It Wasn’t About Dying

Suicide isn’t selfishness.

Suicide isn’t about wanting attention.

Suicide isn’t meant to hurt others.

It is often the only thing that your loved one felt they could hold onto. Or worse, they feel it’s the best thing they could do for those that love them.

I grew up with so many damaging viewpoints around suicide. We treat suicide and depression like it’s something chosen or a matter of weakness. Well. I’ve never chosen them. And I’ve fought my whole life trying to get through them. It’s left me tired and broken. Often not sure which nightmare is real or imagined. The one of sleep or the one when awake. But I can tell you that often the hardest thing to do is face the colloquial tropes thrown in the face of the suffering.

“It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem”

Well my friends when YOU are the problem you see in your hurts how temporary can that be. Nothing can change the truth that you are you. We are beautifully complex beings with uniqueness that should never be hidden away. But what if the you you see has always been told it’s wrong. Too fat or too tall, too old too small, too dark, too light. too girly, too rough, always too not enough…

Realizing I am trans has both alleviated and aggravated so many of these emotions. I’ve been able to see myself in kindnes and beauty. But I’ve also struggled with a different sense of destruction when suicidal thoughts and depression hit. I never before cared about ending my own life. But now I feel like I’m destroying something precious for the first time. Like there was so much life to be lived if I could only get past the monster.

You might wonder why I can’t just see the beauty around me. The beauty in my children’s eyes. The smile of those who see me as a beautiful woman. The gorgeous scenery surrounding me just outside my door. The list of things that are beautiful were never the problem. My life has in so many ways been a beautifully decorated book containing a heartbreaking story.

Because like so many others: My depression tells me the only real bad guy in my story is me. That my gift to those I love is to take the pain of me away from them. To pull my story away from theirs. If it’s always raining somewhere then moving to a place that is sunny makes sense. But depression tells me I am the rain.

My plea is this to those that will wonder. Please love others. Most especially those who are on the fringes of society. Accept them for everything they are. You may not understand. But try to. Try like their life depends on it. Because it just may.

He Believed In Her

He told me he knew he loved me the first time he saw me. I was just a silly girl trying to feel pretty in the first time in forever.

He told me I was the kind of girl he always wanted to spend his life with. He then took a breath and faded away. I sat in that park and watched as so many people just meandered past. Could they know what I had lost? Could they have known what he meant to me? I mean sure, they saw him too, but they’d never really understand.

But maybe I could never understand what he meant to them. A father, a brother, a friend and lover. He is gone because of me. Maybe that’s why so many can’t seem to even utter my name without knowing they’ve lost him. Seeming to only see the him that’s gone rather than the girl he believed in. I’m here because he’s not. His sacrifice gave me the chance to live. There’s so many things he could have done, but he gave up all those moments for me. He gave them up because he loved me enough to see my future.

He’s gone. I’m here. My life is a testament to his heart. He gave me what I needed, a chance to exist.

I don’t blame them for missing him. But I wish they could see in me everything he hoped to be. I have a heart for those who are hurting, and his heart beats in me. I have a voice for those who aren’t heard, and it’s from his tongue the words flow. And I have his hands to hold those he loved, and those he could have.

I am the good in him. And I’m the her he always wanted to be.

A girl he believed in enough to no longer be. He believed In me. So for those who loved him, I hope you’d see him in me too. He’s not gone, he’s just become her.

Never Just

If you’re reading this blog chances are you also know of the world losing an amazing person last week.

Jessi Combs was killed doing what she loved while trying to drive a land speed car to yet another record. Her passing has rippled through a community of people who admired her. I am one of them. And tonight I told someone she’s the kind of woman I’d want to be. Hell, the kind of person anyone could want to be. She was a bad ass who exuded beauty that was so far beyond just a physical thing.

She was so many things to sooo many people. One thing she wasn’t; was “just”. She wasn’t just a woman, just a racecar driver, just a fabricator or just an artist. She wasn’t just talented, just beautiful, just funny, or just kind. To those who knew her well she wasn’t just a friend or a loved one. She was many things to many people, she was a person who truly lived.

And in that light I wanted to write again tonight. To create in the way that she often did. By doing something I love I hope I’m honoring her through this. So please bear with me.

