Authors Note: I've been missing posting weekly stories. I just finished this piece this morning. I've submitted it a few places, but likely won't hear back, I'm going to post it here. It's 100% Non-Fiction. My pen name is Sarah Hillcrest, my real name is Mattie. Since cycling is a common thread here I thought some of you might enjoy it.

The Skirt I Carried Across Kansas

I walk into the school after a seven hour bus trip across Kansas and see eyes follow me, something I’ve grown used to. I’m not that unusual looking, 5’10” tall for a woman, but not that tall. Normal height for a man. I'm wearing very plain shorts and a T-shirt. My hair is pulled back with a hairband. I’m wearing pink slip on sandals my wife gave me. The looks I’m getting are from people’s brains glitching, is that a man or a woman.

I walk past people to a bathroom, boldly taped to the door with blue painters tape is a sign explaining Kansas’ Senate Bill 244, a sex assigned at birth bathroom bill warning me that using the wrong bathroom could cost the organization $25,000, and me personally a $1000 fine, misdemeanor charges and liability to lawsuits.

I’m suddenly questioning my decision to ride my bicycle across Kansas.

I personally have nothing to worry about, I’m using the men’s room. Not because Kansas told me to, but because I’m not ready. I wouldn’t walk into a women’s room in any state. This bill is directed at people more confident than I am.

I pee standing up. I don’t want to rock the boat. I’m still contemplating social transition but I’m here to prove something to myself: That I can be trans, and still do the things I love. Like ride my bike until I’m utterly sick of riding my bike.

A supported bicycle tour across a state is a very queer thing. Hundreds, maybe even thousands of mostly older people dress in skin tight lycra and ride outrageously expensive bikes distances that boggle the mind of non-cyclists. We hear it constantly, “You mean you’re telling me you rode that contraption 74 miles?”

“Yes and tomorrow we’re riding 72.”

“You all must be crazy.”

“Yeap.”

After waking up before dawn, putting on our lycra clothing and slathering ourselves with sunscreen we set out for hours of pedaling to arrive at another tiny town. Gym rats like me rush to unload the truck and claim a good spot in the gym where we can unroll our bed mats. Outdoor campers find prime real estate under a tree. It looks like we’ve all been forced to evacuate from our homes. The next day we’ll get up and do it again.

Or at least most of us will. Some people actually are crazy for thinking they can do this. They haven’t prepared. They don’t have the physical and mental experience to endure hours of cycling everyday. That’s why SAG drivers exist. SAG stands for support and gear, but it’s basically people who drive around in trucks. If a rider needs help they will rescue them. I wonder if I will need to be rescued? If I’m prepared for this ride? And then there’s this other thing I’m doing. This being visible-as-trans thing.

Soon I’m enveloped by the familiar sights and sounds of a bike tour, the clicking of free hubs, laughter, and the discussion of various chain lubricants. The average age is probably 50. There are more men than women. Bicycle touring is popular among retirees and empty nesters whose jobs provide ample vacation. It’s like a family reunion, people are coming together, shaking hands, talking about how they haven’t trained enough.

We’ve all been issued name tags, with our full names, town, and state. I hate name tags. I’ve always hated wearing a name tag. I’ve only really recently figured out why. I peel off my name tag and throw it away. A couple walk by, holding hands like lovers. Their name tags declare them to live very close to me, which is quite a coincidence since I live 1000 miles away. I don’t recognize them and they have different last names.

I approach them to say hello and tell them where I’m from. They look like deer caught in headlights. Nervous smiles do nothing to cover up fear and shame. They nod and quickly move away. I wonder, do I look so much like a freak they can’t stand to talk to me. I just got my ears pierced, I’m wearing rainbow bracelets. Then I realized, this man and woman have a secret. They’re not terrified of me, they're terrified of what I represent. Home.

***

I wake up at 4:30 AM and go to the bathroom to shave and take my estrogen. I’m greeted by a wrinkled rear end and dangly bits as a man changes into his lycra riding shorts. I steel myself to the fact that I’m going to see many old naked rears and penises on this ride. It’s no big deal.

