The Continental Divide Trail: Are there trans people on the trail?

Not one, not two

“The word fascism no longer has meaning except to the extent that it means ‘something undesirable.’”

— George Orwell, “Politics and the English Language” (1946)

W.We were back in the mountains and airplane mode was definitely on. But it didn’t help. He had been thinking too much. About the division. About morality. About violence, when it is justified and when it is not. We grow up reading about the glory of the Revolutionary War and the horrors of the Holocaust and somewhere in between there is a morality that is as difficult to understand as Einstein’s relativity. The Nazis threw millions of Jews into an oven, becoming the lowest point of Western civilization and in the process the pinnacle of evil. There was certainly no gray area anymore; certainly, violence against the Nazis was much more justified than against the British. Then a bullet passed through the neck of an Internet debater. He thought the shooter was shooting a Nazi and was therefore a hero, and not just to himself. The Internet had exploded with digital confetti. Millions agreed. A Nazi was dead. That clear.

But it wasn’t like that.

Words change, transform, are reused and reused. Some become nebulous contrasts of ideologies, and it seemed to me that the Nazis had been, so to speak, appropriate.

There are things I’m undecided about, I have yet to dig deep enough and long enough to come to a solid conclusion. Trans is one of those things. Do I deserve a bullet in the neck for that? Does asking questions in good faith cause me to fail a broader ideological purity test? Does that make me a Nazi too? If so, Nazi has lost its meaning.

For once, three days in the city had been too many. He had seen too much, read too much, thought too much. I knew this moment would come. When I would have to be honest, not about being sure, but about being insecure.

Nature and nurture, the inside and the outside, the brain and the body, the mind and the legs. They rotate together, they are inseparably singular, not one nor two. Non-dual as the great Nagarjuna would say. The masculine is real, the feminine is real. There are two biological sexes. Humans have complex minds. Everything falls on the Gauss curve. All true at the same time. But those truths are not reduced to a statement like: «people are what they say they are, and if you don’t accept that, then you are a bigot.»

What does this have to do with hiking?

In a sweet little mountain stream, no more than a foot wide, under a gray, rain-laden sky, stood a person Ice Cream and I had not seen since Butte, MT. Ten Percent was tall and thin, with a slim and androgynous figure, further enveloped by a loose long-sleeved shirt and straight walking pants. Clean shaven, with a hint of Adam’s apple and nice long hair. Ice Cream and I met Ten Percent on the first day at Looking Glass Base Camp. For me, despite the first androgynous look and melodious voice, my brain processed a man. Ice Cream saw a woman until the details began to make her wonder. It didn’t matter. Kindness was the answer in any case. For us, Ten Percent was first and foremost a hiking companion, and this was his first hike. I missed it. I screwed up. His. I struggled with this all the time and sometimes said the wrong thing out loud. I was always apologizing and correcting, but I also felt a little frustrated because kindness and compassion were not my only motivations. The fear was also there. Even before Kirk, the pressure was real. And I hate that they control my language. I am a lover of words. The words mean something; They are magical, and when I see something, I have to change the word I would use to describe what it is, it sticks in my mind.

«Wow! Ice cream and zen! Oh my god, it’s been forever.» your face, no, his face, do it right, remember, remember. His face was complicated. Genuine joy and surprise, but also perhaps a hint of disappointment. «How are you here now? Did you catch me?»

Ice Cream and I shook our heads together. I offered him a fist bump as we approached and a pat on the shoulder. «Don’t worry about it, Speedy Pants. We took the Big Sky, remember?»

theyhe damn it, he smiled. «Yes, that’s true, but we had to skip some of the winds because of that fire.»

«And we just took three days in Silverthorne.»

Ten percent had shared a hotel room with the four of us in Butte and at the fork to Big Sky had stayed with Toolman and Frito for hundreds of miles along the red line. «It lined us up!» I said, «We’re so lucky! How have you been? When was the last time you saw Toolman and Frito?»

Ten percent shrugged and looked a little sad. «It’s been a while since I walked with anyone. Do you mind if I walk with you for a while?»

«It’s my pleasure,» I said. «But you’ll probably have to slow down if you want to stay with us.»

«I can do that for a day or two. Normally I can’t do just twenty. Very slow, no offense.»

“None taken,” I pointed toward the trail. «Must?»

She, I did it right that time, I fell between Ice Cream and me and we fell into a rhythm, legs and mouths spinning together as we went. We talked about lobsters and pizza circles, Hank Green and the competition, pyramids and ideals. We would smile and laugh and suffer through a cold, wet mountain night, then shrug and share lunch later at a warm, dry restaurant in Grand Lake. But that comes later, for now we just walk.

Us It’s my favorite pronoun.

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