It isn’t easy to live in the space of being me. And the last month I felt flooded by every derivative of negativity. There were days I barely left my bed. I was losing a battle more each day. I had to take a month off work to try and just survive. Honestly, I’ve been joking with many friends I didn’t think I would. But not so much for how hard things were, but for how little hope I saw in them. Part of what pulled me out of that was seeing myself in the mirror one simple morning. I saw me. Not even really the me in the mirror, but the me I wanted to be. I saw a girl who was more than just one thing. I am many things to many people. I am creative, I am kind, I am loving. I love to see things made into something more beautiful than how they started. I have depth like any other person, even when the monster isn’t letting me see it. And like Jessi Combs I am not just one thing.

And losing her to me was tragic because it felt a lot like losing Anthony Bourdain. I lost someone I looked up to and hoped to emulate. Amazing people who were so much more than just one thing.

So I finally got some miles under the bike. Pointed it west and found myself seeing Jessi and Anthony in little moments I think they would have appreciated.

I hope to honor them both by being the woman and person I want to be. This picture made me feel something that day. Made me remember to create and find beauty in things. To be more than “just”.

Thank you Jessi for showing the world what amazing looks like. For showing women everywhere that they too are so much more than just.

Transcending Hate

This weekend was Pride.

The riots that became a movement, the shattered closets and broken down walls that became the beautiful monuments. To me Pride was and has always been about acceptance. A moment, a day, a weekend, a month. Maybe even a life.

Embracing this crazy idea that WE ALL DESERVE LOVE.

As I said to the CEO of my company; I am a child of a Jewish immigrant family, I am a member of the LGBTQ community; and I’m proud of both of those. And the thing is, neither was a choice. I was born into a family that fled the pogroms. And like it or not, I was born with a truth that I didn’t fit into the social norms that said I should be or love a certain way.

As a Jew I was raised to know what that meant; to be proud of my heritage and what MY people fought and died for. To never be ashamed of that.

I won’t get into the racial stereotypes and racism I grew up around other than to say a school and church system that seemed to forget the greatest commandment made by of all people, a Jew. But I digress…

I was however raised to believe two other things that were followed by a litany of rules and regulations designed to oppress the women and the lesser than, the different or the otherwise unconventional. I was taught that anything other than a man loving a woman was a terrible abomination fitting of death and hell. Yet oddly it was never about a woman loving the man come to think of it. I guess the woman was supposed to do what she was told in whatever role the man decided.

Men were men only when they fit structures of physical strength and emotionless survival.

There were two people. Straight strong men and subservient women or the gays and other weirdos. You had the binary and everyone else.

And I knew as far back as I can recall which group I was in. Oh yes, I did everything I could to deny my truth. To deny what was the natural reflection of my heart. Yet through that battle and rejection I’ve only found a place where the monster has sat as comfortable and secure as they ever could. My heart had been a breeding ground for depression, suicide, rage, anger and self-hate. It nearly destroyed me and I could have lost my kids. It destroyed a marriage, friendships and too many moments to count. I survived through it by grace. And yes, often supported by those who claim the love of that old Jewish dude a few thousand years ago. I don’t hate authentic beliefs that lead you to love. If it wasn’t for a friends church I’d have successfully killed myself years ago. I will forever love them for saving my children’s parent.

So this all leads us to this:

I am trans

I’ve spent more than 30 years looking into a mirror and never seeing a reflection that felt right. It’s not that I thought I was ugly. But it was never the face I wanted to see. That is, until this.

My heart broke seeing a version of me that finally felt right. Seeing a genuine person looking back at me. A girl who finally saw themselves. No cover up up or filter, just the me I needed to see. I wanted to cry and grow my beard back. Much like Aslan shedding the scales from Eustace the pain was almost unbearable. But it hurt in a way that only beauty can. Like the sunset on the last day of the trip of a lifetime. It’s a beauty you that you feel pain because you fear you may never see it again.

The difference is this pain hurt because I was seeing it 30 years too late. I knew then that I had lost too many years to the lie that I had to fit the binary. And it hurt because I had to choose to let myself see it every day since. I had to accept I was shedding the dragon and each hair was a scale falling away. It burned but I had to let it so that I could finally be whole.

I had to become the me I was always meant to be. I had to let him die so that she could live. I had to save my life, even if it meant so much of me had to die.

But you see. I wasn’t alive. I was living a half life at best. Caught somewhere between hate and death.