I get dressed in my cycling shorts and jersey, fill water bottles, pack my bags and haul them to the luggage truck. After a quick breakfast I’ll take off at 6:15, facing a strong cross wind. I feel strong, I make good time and pass other riders. Four hours later I’m 50 miles in, still on the same perfectly flat, never ending road. This is the most tedious bike ride I’ve ever been on.

Eventually I catch a woman, she is younger and more animated than many of the people I’ve passed. We greet each other and I continue past. A few minutes later I hear, “Car back,” screamed loudly. Car back is universal cyclist language indicating that a vehicle is coming up behind us. She’s sped up and not that far from me. A few minutes later I hear it again, screamed at the top of her voice. I feel guilty and slow down, she’s going to lose her voice if she keeps yelling.

We connect back up and she asks me my name. There was a microsecond of calculation before I say, Mattie.

“Hi Mattie,” she says without hesitation. It is frictionless. She gives me her name and we spend the next several miles drafting one another, talking about cycling and the tour. From here on out I am Mattie to her. I stop at the next sag stop to pick up water and she continues.

After six hours of riding I eventually arrive at the next school. I’ve made a mistake, spending too much time tucked in low on my aerobars fighting the wind. My neck and shoulders are wrecked. At this school I am not greeted by threatening signs at every bathroom, in fact I’ll never see or hear mention of Senate Bill 244 on this ride again. I grab my bags and head to the shower.

This was the part of the week I dreaded, locker room showers, no privacy, and my changing body. I stood there soft and hairless among hairy men and nobody looked twice. In the locker room, men are invisible to each other. I was invisible too.

My neck and shoulders were a problem though, so I go to the massage therapist. She looks me up and down and I can see that moment of confusion. She explains that she usually books massages but she can work me in. She kneads and prods sore muscles. It helps.

Mennonite women in their long dresses began flooding into the school with pies. The men, all wearing button up shirts, set up a grill. Apparently this town is a Mennonite strong hold and they are here to sell food and drinks to us. I step outside to buy my meal and a cluster of young Menno girls is blocking my way. One of them looks me up and down, her eyes are wide, she covers her mouth with her hand. The girls giggle and get out of my way. I smile big. I imagine they’ve never seen a trans person in real life before.

I sit back and watch the Mennonite women cut and plate pies. This religious group, like their more famous Amish cousins, have strictly enforced gender roles. But unlike the Amish they own cars, use electricity and their dress code is a little less restrictive. I admire their long dresses, there is no ambiguity here. Oh and their pie is delicious.

At night there is a big gathering in the cafeteria and they begin to sing hymns. Everyone is welcome to join in. They practice this, they are quite good. As I sit there listening to them sing about Jesus, it all catches up with me. All the looks, introducing myself as Mattie, the giggling girls. I’m a thousand miles from home with nothing but a duffle bag and a bicycle. I’m crying and I can’t stop.

***

I should tell you about myself. I’m 47, after years of trying to write it off as a quirk, a fetish, and a weakness, about a year ago I faced up to the fact that I’m trans. Someone on reddit recommended that I read “The Dysphoria Bible” and I felt like it was written to me. One of the key elements from the Dysphoria Bible that let my egg crack was the understanding that I could admit to myself that I was trans and not transition.

That lasted about a month.

In a desperate attempt to save my balding head I started Finasteride and a low dose of Estrodiol, purchased online. A few months later I went to Planned Parenthood.

I’m on my way to non-binary, something I call “trans-lite.” Female clothes, but not too feminine. Out to some people, but not everyone, and still talking with a man’s voice. I’m not fully committed, I’m scared of losing everything.

Also I’m not completely alone on this trip, I’m here with a riding friend who lives a few states away. I hadn’t seen him in 3 years. When making plans for the trip on a phone call I came out saying, “okay, you need to know. I’m transgender. I’m not fully out yet, but I’m different. Is that okay?”

He said, “Huh, yeah okay. So I’m trying to decide what tires to ride.” It was never mentioned again. We spent hours discussing television and mutual riding acquaintances while I introduced myself as Mattie to every stranger we met.”

