A trail project often begins with a person.

Someone sees an opportunity for a new trail system. Or maybe they recognize that existing trails need more attention. Or they start asking why their community doesn’t have better trail access.

They begin talking to other people. A few riders get interested, and they chat about it over beers at a local brewery after a ride. Someone knows a land manager. Another person has experience with grants. A local bike shop wants to help.

Eventually, someone asks the bigger question: "Hey, should we start our own trail organization?"

A blue trail in one mountain bike destination can feel suspiciously like a black trail somewhere else.

For experienced riders, figuring out those differences may simply be part of visiting somewhere new. But inconsistent trail ratings create a larger challenge for riders, trail builders, land managers, and destinations trying to communicate what someone should expect before dropping into a trail.

What if there were a common language?

That is the problem Mischa Crumbach and Edoardo Melchiori are attempting to address through the International Trail Rating System, or ITRS.

It’s rare, but on occasion you come across a trail that has surpassed itself.

It has become its own entity, a living thing that isn’t just dirt, rocks, and elevation. Alive in the friendships it creates and in the sense of belonging it invokes.

To the people who know it, the trail has its arms open wide, ready to become whatever you need it to be. A weekend vent for some, a place for memories for others, and for one rider, the weight that tipped the scale.

"Hey, you and your friends built JZ’s, right? Yeah man, that trail is so cool that it was a big reason that I wanted to move here."

One of the biggest misconceptions about social media is that creating better content requires a bigger budget.

We always think we need more cameras, more expensive software, more staff, and more equipment. I know I do too ...

Yet, for small nonprofit trail orgs, that can make communications feel out of reach before it even begins. But there's another reality at work.

For many trail orgs, there isn’t a communications person.

Trail building can take people in unexpected directions. For Zelzin Aketzalli, the path to working on trails stretches from the streets of Mexico City to mountain bike racing, thousands of miles of long-distance hiking, the jungles of Mexico, and trail projects across the United States.

Growing up in Iztapalapa, Mexico City, Aketzalli learned early how determination, sport, and time outdoors could shape a life. She went on to study engineering, race cross-country mountain bikes, complete the Pacific Crest Trail, and eventually become the first person from Mexico to complete the Triple Crown of Hiking.

Along the way, trail building became another part of that journey.

In the world of trail building, having the right tools directly translates to a better trail experience. But what if you could have a high-quality, multi-use tool that also fits in your backpack?

Enter the Trailtool Pocket, a versatile French-made tool including a collapsible shaft with a variety of heads. I’ve been using the saw, shovel, and their custom McLeod-like attachments.

Let’s dive in.

In the mountains of southern New Mexico, the difference between sanctioned and unsanctioned trails is not particularly close.

One local builder estimates that unofficial trails outnumber sanctioned trails by roughly ten to one. That ratio reflects a deeper divide over what kinds of trails should exist, who they should serve, and how long riders are expected to wait for something different.

Yes, there are sanctioned trails in the area. However, what is missing, according to the builder, are trails designed specifically for mountain bikes, particularly trails that challenge advanced riders.

The closest bike-specific trails are approximately 40 miles away and sit between 1,500 and 2,000 feet lower in elevation. During the summer, when temperatures rise across southern New Mexico, those lower-elevation trails can become uncomfortably hot.

For riders seeking steep, technical, and challenging terrain closer to home, the official network offers few options.

So they build their own.

Every trail builder knows the feeling.

A section has been damaged by water. Braking bumps have grown into deep holes. Rocks are pushing through the tread. A corner that once flowed now feels rough, loose, and tired.

The problem may be obvious. The harder question is what it will take to fix it.

Maybe the crew is working deep in the woods where hauling fresh material is difficult. Maybe a trail center cannot afford to keep a popular line closed for a week. Maybe the builders have the right machine on site, but not the right way to process the material beneath them.

This is the problem PTH Products hopes to address with the PTH Excavator Crusher EC-S, a compact attachment designed for mini excavators.

Mountain bike trails and bikepacking routes can create opportunities for rural communities. Long-term success, however, depends on earning the support of the people who already call those places home.

For years, advocates have argued that mountain biking can transform rural communities.

Now, new economic data from Tasmania suggests that, under the right conditions, that argument is no longer just aspirational. It is measurable.

A recently released economic impact report found that Maydena Bike Park generated an estimated $53.96 million annually for the Tasmanian economy, accounting for nearly 46% of the state’s entire mountain bike tourism economy. Of that total, $45.1 million came from interstate and international visitors, bringing significant new spending into the region.