I never felt at home in a male space. As my nephew said, “a womans heart”. I didn’t choose the roles I was forced to play. And this one wasn’t a choice either, but the thing is, I’m chosing to accept this one. I’m choosing to be the real me, and like it or not, this has already happened. I’m going to be the me I want, and the me I love.

And today I can promise you that although the monster is still talking, I know he’s lying. Because these are the words I’m hearing. The words I’m telling me.

I deserve to be me

I deserve to be happy

I deserve to love myself

I will be a better woman than I ever was a man. A better damn person

I am not made broken. But I am being made more whole every day

I am worthy to be loved right damn now and every day I have left

I will be the adult that I needed as a child

I am going to be a better parent now than I ever could have before


And the monster will be silent.

So please friends and those who I don’t know, please understand this:

You and I are all worthy. Worthy today and everyday till the end of time.

We are all worthy of life and love.

So I’m going to love me and love others with that love I’ve been keeping away.

I love you.



I’m Just A Loser


I’ve put off writing this one because it feels too real and too personal. It’s easy to share about myself and the shit I deal with in my own mind. It’s a lot harder to share when it’s about someone I love.

You see. It’s been a really draining and rough week. I’ve grown so accustomed to being alone that when I spend a solid week in offices and with people I struggle to find space for myself. And that struggle is like a breeding ground for the monster to jump in and taunt away. It sucks because much like someone who struggles with an addiction, the addiction often creates the need for more, and the need for more creates a greater addiction. It’s the proverbial downward spiral.

The general feeling of emptiness is exacerbated by health issues that make me that much more tired. Yet again another area the monster does so well in. And with two young energetic boys being tired doesn’t work too well. Anyone with kids knows the ability they have to push when things get harder.

One of the days this week it came to a crescendo with my youngest running back into the house covered in tears. I stood there just looking at his older brother with a sense of hopelessness. I just wanted them to play kindly. But, I knew I needed to go sit with my youngest regardless of how tired I was.

In his room he was weeping and sat there next to me lamenting how much of a failure he was. He covered his face and said, “daddy, I’m just a loser”.

My heart felt shattered.

He has dealt with so many things already in his life. It’s manifested in ways that are truly heartbreaking. But out if it has grown this amazingly kind and accepting little boy. He loves people and will talk to everyone. Especially if they have a puppy.

Doing my best not to break down in front him I told him all of what I saw in him. Where he was an amazing and loving person. How he is so good at so many things. How there is nothing wrong with him. How he is perfect the way he is. And how I am proud of him. I am lucky to be his daddy. I just held him and assured him he was loved and will always be.

My son is 8. Yet he knows the desperation of feeling like a failure. He’s struggled with depression and anxiety. My plea to the universe is that the monster is never an audible voice in his heart.


I know that I can’t stop every moment of sadness or feeling of failure in his life. I can simply keep reminding him of each obstacle I’ve seen him conquer.

I can tell him I love him. I WILL tell him every day. He will know that I love him simply because of who he is.

And my friends. This brings me to someone I’ve never loved: me.

You see. I would never let someone be as fucked up to another person as I so willingly am to myself. And I don’t recall a time I didn’t feel this way.

I was 12 when I first gave into the monsters voice . Today my wandering led me back to the spot I first tried to kill myself. I sat there and recounted the moments that brought me to that darkness. I know I would have given anything to have someone sit with me and just tell me their love was simply because I was me. That the demons and hell I’d been through didn’t define me.

That I wasn’t the sum of my scars.

That my scars meant I had survived. That I was bigger than they were. That I still had anything valuable in me.

And the truth is; 25 years later I still don’t truly believe in the value of me. I see a reflection in a mirror I wish was someone else. I see a broken heart rather than a mosaic that has a beauty all its own. And riding around other spots from my childhood I wondered if I’d ever really understand.


Eventually I hope I’ll be able to understand that the worth I see in my son is true in me too. That I have value because I’m a human. I truly believe there is worth in every person. That every person deserves to be loved.

And some day maybe I’ll understand that means me too.

So my friends I would ask you to tell someone you love them. Tell someone they’re worth it. Simply share some goodness with each other.

Storm Shelters

There’s one thing you can just about guarantee while riding in Colorado during the summer.

We have some epic storms.


