For the past seven years, Aislinn Sarnacki has covered the outdoor beat as a reporter for the Bangor Daily News. Thanks to her expertise and wide range of skills, Sarnacki’s column, : şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍřs in the Maine Wilderness, has an ever-growing stream of devoted followers, with nearly 3 million page views since its inception. She has descended into ice caves, climbed Katahdin (Maine’s highest peak), and hiked more than 300 trails in the Maine wilderness. While Sarnacki’s job has her doing everything from taking survival courses to kayaking, she spends most of her time hiking the woods of Maine.

We asked Sarnacki about the gear she carries, why hiking boots need a real heel, and why every time you venture out on a day hike, you should pack for a night of survival.

Asolo Nilas ($270)

In college, Sarnacki worked at an outfitter and sold hundreds of hiking boots. “You really get what you pay for,” she says. “With hiking boots, often the ones that cost more weigh less, which is important on a hike.” Right now, Sarnacki relies on boots for navigating the northeast trails, which are thick with rocks and roots to trip over. They’re waterproof and have a stiff sole and plenty of ankle support. “I’ve had my Asolos for four years, and they’ve yet to wear down. I can climb wet rocks—the grip is fantastic—and perhaps the most important feature, they have a true heel that catches rocks or roots if I slip [to help maintain balance]. It’s the same idea as a heel that catches a stirrup.” At $270, the Asolo Nilas is a four-season investment. They weigh in at just over a pound, and the Gore-Tex lining keeps your feet dry.

New England Alpaca Sock ($29)

If Sarnacki has a mantra, it’s “never wear cotton on a hike.” Common knowledge to many, cotton holds onto moisture. “If you have synthetic, wool, or alpaca, it can wick away sweat where wet cotton gets cold,” says Sarnacki, who loves hiking in from Maine Alpaca Experience, owned by locals Robin and Corry Pratt. While much of the alpaca used to make the socks come from the Pratts’ Northern Solstice Alpaca Farm, the rest comes from other New England alpaca farmers who contribute fiber to a mill in Massachusetts where they make the socks. After all her years in the woods, Sarnacki is a big believer in alpaca. “What I noticed right away was it kept my feet a comfortable temperature. It can keep them cool on a hot day and warm on a cold day, and it helps them stay dry.” The alpaca fiber is also soft on Sarnacki’s sensitive skin and fights odor—even when she wears the socks several days in a row.

Patagonia Torrentshell ($130)

“If you hike in Maine, we’re talking rain gear. And like hiking boots, it’s about fit,” says Sarnacki, who prefers longer designs that accommodate her tall figure. She uses the Patagonia in all seasons because it’s more breathable than old-fashioned fisherman jackets, and it blocks the wind—key for peak bagging. “I use it as an extra layer, as a windbreaker, for rain, and in the winter with several layers under it. When I’m not wearing it, I bunch it up into the outside pocket of my CamelBak Mule.”

Royal Robbins Bug Barrier Discovery Zip N Go Pants ($110)

As for pants, Sarnacki recommends Royal Robbins . “These are ideal for a place where the weather is changing. They have zip-off legs, so you can convert them into shorts mid-hike,” she says. “And they also have [bug repellent built into the fabric]—another plus to protect your legs.”

CamelBak Mule ($110)

“You can never have enough water, and I hike with my dog, so I always end up needing more…I don’t go on a hike without iodine tablets.” For hydration, Sarnacki uses the It’s designed for mountain biking, but she uses it while hiking because it features an extra pocket meant for a bike helmet that she uses to stash wet clothes.

SteriPen Ultra ($100)

Sarnacki never leaves home without a . “It has a UV light that scrambles the DNA of the microbes in water so you won’t get sick from giardia or who knows what else,” she says. Bonus: The SteriPen Ultra charges by USB or solar panel, so it’s always ready to go, even on long backpacking trips. (The SteriPen also won şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s Editor’s Choice Award in 2013.)

Skeeter Skidaddler (from $14) and Tick Spoon for Dogs ($7)

“I would rather wear a bug-net jacket than wear DEET,” says Sarnacki, who relies on , made from essential oils without DEET or citronella. The company also makes a “furry friend” version without cedarwood or patchouli oils, which can bother some dogs. And speaking of dogs and bugs, Sarnacki always brings a tick spoon to pry the critters out of her pup’s fur. “It looks like a measuring spoon with a slot in it, which is ideal because then you’re not pulling their hair out as you would with tweezers when removing a tick.”

