Situational Leadership
A few months ago, I went off-road trail riding with some friends. All the transport vehicles met at a specific place and time, and we proceeded to unload the motorcycles and change into our riding gear. We were going to be riding the trail system in the Lake Silverwood area, and I had brought along one of the maps that the U.S. Forest Service provides. As we would be in a remote area, I also brought my ‘fanny pack’, a specially designed type of pack luggage that you wear around your waste. I use the fanny pack to carry tools, water, and other assorted types of survival gear.
Once everyone was dressed, we needed one more thing before we were ready to go. As is usually the case, I am elected “The Leader”. Having settled that, we set off down the trail. Very quickly I move to the front of the line, and everyone else falls in behind. As the leader, I can’t simply be ‘along for the ride’, and I immediately begin to think of all the additional things I will have to consider as the day progresses.
I ride at a fairly quick pace and begin to look backwards in order to assess the ability of anyone that is new to the group. Having to split my concentration between looking backward and looking where I am going is a risky, but a necessary first step. In any group of riders, it is inevitable that there will be a wide range of abilities. Some riders will be very skilled, and capable of a very fast pace. Others are less skilled and can not go as fast as easily as the others. It is essential that I make sure that the slowest rider does not feel pressured to ride faster than they feel comfortable in order to keep up with the group. If they crash and are hurt, the day is ruined for everyone. At the same time, the faster riders can feel frustrated at being ‘held back’ so I need to find the pace that will ensure our safety, and still allow everyone to have a good time.
As the day progresses, I am constantly looking behind me to check how far the group has become strung out. If we are spread out too far, we run the risk that someone will get lost, or try to ride too fast trying to catch up. When the group spreads out, I slow down and let everyone catch up. If we are bunched up too tight, I speed up and give the faster riders a chance to unwind. When I come to a trail crossing, I stop momentarily, and allow the group to assemble. I make sure that everyone takes the correct path as none of us wants to spend the day looking for a lost rider. I need to ensure that no one gets lost, and no one gets left behind.
Taking responsibility for the progress of the group is one function of a leader. When riding, all of us must cover the maximum amount of distance in the least amount of time. Many people can be working on the same project. While the project must be completed on time, unless everyone completes his or her part, the project is not considered complete, and everyone has failed.
Observing each rider also gives me a feel for their riding ability, not only in terms of how fast they ride but also how well they ride. Typically, trail systems vary a great degree in difficulty. Knowing each rider’s skill level assists me with planning our route. Taking less experienced, less skilled riders on too difficult a trail can be an invitation to disaster.
Leaders should have a feel for capacity. Being aware of everyone’s skill level at work helps me with planning projects and delegating responsibilities. While leaders must be aware of the need to stay with in capacity, they also must be willing to push the edges of capacity. Work should be difficult and provide a challenge, yet not be so difficult that failure becomes commonplace, and morale begins to suffer.
Around mid-afternoon, I spot something long and dark lying in the trail ahead. I brake so hard that the person behind me almost runs into me. The others stop much more easily. It is a rattlesnake sunning itself, and it is annoyed at our presence. The snake is a big one, five to six feet in length. Easily large enough to cause problems if I had I chosen to try to ride past it on the narrow trail. I shut off my engine and the others do the same. We watch the snake. It watches us back. In a few minutes it slides noisily off into the underbrush.
As we sit there, I think how much safer it is to be ‘a follower’ when on a trail ride. When you follow, you can devote your entire concentration to your own riding and what is happening in front of you. You can ‘key’ on the person ahead of you. That is, you get an advance warning of what is ahead by watching how the person ahead of you is riding. If they slow suddenly, it’s a clue that something is ahead, and you need to pay close attention. If their machine should suddenly kick sideways, you know there is a rough spot in the trail ahead, long before you see it. In a way, this means that everyone is a leader to some degree. You may not always be aware of it, but we look to each other for clues to how we should behave. We are all leaders by example.
Several times during the day I become unsure if our location. We think of a leader as the person who knows where to go. This definition of leadership seems to contradict reality. If I’m the leader, how can I be lost? I stop the group and we all consult the map. I quiz everyone on where they each think we are. Each of us tries to recall the landmarks we have recently passed and then compares their perceptions to the map. Frequently there is disagreement. After a few minutes, I announce where we are, and where we will head next, and then we set off again.
Occasionally we end up going in circles, but generally everything seems to always work out. I’ve been riding off-road for most of my life, and have repeated the map ritual hundreds of times, both as the leader, and as a member of the group. I still wonder, when I become disorientated, is this a failure of leadership? Maybe the occasional disorientation is a natural condition of leadership, and it is how you handle it that defines your skill as a leader. We involve others in the process of finding our way, and through the process we all learn and take ownership in the outcome.
Further into our ride, we come to a long, steep hill. It is springtime and the running water from the winter melt-off has carved a deep trench right down the center of the narrow trail. A small spring seems to emerge right in the center of the hill as it is still very muddy from the bottom to a point not quite all the way up. This is going to be difficult. We pause at the bottom and glance at each other. I know what they are waiting for. They are waiting for their leader. At times like this, I wonder if the others are seeking guidance or entertainment! I charge the hill.
Part way up the hill, I bounce of a large rock. My feet come of the footpegs and now I’m flailing, barely in control. In a desperate bid to save myself, I launch the bike towards the center of the trench and try to hang on. It works. The bike steadies for an instant, the rear tire catches some traction and I shoot up the trench. I feel good for an instant thinking how impressive this must look to the others. In another instant this changes again. As I progress up the trench, I get the sick feeling that this path was not my best choice. The trench gets deeper and narrower, and muddier. I finally come to a halt about three fourths of the way up the hill. The trench becomes so deep that the undercarriage of the bike is caught, and the rear wheel sprays a huge stream of mud and rocks before it is off the ground, spinning uselessly. A large cloud of steam rises up. I know the others are laughing.
I step off the bike, which at this point is pretty easy given the depth of the hole it is in. From my viewpoint part way up the hill, I can see that my approach was wrong, and doomed to fail. I yell down to the group to start up on the far-right edge of the trail, cut across the trail just before the large rock, and finish the hill along the far-left edge of the trail. This will be some fancy riding. It will require the precision placement of the wheels on a patch of ground only a few inches wide. It will require perfect timing of the turn, and precise throttle control. I wonder if everyone will be up to the task. One by one, each rider performs the move successfully. After a brief rest at the top, three people crawl back down the hill and we all drag my bike up the hill by hand.
Sometimes leadership must mean being the person who takes the first risk. When I went first, the others benefited from my experience. As the leader I was in a unique position to advise my group what was the best course of action to take. As the leader I wasn’t sure if we could make it, but I knew that to find out we had to try. If we failed, we would try something else. I also know that no matter how good things are going, they can change rapidly. To be a successful leader continuous adjustment is required. At the end of the day back at the truck, we sat around and relived the events of the day. We talked about the fast parts of the trail, the slow parts, and the really slow part where we carried my bike up that hill. We talked about the hard parts and the easy parts and how many ‘close calls’ we each had that day. We talked about how much fun we had, and when we would do it again. It was clear we weren’t just a bunch of guys chasing some other guy, we were a team.
Copyright 9/11/1998 Mark Kaiser