***

After a few days it all blends together. Wake up at 4:30 AM, be on the road at 6:30 to beat the heat. Force feed myself bananas. New high school, new town, new people, new food. Sometimes I don’t know what day it is and what town I’m in.

Every day my clean clothes bag got smaller and I got closer to the floral skirt that I packed but didn’t really intend to wear. I wore a very pretty pink women’s cycling jersey with flowers one day. An older lady on an ebike rode up beside me and said, “Oh my gosh your jersey is so pretty.”

At a rest stop I zombie walked up for water and a woman said, “You got this girl. Now finish strong.” I melted. Everyday when I finish my ride and go into a new school I see the massage therapist. She smiles and checks on me.

I figure one of the best ways to fit in is to be the best version of myself I can be. I smile, I hold doors for people, I help unload the luggage truck everyday. I volunteered for a day of SAG work. It’s hard to dislike someone when they are fixing your flat tire.

One day a staff member walked by and we exchanged smiles. She turns and round stops me. “So what are your pronouns?”

The smile is frozen on my face. I’m stuck and I don’t know what to say. This has never happened before.

“I don’t know.” I replied.

She looks concerned, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to… Isn’t that what I’m supposed to ask?”

“No, no, that's perfect. I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m… I’m trans, I’m like trans-lite I guess. I’m not sure what I am.”

She steps closer, “It must be so hard, especially here. I want you to know I support you. I’m proud of you. I’m glad you’re here.”

It was like oxygen. I floated there for a moment unsure of how to respond other than to say thank you. There is no way that I could tell this person how much gratitude I had for this moment of kindness.

***

The last day had everyone relaxed. It was a relatively short 50 mile ride to a park where a catered meal was provided by the ride. I volunteered to serve food. There were smiles and laughter everywhere, kids playing, and many goodbyes. We had to hurry though, many of us had to catch a bus to take us back to Kansas City where we parked for the week. I thought very seriously about wearing my skirt, but I talked myself out of it. I didn’t want to make my friend uncomfortable on the bus ride. I chickened out.

The massage therapist came by, she told me how great I did and gave me a hug. The staff member who was the first person to ask my pronouns wanted a hug. The SAG coordinator I had volunteered for, and many riders who had talked to me throughout the week all said goodbye. Finally the older beared tandem rider with a kind face who I had drafted off of approached me alone. It was the first time I’d seen him without his wife.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry to ask. I hope this isn't inappropriate. I've noticed you present very female. What are you? Are you a them?”

I was more prepared this time. I had thought about how I would answer this question if it came up again. I smiled and said, “I’m transgender, I’m taking female hormones and working towards she/her but as of now any pronoun is fine. Really I’m just Mattie.”

He nodded, “Oh, so you are transitioning. okay, so how has that affected you?”

I checked my watch, I had time for this, but just barely. “It’s been amazing. I feel more like myself than I ever have. I had some compulsive behaviors and they are gone. My body is changing and I feel more at peace. My wife is worried though.”

His eyes opened wide, questions came rapid fire., “Oh… You’re married? How long? Any kids? Is your wife okay with this?”

I shook my head, “She’s concerned, she likes that I’m happier, but she’s worried where this is going. We’ve been married for 26 years, we couldn’t have kids.”

He nodded and leaned in close, “Is your wife still your best friend?”

I smiled, “Yes.”

He went on to tell me that his church had recently made the decision to open up to LGBTQ people. I told him I identified as LGBTQ but thought sometimes they were too aggressive. That I wanted to be myself without making other people uncomfortable.

“I noticed that about you Mattie. I can tell you’re a good person. I wish you luck.”

We shook hands and I walked to the bus and thought about what I had just said. Did I just throw people like me under the bus? Did I just make myself smaller? I didn’t wear my skirt all week, Kansas didn’t stop me, Mennonites didn’t stop me. Fear stopped me, or maybe it was the quality this man just praised me for, caring more for others then myself?

Either way, I endured. I’m sore, tired, and burnt by the wind and sun, and even though I never wore my skirt, people noticed.

I’m left with one question. If I chose to do this ride next year, after 12 more months of change, would I be welcome? Would there be a place for me to pee?