Survival Gear

According to Sarnacki, you often don’t notice you need a first-aid kit until you reach for one and don’t have it. “I used to hike without one until I fell. My legs bled, and I had nothing to clean it up. I looked like a crazy person. Now I never hike without one,” she says. Sarnacki recommends carrying one kit per group and adding a roll of athletic tape to prepacked first-aid kits. “You can use it to wrap a sprained ankle, splint together fingers, and I pack it for my dog, because he’ll get a cut on a foot pad and tape is great for covering it up. Many premade kits don’t include Benadryl, so I add that, too.” And she never goes on a hike without an emergency blanket. “It’s amazing how quickly you can get lost in the woods in Maine. If someone’s coming to rescue you, it most likely won’t be until the next day,” Sarnacki says.

Fire Starter

Sarnacki recommends having both a fire starter and her favorite cheat: “I coat cotton balls in Vaseline and put them in a plastic sandwich bag. They will burn like crazy.” She also packs lip balm in her first-aid kit as an emergency fire starter.

Patagonia Women’s Active Hipster Undies ($24)

“I wear for hiking.” And, of course, no cotton allowed. Sarnacki suggests the women’s Active hipster style, which are made from recycled polyester, nylon, and spandex. Designed never to chafe, the undies are breathable and wick sweat away from the crotch.

Petzl Actik Core Headlamp ($70)

Sarnacki uses the Petzl , which comes with a rechargeable battery and a USB cord. It’s reasonably priced and features a red light and whistle built into the strap.

Want to hear more from Aislinn Sarnacki? Her second hiking book, , hits bookstores June 1.

The post What This şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Writer Takes into the Woods appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

Two blocks from the Gowanus Canal, Brooklyn’s own Superfund site, is my favorite bike shop: . The shop is beloved by bike enthusiasts for its unpretentious approach to custom bike building, motley crew of dry-witted mechanics, and commitment to providing free, no-nonsense bike classes.

Two years ago, just as a steady stream of female customers began asking owner Joe Nocella for a class of their own, he met Meredith Klein. Aside from biking 80 to 200 New York City miles a week, Klein runs the after-school bike mechanics and riding program at International High School in Manhattan, a school for recent-immigrant teens, where she teaches mathematics. When Klein saw “Women’s Bike Maintenance Class TBA” written on the shop’s chalkboard, she volunteered to teach it. The last Wednesday of the month has been reserved for Klein’s popular women’s bike maintenance class ever since.

“There’s always someone out there who begins to bike longer and longer distances and realizes they need to learn to fix a flat,” Klein says.

I was one of those people, and after a single class with Klein, I realized I’d been living in a fool’s paradise of underinflated tires, gnarly neglected bike chains, and not a single tool to speak of. I needed a bike I could fix myself, along with a decent tool kit. Lucky for me, Klein loves to talk gear. Here are a few of her bike essentials.

Surly Steamroller ($800)

“My everyday city commuter lock-up bike is a Surly Steamroller, set up singlespeed,” Klein told me when I asked her for a city-friendly bike recommendation. “I like a singlespeed for regular riding because NYC doesn’t have a lot of hills and it makes me work a little harder over the bridge. It’s light and easy to maintain because there’s no derailleur or gears, and I can lock it up without worrying too much about it or haul it up a set of stairs.”

I tested the bike for two months, and Klein was right. is the lightest bike I’ve ever carried up my three-flight walk-up, and it handles the pitted streets of Brooklyn with surprising ease. While the bike looks like a stadium fixie, there’s nothing basic about its self-sufficient minimalism. If the bike needs a fix, it’s straightforward enough that I could do it. Surly makes its Steamrollers in one color for each year’s vintage. The mustard color I rode is 2017’s “Drink More Water Yellow”; for 2018, Surly offers “Ministry Gray.” Both colors are still available.

Vaya Recycled Bike Tube Purse ($90)

For carrying your tool kit and air pump, Klein recommends the women-owned, environmentally friendly, New York City–made Vaya Bags. Founder Tianna Meilinger, who holds a degree in environmental science, created a line of messenger bags, backpacks, and purses made from sail scraps, old banners, and recycled bike tubes. “We make them durable, sturdy, waterproof, and everything is handmade,” she says.

My favorite is Vaya’s , made from used bike tubes that Meilinger collects from several of the area’s bike shops. She cuts them, washes them, and then makes the fabric, which has the look of textured leather. The purse is stylish enough to go beyond bike duty. It fit perfectly across my body with its adjustable strap and was compact yet roomy enough to carry my tool kit.

