media outlets last week, the lawsuit was settled last Wednesday for an undisclosed amount. “While the terms of the agreement will be kept confidential, the two parties have amicably resolved this matter,” Trek brand manager Eric Bjorling confirmed to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “Trek will continue to manufacture Farley bikes.” Lawyers representing Make Him Smile did not respond to requests for comment.

Lawsuits involving disputes over misappropriation of celebrity names and likenesses aren’t uncommon. But several aspects of this case make it unique—including the question of how misappropriation is defined. For example, Aaron McClellan, an attorney with San Francisco firm Murphy Pearson Bradley and Feeney, and has expertise in intellectual-property law, pointed out that component manufacturer SRAM has a fat-bike suspension fork called the Bluto. “That clearly evokes [both John Belushi’s Animal House character John “Bluto”] Blutarsky and Bluto from Popeye,” McClellan says. “Whoever named it the Bluto fork, did the [producers] of Animal House have a right to claim the name is somehow playing off their rights?”

According to the Farley lawsuit, Trek president John Burke lives in the same Madison, Wisconsin, suburb where the Saturday Night Live comedian was born. The suit also claimed that the Farley and Burke families socialized and attended the same country club. Trek is based in the Madison suburb of Waterloo.

In 2014, the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office on the Farley name for “bicycles, bicycle frames, and bicycle structural parts.” At the time, the popularity of fat bikes was surging, after first coming on the market more than a decade before. Surly introduced its cult favorite Pugsley in 2003, followed by big players like Trek and Specialized. Trek’s popular Farley models start at $1,730 and run all the way up to $4,800.

This isn’t the first time Trek has been involved in a lawsuit regarding naming rights. In 2010, the company and three-time Tour de France winner Greg LeMond resolved a two-year legal battle in which each alleged that the other party violated the terms of a licensing contract that allowed Trek to use the LeMond name on its bikes. Most of the terms remain confidential, but according to , Trek agreed to make two payments of $100,000 each to a charity that LeMond supported.

The most pressing question that lingers from the recent settlement news? Whether Trek actually named its fat bikes after Farley—a hot topic of debate on Reddit and other online forums following the announcement. No answers are forthcoming. Bjorling didn’t reply to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű’s specific inquiry in that regard.

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In late January, Emily Sportsman, a longtime cyclist who lives and works as a geochemist in Oakland, was on her morning bike commute. She’d already dropped off her young daughter at daycare and was stopped at a red light just a few blocks from her office when she saw a driver make an illegal U-turn across several lanes of traffic into a nearby lane.

Sportsman shook her head at the infraction, and the driver noticed. He then rolled down his window and “threatened several times to beat up my bitch ass,” Sportsman says. The driver started to get out of his car, but the light changed and Sportsman quickly rode away.

This followed a similarly scary incident from spring 2017, also while Sportsman was riding with her daughter to daycare. A man in a truck followed her for blocks, yelling that “I was going to get my kid killed because I was a selfish bitch,” she says. Another time, Sportsman flipped off a driver because he was blocking the bike lane during rush hour. Two weeks later, he recognized her (she has a distinctive cargo e-bike) and got in her face on the sidewalk—right in front of her daughter’s daycare center, no less—calling her a “miserable bitch,” she says, and threatening to run her off the road.

Sportsman estimates these encounters make up about 10 percent of her biking experience. I believe her. I’m no stranger to run-ins like these. Although I don’t ride nearly as much since my son was born in 2016, over the years I’ve been the target of occasional catcalls, whistles, and, sometimes far nastier interactions (like the dude I confronted, nicely, at a stoplight in downtown San Francisco after he buzzed me, prompting him to scream, “F— you, bitch!”).

Of course, anyone who rides on a regular basis is well aware of the potential for conflict every time you get in the saddle, whether it’s an impatient honk from a stressed-out commuter or the all-out fury of a pickup truck driver with a Christine-like intent on trying to kill you.

But for women, these encounters come with the added element of sexual harassment. Not only are we targeted as cyclists, we’re further penalized because of our gender. From mild but misplaced flirtation to outright assault, the message from perpetrators seems to be this: You’re a woman who dares to ride a bike, so we can say or do anything we want to you.