There’s a slight thrill in getting on the bike and knowing you run a gamble of hail, major wind, flooded roads, maybe a tornado…  Hell, it’s a good time if you don’t mind the risk.  I’ve never understood the people who only ride when the weather is nice.  Where’s the thrill or that sense of adventure that makes a motorcycle such a blast?

And the last week has had some kick ass storms.


If you ever get a chance I highly recommend riding along the Flatirons in between Golden and Boulder.  It’s an easy highway ride along 93 that can be made into a nice afternoon.  Hit any of the little shops in Boulder for lunch or maybe start the day in Golden with a nice breakfast.  You can’t go wrong and you’ll enjoy it. And if you have time head over to the Peak To Peak.


If you’re lucky you’ll get to watch the summer storms from the comfort of your chosen place.


If you’re slightly unlucky you might get caught in the storm And have to ride it out.

But hey.  When the storm comes you might even get luckier and have the immense privilege of having people tell you to quit being a pussy; to just shut up and ride it out; maybe that somehow honoring the humanity in each of us is a message of hate… You might even get lucky and have people flat out tell you they don’t care about whatever demons you see in life.

You see.  The truth is that this blog may not be much about motorcycles.  If you’ve come here for that: I’m sorry to disappoint you.  I’d be glad to send you plenty of riders who write impeccable stories and trip reviews.

At the end of the day, I really don’t care about motorcycles.  Not in the way that you would expect. Because of the bike I’ve been some amazing places.  But the fact is I’ve held a baby who was literally thrown away.  I saw more beauty in that child than I ever could in some machine. Even one I’ve built and bled on like mine.

“What the hell” you might say.  How could I not care about motorcycles?  This is a blog about them; it’s about the amazing places I’ve been because of the bike.

Well my friend.  It just ain’t.

The bike is just the tool I use to find something that resonates in my own soul. To seek out others who are lost in the storm as well.  And maybe through the bike and this blog I can share or allow them to share something more.  To allow them to shine a light on their own darkness and monsters.

But this week, and especially through my last post on this blog I’ve remembered why I never cared about the bike itself.  Because unfortunately much of this community would rather be the monster than provide shelter from him.

And you know what?  That’s not the people I care to associate with.  That’s a toxic poison that I don’t need or want in my life.  And it’s not one I hope to ever put in another’s life. So for those who would rather hurl insults than sit down and talk.  I’m honestly sorry for you.  Some of the best conversations I’ve ever had have been with those who I had nothing in common with.

As for me.  I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing here.  I’m going to ride places and hopefully talk about the rides and roads that got me there.  I’m going to keep hoping that something more important will come of the rides.

I’ll take Marty at a McDonalds and Lonnie at some little cafe before I write about the Alps or the endless beauty of a coast.  I’ll keep looking for the chance to be a shelter from the storm for someone else.

Because at the end of the day a motorcycle is just a machine.  But every human deserves love.


Better Than This


If you ever want to see the beauty of America I recommend riding through the part of Colorado we just spent a week in.


Cinnamon Pass, Sangre de Cristo Mountains, Telluride, Silverton, Ouray….


I mean, the list of places to see could go on forever. And without reservation I can say this is the prettiest part of Colorado I’ve ever seen.


And if you ever want to see the darkness of America I recommend reading what seems to be the norm these days.   Innocent people dying in shootings, or worse, what the government is doing with our borders.  Tearing children from their parents, sticking people in cages, subhuman treatment, just a fucking darkness and a true crime against humanity… Truly I am ashamed of this government.(Editors note:  an executive order was signed stopping this policy after the article was written)

I’m growing weary of humanity.  It’s harder and harder to see much hope these days.


Honestly… I’ve spent quite a bit of the last week in a rage.  A rage beset by seeing this country mirror a brutalist regime rather than anything similar to the beauty of the earth she contains within.  A rage brought by a monster that had taunts so well placed even finding joy in the journey was damned near impossible.

I was getting my ass kicked this week.  The roads were generally brutal and the monster spent the week feasting on my heart.  Feeling like I needed to be better.  A better rider, a better father, a friend, or fuck; just a better damned person.

I’ve been reeling from a loss that blurred everything because I allowed myself to look up to someone, to hope that I too could make a difference in the way they did.