Reductivist Ringtool ($26)

Klein encourages everyone to take the time to research the perfect multitool for their bike, but for quick fixes on the road, she recommends the ingenious . While you won’t get the torque that other multitools provide, the Ringtool, made from nickel-plated stainless steel, has five different-size Allen wrenches, a flathead screwdriver, a Phillips screwdriver, a bottle opener, and the T25 Torx screwdriver that fits most disc brakes. It’s designed to fit on your keychain, at just 2.5 inches in diameter and a nonbulky two ounces. I won’t go on another ride without it.

Lezyne Micro Floor Drive Pump ($65)

To keep her tires inflated, Klein loves her . “The chamber holds a lot of air, and it acts like a little floor pump, which is really effective.” The ABS Flip-Thread Chuck accommodates both Presta and Schrader valves. Klein likes how much air power this pump packs for its size. “You can get to full pressure and it doesn’t take forever,” she says. The only catch: It’s a little too big for a jersey pocket, so Klein takes it with her when she has room to in a backpack, frame bag, or pannier.

Wald Quick-Release Front Basket ($30)

Klein suggested I get a basket from Wald. The company, based out of Maysville, Kentucky, has been making bike baskets for more than 100 years. I opted for its bestselling , which is easy to install. It’s light, has a handle that also locks the basket on the mount, pops off easily for shopping, and at nine inches deep and over a foot wide, provides a lot of cargo space.

Rema Tip Top Touring Kit ($5)

The first rule of bike maintenance is always have a spare tire tube—and even then, always have a patch kit, says Klein. “What happens if you get a second flat?” comes in a turquoise case the size of a pack of gum and includes everything you need—patches, buffer, and cement—to make speedy repairs.

Simple Green Bike Cleaner ($10)

For deep degreasing, Klein uses . The company’s biodegradable Bike Cleaner and Degreaser comes in both trigger spray and aerosol packaging. The noncorrosive foam clings to even hard-to-reach areas and won’t harm your bike’s painted surfaces.

The post The Perfect Bike Kit for City Riders appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

“Are you a virgin?” the fluffer asked.

“Yes—yes, I am,” I answered. It was a Wednesday evening, and I was waiting for a group of strangers in front of the Oyster Bar in Grand Central Terminal. I’d found the location and time of our meeting online, and I’d shown up in my Brooks Ghost sneakers. I was about to experience something that was slightly bizarre, underground, and even cultish: a Hash House Harriers group run.

For the uninitiated, a hash is modeled after Hare and Hounds, the traditional English paper chase game. It’s like a fox hunt, where the hare is the fox and the runners are the hounds. It’s not a race, it isn’t timed, and there are no winners. Instead, everyone is rewarded when they find their way to what’s called the “On In,” usually a bar and always a new location for each hash, where everyone has beer and food. The only reason I even heard of hashing was that a friend mentioned it while telling the story of how she met her husband. As someone who is single, into running, and looking for a new workout, I decided to give hashing a try.

Tonight was my first hash, hence my virgin distinction. The hash’s official greeter, also known as the fluffer, was David Cabrera (hash name: Coneylingus). We waited as about 35 runners gathered in front of the Oyster Bar. There were a few more men than women, ages ranging from 20 to 70-plus. Some had the bodies of ultramarathoners, complete with beards and what appeared to be a total absence of body fat. Most looked like they were clocking serious weekly mileage. Still, the motto of hashing is that it’s “a drinking club with a running problem,” and sure enough, many headed inside the bar for a pre-hash beer. Our running shorts, compression socks, and sneakers stuck out among the after-work suits in the Oyster Bar. Coneylingus told me they referred to nonhashers as muggles, and I could not think of a better way to describe it.

I believe an aerial view of a hash would look like a real-life version of the board game Candy Land. The trail is like a puzzle with marks that are meant to guide the pack—and trick them to occasional dead ends. The hare sets the trail, usually an hour or two before the race. The rule of thumb is that it takes twice as long to lay the trail as it does to run it—the hare walks the course, carefully drawing arrows and other symbols using chalk, flour, paper, or Kool-Aid (if there’s snow). An X with a circle around it forces runners to split off in all directions to look for three consecutive arrows in a row, which indicates the true trail. “YFB,” or “You’ve Been F&%#ed,” means you’ve just followed a false trail and have to turn around. Even when you’re ahead, there’s always the chance you’ll end up sliding back into the Molasses Swamp.

Hashing also borrows from orienteering, a timed race through the woods that involves a map, a compass, and marks. While the hash incorporates off-road running in parks or neighboring forests and uses marks to navigate directions, its runners do not have the benefit of a map or compass. The other element of the run are the hash calls, the most important of which is “On on!” This lets everyone know that you’ve found the true trail. If a runner is not sure where to go, she calls out, “Are you?” which is short for “Are you on the trail?”