What drove this home for me more than anything was an email that circulated among my husband’s racing team in San Francisco, where Sportsman and other female riders detailed some of their experiences. After reading the team email, I reached out to other women cyclists, including friends and others via online channels, and heard an array of shocking incidents. A sample of the lowlights (from Portland, Oregon, all the way to Australia):

“Mostly I get comments about my ass. I once had someone say, ‘Look at those titties bounce, you little slut.’”

“‘I’d love to be your bike seat,’ said one sweet man out of a car window. Many others have revved their engine menacingly behind me.”

“One time in broad daylight a guy lunged at me while I was stopped at a traffic light, laughed and said something inaudible, and proceeded to grab my handlebars. I threw my front wheel into him while screaming, ‘Don't touch me!’ which surprised me and him, and he let go and slithered away.”

As Sportsman so aptly put it: “It’s a double whammy of vulnerability—I’m so low on the totem pole of power as a woman on a bike. Men aren’t going to mess with another dude who might hurt them. But me, a mom with a kid? I seem to be fair game.”

Elizabeth Bagioni, coordinator for , a women’s advocacy program that’s part of the , notes that “harassment is still a real barrier to biking for many people.” According to a recent WABA member survey, about 42 percent of the bike commuters in the Washington, D.C., metro area identify as women, a number Bagioni is convinced would be higher if women felt less vulnerable while riding.

The problem isn’t limited to motorist versus cyclist, either. It also stems from the elitist “Lycra-bro” subculture, as Bagioni describes it, of the cycling community and the currents of sexism that run through it. The topic is the basis of an excellent WABA blog post, “”, which ran last May in response to a Facebook post by a Women & Bikes member expressing frustrations at the rude, dismissive behavior she experienced from male riders—on National Bike to Work Day, no less.

Kirsten Spinelli, women’s captain for my husband’s team, can relate. Her assorted bag of grievances includes images of “mudflap women” that a racing team in the Bay Area used to have on their kits. “That really gut-punched me,” Spinelli says. “Men who choose not to be in a car, to ride their bikes in Marin County, go and put a naked woman on their kits? You can’t make the connection that it’s a bad idea? Here you are, in my biking circle, and you can’t get that?”

Eventually, Spinelli says, the team changed its kits (“Though I’m sure there are a few old ones floating around out there,” she noted), similar to the way in which bike manufacturer Pinarello pulled several overtly promoting the launch of its new e-bike after public outcry in fall 2017.

It’s all part of the larger conversation unfolding as the outdoor industry reckons with the ripple effects of sexual harassment and gender discrimination. Most recently, the climbing community is dealing with the aftermath of pro climber Joe Kinder’s admitted bullying of fellow pro Sasha DiGiulian on Instagram. Kinder was subsequently dropped from his endorsements.

Advocacy groups are also shining a spotlight on the issue. At gatherings of , a program of the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition with the objective to get more women on bikes, harassment is a regular topic of conversation, says Kelsey Roeder, membership manager for the SFBC. “Sunlight is the best disinfectant,” she says. “The more we have these conversations, the more it comes to light, and that’s one of the best ways we can combat it as a group, to come together and say it’s not okay.”

On an individual level, Sportsman and Spinelli and countless other badass women out there continue to do their part every time they get in the saddle. Most of the women I spoke to say they handle harassment and sexism on a case-by-case basis. If they feel safe—or pissed off enough—they generally speak up. (Roeder says she always makes sure she has an escape route first.) But whatever their tactic, one thing is clear: Real progress hinges on men doing their part, like calling out sexist comments and behavior from other men and sticking up for women whenever possible.

And definitely don’t tell us to just let it go. “If I had to give men advice on how to make it better for women, I’d ask guys not to minimize a woman’s emotional response to a bad event,” says Sportsman. She says she loves her for easy access to her phone and as a way to document potential harassment. “Don’t tell us we should change our behavior, like not yell at drivers.”

But therein also lies perhaps the brightest spot in this whole issue. None of the women I spoke with have considered letting being harassed keep them from riding. “I see biking as an incredibly joyful, independent, freeing mode of transportation, and nobody can take that away from me,” Roeder says. “Each time I experience this, I’m more motivated to combat this behavior, to call it out, and to let other women know there is a community of women who have their backs.”

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When opens for its 2018 season on May 25, it will become the first major park on U.S. Forest Service land where riders can saddle up on electric mountain bikes.