This week I tried rather unsuccessfully to focus on the ride in front of me.  But honestly, the journey so many face is so much more important than what I was doing.  So much more brutal.

But I digress.

To the ride…

Well, we hit a mountain pass that saw some of the worst roads we’ve ever taken our bikes.  The pics of the road itself don’t do it justice.


Many people were in complete bewilderment that I even dared try it, much less made it to the top.  Granted the ride down was truly exhausting on the bike and she was on her side and upside down a time or two.


Throughout the next two days various people came up to me just having even heard about it.  It was honestly cool and I wish I could have spent more time sharing with others about this blog and the monster.

We decided after a few days that we were too exhausted to keep in the mountains so we wandered our way over to Moab, UT via a slight detour over to Mesa Verde to check out the cliff dwellings.  Because you know, Moab will be easy riding…. Right.


Tightening things on the bike yet again…


Just about everything had come loose over the last 500 miles.  Less than an hour later I had thrown my helmet on the ground and walked away from the bike.  I was ready to give up.  To slam onto the highway and cut the ride short by a day.

You see.  I was tired.  I hadn’t slept much in the last week.  I was exhausted from roads that were anything but easy.  I was emotionally exhausted from what felt like weeks of one loss after another.  I just didn’t want to do anything anymore but shut down.

And here is the truth of it all.

I’m a broken and fucked up person. I dance with the devil much easier than I can find rest and peace.  Most days I see a reflection in the mirror that disgusts me.   I get why so many give into the monster.  Because fuck; he’s got a point.

This world is dark.  It’s fucked.  And generally, it doesn’t seem like there’s much hope.

But you know what.  Fuck the monster.  I may someday go his direction.  But not today.  Not this week.  Because what I know is that in the last week I was a part of some things that were bigger than my own issues.

Hell, they were bigger than the mountains we crossed.

I’ve shared the hope in the darkness.  I’ve helped others shine the light on the monster in their lives.  I’ve talked with those who’ve rarely had a kind voice from “my kind of people”.

And you know what.  I’m going to keep fighting for the rights of those who don’t have someone fighting for them.  Because maybe the monster exists in my life only in my mind.  But the fucking monster might be another person in the lives of others.  That much I can fight against.  I can refuse to sit by and let the darkness spread.

I can fight for something better than this.  Because we; us; HUMANS are better than this.  We must be.

Maybe we can’t silence the monster in everyone’s lives; but we can sure as fuck refuse to be the monster in others.

We can refuse hate.

We can embrace love.  Acceptance.


For Anthony


I’ve spent the day fighting the truth of losing one of the greats. The truth that the world is a bit less bright without his voice in it.  He showed humanity on levels that most would never dare to approach.  He showed that there’s a little of everyone in us all.  That deep down we’re not really much different.  That if you really look there is beauty even, if not especially, in the dark places.


I would give have given so much to have been able to shake his hand and thank him for episodes and stories that truly touched me.  In Gaza, in Thailand, in Argentina…. I mean truly, the man reached so many by just showing humanity wherever he went.

In the Argentina episode he talked so candidly about his struggles with depression.  He was so honest and raw about it.

I’ve hoped that if anything I ever wrote amounted to something it would be like his work.  That someone who couldn’t give a shit about motorcycles would be touched because I showed something that reached them.

In Anthony Bourdain I saw much hope because I sensed the monster was close to him too.  But in spite of that he reached and shared goodness to all. His show wasn’t about food.  It was about humanity.

It was about us.  All of us. And I truly believe the world lost one of the greats.

I don’t know how to mourn him. I cried today.  I didn’t think I even could anymore.  I didn’t think I’d ever let anything touch me like that again.  But holding back the tears was impossible because my heart was breaking.

So tomorrow I’m going to ride motorcycles with my boys in the morning.  I’m going to love them and tell the monster to fuck off for a day.  I’m going to then wander the city after I drop them off.   I’m going to find a way to honor his memory.

Probably a long motorcycle ride, a mid day beer and the company of strangers at a food truck.

Thanks for kicking ass Anthony.  May you have found the peace you brought to this world.


Peak To Peak

20180521_170504.jpgSome days you just need to take the long way home.  Some days it’s because home doesn’t feel real.  The hopelessness of the monsters taunts.  And other days it’s because the journey is taking you somewhere beautiful.  Maybe even somewhere the monster doesn’t seem real.