As someone who had never heard of hashing until this past summer, what struck me is that it’s been around a long time. Hashing dates back to 1938, when British officers in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, started a running club anchored by a hash house—a place to buy cheap food. And so the Hash House Harriers were born. According to the , which claims to have the definitive statistics on hashing, 2,036 groups are hashing in 1,326 cities in 184 countries. This thing is huge. If you Google a town in any country and add the word “hash,” there’s a good chance you’ll find a group organizing this secret sport.

I was more than a little nervous about this nighttime five-mile dash. I’d cheated and drawn several hash markings on my palm with a Sharpie just in case I ended up on my own and couldn’t remember what the symbols meant. I asked another runner if he would mind waiting for me if we went into Central Park. He said he would wait.

Soon we headed out onto the sidewalk. It was early October, and the city had finally cooled down to perfect running weather. We ran across the street, jaywalker-style, and then under a building through its carport, where the parking attendant yelled at us. The pack ran past banker types, who were forced to jump aside while the anarchy of our group sprinted by. And there it was: that thrill I hadn’t felt since I ding-dong-ditched the mean neighbor down the street when I was 12.

Here’s another thing about : I’ve been told it’s one of the fastest-paced hashes in the world. After all, the city is home to a serious running community and a high percentage of Type A personalities, and some people run every hash in the city, which averages about three a week—one in Brooklyn, two in Manhattan. My pace is on the slower side. When I ran the Brooklyn Half Marathon, I was unable to shake the guy holding the “2 hour 45 minute” pace card. I could never prove if it was deliberate, but there were times I swear that sign was carried directly above my head. And yet I kept up in this hash. I was digging the Mischief Night high.

We ran uptown and under the 59th Street Bridge, and again we came to a check. “On on!” We took off toward the water, running by some sketchy construction and up a ramp and along the East River. Neon signs reflected off the water, and for a short time a seagull flew beside me. The serene moment was broken only when I jumped over a dead rat.

After we crossed Fifth Avenue, I saw the man I’d asked to be my park buddy. “You told me to wait,” he said. Chivalry is alive and well and waiting on a dark corner leading into Central Park.

Together, we took off along an unlit trail that went up a rocky ledge. This is where a brief bit of orienteering came into play. It was almost pitch-black, and the marks were difficult to see, but other runners ahead of us called out, “Stairs!” Up we ran into the Summer House, a small open hut where two lovers were making out in a corner. All I could think was, I never see New York City like this.

Coneylingus believes the thrill of the hash lies in something more primal than the thrill of jaywalking. “It’s the hound in us chasing the hare,” he told me. He was right: That primal fear of being left behind and lost in the dark pushed me to shave a few minutes off my regular pace, and soon we were at the evening’s On In, , where we headed to the backyard garden for cups of water and pitchers of beer. Coneylingus, back in fluffer mode, told me that I would soon be “entering the circle” for my initiation.

There was only one other virgin that night, and we were both called into the middle of the circle of runners. I had seen lots of photos of people drinking from a plunger in the group’s online photo gallery, and I had worried this was a form of hazing I’d have to endure. Luckily, no plunger appeared, but the whole thing did resemble what I imagine it’s like to be inducted into a sorority. There was a song: “Here’s to the virgins, they’re true blue…” The chorus, “Down, down, down, down,” was our cue to gulp the entire cup of beer and then dump any remaining liquid on our heads. I was informed that my “mother hash” would always be HASHNYC.

Over pizza, I learned that some of the runners really were ultramarathoners and that many of the hashers were clocking 60 miles a week. Some had been doing hashes for decades, and some traveled the world to hash, often buying a plane ticket knowing only that they could crash with fellow hashers. And there were those who pointed out their exes across the garden—yes, they had met hashing.

The evening’s hare, Wed Not Dead (aka Diane Lowy), admitted that at times the hash is Tinder in real life. “Lots of people get together. There’s this one woman who shows up at the hash when she wants to get laid, and she does.” I got the sense that this is a tight community of friends who like to roast each other and knew each other well from years of hashing, who recognized a new face, and who went out of their way to make me feel welcome. It was clearly a refuge in a city that holds anonymity as a virtue.

By the time I crawled into my Lyft, reeking of sweat with a touch of adrenaline, I was surprised by how much fun it had been, how fast I’d run, and how much I loved the sweet subversive thrill of hashing in Manhattan. On the ride home, I wondered what dirty hash name I would one day earn, because I knew I would be back for more.

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