Mammoth, which leases its 3,500 acres from the USFS and is one of the largest mountain bike parks in the country, will allow e-MTBs on its 80 miles of singletrack and 3,100 feet of vertical descent. Specifically, Class 1 e-bikes—those without throttles and with motors that max out at 20 miles per hour while the rider is pedaling—can ride on all trails within park boundaries. They won’t be allowed on any neighboring USFS land. Park access points will be clearly marked with signage, according to a statement issued by Mammoth officials.

The move marks another first for Mammoth, which has been a pioneer in the mountain biking community since opening in 1987. It was the first mountain bike park with lift access to its trails, helping fuel the downhill riding craze.

“First and foremost, it’s about accessibility,” says Joani Lynch, a spokesperson for Mammoth Bike Park. “Many of the trails require a fair amount of pedaling to get to some cool destinations. And we think that with the use of e-bikes, our guests will be able to able to travel to those places in a much more comfortable fashion.”

But some in the modern-day MTB community see this latest development as potential fuel for the ongoing debate between e-bikes and their human-powered predecessors.

“We do have some concern any time e-bikes are lumped in with 100 percent human-powered bikes,” says John Fisch, a board member of mountain biking advocacy nonprofit Sustainable Trails Coalition. “We see them as two separate entities, one of which—strictly human powered—is in concert with wilderness ideals, while the other—artificial power—is not.”

In other words: “There’s no way for this not to sound pejorative, but what we’re concerned about is lazy city people will go buzzing into the backcountry without any respect for it,” Fisch continues. “Then we’ll get the wilderness advocates saying, ‘See, this is what bike people are all about,’ and that would be, in our view, misleading.”

Indeed, debates over access are heating up as e-bike usage continues to increase. But the current situation at Mammoth is unique for several reasons. First of all, the park is zoned predominately for downhill mountain bike use—hikers, trail runners, and equestrians are not permitted on mountain bike trails, eliminating potential conflicts between the different groups. Second, most trails are one-way downhill, meaning that head-on crashes between all riders, whether e-MTB or traditional, are less likely. Finally, park officials don’t anticipate e-MTB riders seeking out the park’s most difficult terrain.

“Our expert terrain is technical downhill trails that people with eight inches of suspension and a full-face helmet and full body armor are riding,” Lynch says. “I don’t see, at this stage of the game, consumers who will come and rent an e-bike and start attacking those trails.”

E-bikes aren’t entirely new at Mammoth. For the past two years, the park has included an e-bike category called the Electric Boogaloo (which was allowed under a special use permit by the USFS) during its annual Kamikaze Bike Games. That served as a sort of trial run for the current permit, which took about a year to obtain, according to Lynch. (The USFS did not respond to șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű’s request for comment before publication.) Trek is also on board: A fleet of 70 of its e-MTBs will be available for rental at Mammoth early in the season.

So far, Lynch says, park officials haven’t heard much criticism from MTB purists about sharing the trails with their motorized versions. But the local MTB community is keeping a close eye on how things unfold.

“If the trails are being trashed and people are getting out of control and lot of damage is being done, then, yeah, you have to deal with that,” Alan Jacoby, owner of the in Mammoth Lakes, told șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű. “But I agree with them trying something. And a lot people are going to hate me for saying that, since I’m a human-powered advocate, and everyone who knows me knows I’m a singlespeed rigid rider—that’s been my M.O. for years. But in the bigger picture, I think about myself in 20 years, and I think of my dad. If he comes up to Mammoth, he could ride an e-bike beside me while I ride my regular bike. That would be huge for me.”

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In December 2012, Juliana Buhring became the fastest (and first) woman to circumnavigate the world by bicycle, a 152-day feat that spanned some 18,000 miles, four continents, 19 countries, and 29 tire punctures. It earned her a  and fans all over the globe. 

Buhring’s adventure—which was even more impressive considering her lack of prior cycling experience—served as compelling inspiration for her second book, (W.W. Norton), which will be released in the U.S. on May 24. (Her bestselling 2007 memoir, , chronicled her tumultuous childhood in a religious cult.) Buhring, who lives in Sorrento, Italy, describes the triumphs and tribulations of her round-the-world journey—among them, the kindness of road angels, a gastrointestinal disaster in India, and teaching herself how to repair her trusty bike, Pegasus. 

Buhring, 34, took a break from a promo tour in Europe to speak with șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű about the writing process, give an update on Pegasus, and preview her next adventure: the , her first supported event, this June.