I had the 2nd type of the ride this week.  If you ever happen to find yourself anywhere near Estes Park in Colorado then you should get to know the Peak To Peak ride.   Many could contest where to start it (Mt Evans, Idaho Springs, Blackhawk, whatever ).  I’ve done the entire journey multiple times as I’m just outside of Golden.

But if you start at Mt. Evans and take the road all the way to Estes you can ride it in a few hours.  You go from one peak to the next. It’s gorgeous and the twists are some of the best rides in the state.20180523_142517

But you can also do what I did today and wander from Estes Park back down towards Golden. There’s a load of different canyon roads off the Peak To Peak, both paved and otherwise that an intrepid soul can find themselves riding.   If you even gave yourself a few days to spare I assure you continual views and brilliant riding all over the area.

I really did just wander around today.  Taking the long way to Jamestown, back over to Ward, some light offroading and dirt off Left Hand Canyon… Just going wherever.


Really just having no general idea of where I’d end up was nice for a change.  But it got me thinking and I let my mind wander as well.  That’s generally when the monster shows up and throws his two cents in.  “I should go home”, ” I didn’t need to be out riding…” And the taunts only got worse from there.  Guilt set in and I pointed the bike back towards home and fell into a weird place.  The ride was becoming the first type.  I was getting swallowed by it all pretty quickly.  I wasn’t taking the pictures I wanted because, “next time” kept ringing in my ears.  Yeah, I’ll end up back here I’m sure.  But “next time” is all too often a way to delay the “never”.

So I stopped and sat by a river and watched the water flow over the rocks. The way the river twisted around through all the valleys made me realize that without the valleys the peaks wouldn’t be anything.


Those high places are beautiful because of the low ones in between.  Hell, even this valley was ravaged by a flood years ago.  The rebuilding is creating something new and beautiful.  Maybe even something better…

I don’t know.  And maybe I’ve lost my path for this post because the last few days have been dark.  The monster a bit louder than I’d like.  But maybe that makes sense for now.  I wandered from peak to peak because I was hoping to find some sign of hope in the valleys.  I found some clarity at least.  And for now that’ll have to be enough.

Weighed Down

You wake and the clouds are already all around.  The storm is coming and you can already feel it.  As you ride through the wicked wind storm getting blown around all day you’ll know that tiredness that purveys everything.  And you look across the horizon and the sky stays grey and dark as far as you can see.   Just breathing and accepting that all you can do is push through and hope that you’ll somehow get through the storm without laying on the highway and watching everything slide away.

DSC_0067This is the nature of the monster.  He’s a vile fucker and follows no rules.   He’ll show up and tear shit apart without rhyme or reason.

For me he shows up in forms of feeling like a bad father, failed provider or friend.  That overwhelming sense that the best gift you could give those you love is to leave.  On principle I know this isn’t true.   But that doesn’t stop the dreams and thoughts from feeling like a literal weight.   That heaviness on your shoulders and the sheer exhaustion.  Just hoping that the next moment might be the one that shows you some hope.

The fucked irony is that these days often find themselves intertwined in the only moments that feel worth it.  I spent the last five days with my kids.  We had fun, they rode their new dirt bikes, and I got to watch them play as I worked from home.  It would seem a charmed life to many.   But the monster has sat in the corner with me much of the last few weeks, seeming intent on reminding me that I’m just fucking up their lives, that I would give the best gift of the lack of my presence.

So I fight through the clouds of doubt doing my best to ignore the monsters taunt.  I push through the sightless fog even though I have no idea when the storm is going to break.  And in as much as the shitty days make no sense the beauty found after the nightmare is often some of the most breathtaking.

I don’t know what the next bend is going to bring.  I don’t know where the next road is going to lead.  Hell, there’s days I’m too worn out to even want to get out of bed, much less get on the bike.   There are days where I put my kids to bed as the overwhelming feeling of failure has me struggling to even fight back the tears.   For so many these days overwhelm the beauty that is often too few and far between.

For me I know that all I can do is keep going.   After some corners I’m still in the clouds with the monster whispering in my ear.  I’m struggling to breath.

But there are those moments when I round the corner to the smile of my son as he says, “daddy, I love you” as he hands me his heart.


So I shift down, drag the corner and smile.   The monster isn’t going to win.