OUTSIDE: Writing a book is a journey much like a long-distance ride. What was this one like for you?
BUHRING: During the ride, I had to keep a logbook for the record, and it was like a diary, with feelings I would jot down and things that would happen along the way. So when I got back, I had this book basically written. I started putting it in a better format, then I lost the desire for a couple of years. Then I got a book deal and I had to write it. The logbook triggered a lot of stories and emotions I’d forgotten about. Because I wrote the diary as it was happening, it gives you the impression that you’re on the journey with me. 

The original title was supposed to be Falling Off Bicycles, which is the theme of my cycling career. But the publisher wanted something more dramatic and less comical. I think [the original] is pretty brilliant, and it’s still my first choice.

Pegasus himself was a central character. What happened to him?
It’s a sad story. I lost Pegasus. The bike manufacturer who gave him to me took him back at the end, which rather broke my heart, since by the end I had changed everything on the bike with my own money—all the parts and the tires and everything. The only thing that was theirs was the frame. And he was covered in all these bumps, scratches, and stickers. 

It broke my heart to leave him. But that was the deal. They said they wanted him for their museum, but they don’t even have a museum, so he’s actually sitting in their warehouse. Poor thing, gone to pasture.

What are you most looking forward to about your first supported race? 
Riding with good food, or at least readily available food. And I’m looking forward to having my particular crew behind me. They’re all long-distance cyclists and all hysterical comedians. I’m going to laugh across America.

What’s up next after that?
I’m planning a ride in November across Burma and Laos—not a race, but a ride. Some people want me to race more than ride, and I will eventually. But what I really want to do is ride from the tip of Alaska to the tip of South America. I have a list, and it’s growing ever larger. I have no plans of stopping.

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For nearly three decades, the Mountain Biking Hall of Fame resided in Crested Butte, Colorado. But June 6 marks a kind of homecoming for the sport, as the esteemed collection is now part of the brand-new  in Fairfax, California, a town just north of the Golden Gate Bridge that’s recognized as the birthplace of mountain biking.

It’s hard to imagine a more fitting spot for the space, a 3,000-square-foot homage to cycling, located in a former grocery store in the shadow of . In the early 1970s, a pioneering posse of daredevil riders bombed down the 2,571-foot mountain’s trails and fire roads on fat-tired bikes they called “klunkers.” With ensuing races like the legendary , mountain biking was unofficially born.

Highlights of the hall of fame display include some of the earliest mountain bikes to hit the scene, including models by renowned designers and . Beyond Marin County’s reputation as a mountain biking mecca, , who include Mountain Bike Hall of Famers and early pioneers Joe Breeze, Marc Vendetti, and Otis Guy, hope the space will capitalize on the Bay Area’s booming tourism.

“As people are heading to Point Reyes National Seashore, perhaps they will have researched their trip and will stop by,” says Breeze, who also helped develop the modern-day mountain bike. “In cycling-crazy Fairfax and Marin, where a lot of mountain bike rides and road bike rides head off every morning, it was just this perfect place.”

Breeze’s longtime dream to create a bike-centric museum shifted into high gear following a at San Francisco International Airport that he helped develop. 

When the exhibit ended in 2013, the curator unexpectedly gifted Breeze with massive black-and-white photographs of Mount Tam and Pine Mountain that had appeared in the exhibit. Soon thereafter, a team of Fairfax-based cyclists approached the then-curators of the Mountain Bike Hall of Fame in Colorado, , about the possibility of moving the venue to Marin. The Cooks, who had overseen the hall of fame on a volunteer basis since 1997, agreed. 

“Like all good parents, sooner or later you have to let the kid grow up and get bigger,” Don Cook says. “We knew that graduating and going into Fairfax would be a maturing and a huge step upward and forward for the museum and the hall of fame.”

While the hall of fame will surely attract the fat-tired set, the museum aims to showcase the evolution of cycling throughout its fascinating 200-year history. Current exhibits encompass about 50 total bikes and accompanying artifacts, including a 1868 Michaux velocipede, a replica of an 1820 “boneshaker” complete with wooden wheels and iron tires, and, during the opening month, the Specialized Tarmac that rode into Paris to win the 2014 Tour de France.

“Years ago, cycling was like computers today–it was the “it” thing,” Breeze says. “Anybody could get on a bike. You didn’t have to have a horse or rely on a train schedule. It’s just a story that puts a smile on everyone’s face. And it just seemed like celebrating this can only grow cycling.”

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