Price & Purpose
I suppose I’ve never been all too afraid of contentious statements, of going against the grain. I have, however, learned over the years how to do so deliberately and purposefully. In other words, I’ve become better at trying not to be an ass about it. So, before I get to the thesis statement of this article, I figured I’d provide something that is rarely, if ever, utilized in the literature of mountain biking culture: references to scientific articles.
Effects of recreation on Animals revealed as Widespread Through Global Systematic Review. PLOS ONE 2016. Larson et al.
A meta-analytical review of 274 other scientific articles on how outdoor recreation affects wildlife. Primary results include a trend of over 59% of interactions being negative.
The Amenity Trap: How high-amenity communities can avoid being loved to death. Headwaters Economics 2023. Lawson, M. & Smith, K.
An economic report following multi-year trends of outdoor-oriented communities who have gone down the path of centering their economies on recreation & tourism. Of note is the repeated trend where new trails & trail centers attract new residents and entrepreneurs, thereby boosting general public health and tax income; the resultant influx leads to less affordable housing and the displacement of long-time residents. In essence, blatant recreational tourism is often impactful to locals and breeds resentment and class structure.
But I’m not here to tell you trails are bad – in fact, quite the opposite. What I will stand behind is that the paradigm of trail advocacy has changed in that most organizations realized the money was in selling new trails as community benefits rather than scraping together funding for maintenance or restoration, and that has hurt the sport in the long run.
Take IMBA in the 1990s: advocacy for bike access to trails, facilitating cross-country volunteerism in maintenance, and helping host national mountain bike race series that took place on the pre-existing multi-use trails.
Whereas today, IMBA relies heavily on income from its Trail Solutions for-profit trail-building arm, which charges its member organizations five figures for its “expert trail design” and has a starting price of construction at $15,000 a mile. It is in championing the constant creation of new trails, especially “flow trails,” that this sport jumped the shark. We lost touch with the community, local culture, and most importantly, nature.
Beyond the dollars flying out the door, trails come at a cost, especially in terms of ecosystem and cultural degradation. And if the last paragraph didn’t make it clear, this myriad of new trails has little if any “purpose” other than to provide the same old recipe of trail to yet another community so they can then sell it themselves to tourists. I believe in the fast food world; they call that a franchise, and personally, I’d argue most flow trails are about as exciting as a McDonald’s burger – in that I really don’t want either one.
I’m sure in the span of a few sentences, I’ve ruffled more feathers than make up the plumage of a common merganser. But the reality is, everything I’ve said above isn’t really new – it’s just that the discussion is happening away from mountain bike culture because most of us just don’t want to hear it.
Don’t take my word for it: in the first few months of 2023, two separate trail centers that had been in planning phases for years were cancelled, totaling over 60 miles in Oregon and Colorado, in large part due to their estimated negative impacts on the environment and local communities.
The rest of the world, most notably land managers, are beginning to recognize the sour side of becoming a “tourism destination,” encouraging “flow trails,” and the endless chanting of “more trails, better trails.” More than anything, the rest of the folks who don’t ride mountain bikes but who make up communities as a whole have seen through the smoke and mirrors act of “sustainable trails” and are hoping to connect with us at a human level – where does mountain biking connect with history, culture, and nature, rather than just existing in a microcosm of individuals trying to be rad.
Gosh, I don’t like complaining – and I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t a trail builder myself, namely one who struggles to find funding for the side of the sport I care about, which is why this article is more about solutions and conversation.
There’s a reason why the title of this is “Price & Purpose” and not “Stop Building Trails.” What I hope to see is dialogue —a positive back-and-forth between industry, community, and land managers —wherein trail restoration and maintenance are given an equal seat at the table.
Where ecosystem health is considered an equivalent measure.
Where “purpose” means equity in access, diversity, historic preservation, community building, or even, every now and then, plain old fun – just so long as it aligns with the underlying foundations that we all rely on as humans: community and nature.
It’s high time that trails weren’t just something to be sold, but instead seen as a part of our interaction with greater ecosystems. If there aren’t a gaggle of scientists, from ecologists to geologists, if there aren’t representatives from those who came before, from indigenous to multi-generational farmers, if there aren’t stakeholders, from botanic gardens to hunters, sitting at the table when trails are in their infancy stages of discussion, well that’s a pretty good sign that we’re being selfish, and maybe a little ignorant, about it.
Whether you’re a builder or a connoisseur, hopefully, there’s a moment on your next ride when you might consider the price and purpose of the sinuous dirt ribbon in front of you. There’s a good chance it pre-dates us all, there’s a good chance it was built with machines in the last decade, and there’s a good chance not everyone enjoys it being there. There’s a fair chance it doesn’t have the funding to keep it properly maintained, even though the funding for its construction ran like water.
You don’t have to form an opinion on it based on any of the above, but considering what brought trails to where they lie, and just maybe discussing that over a post-ride beverage, should hopefully bring you closer to the heart of the sport – grinding gears in time and outdoor space.
Subscribe to Trail Builder Magazine and unlock exclusive perks from brands who support the work you do. This article appeared in Volume 1, Issue 2 of Trail Builder Mag.
Dillon Osleger
Dillon Osleger spends his days and nights as a trail builder, writer, environmental advocate, scientist, and the best friend to his border collie, Bridger. His writing has appeared in Outside, the LA Times, Earth & Planetary Sciences, and Sedimentology. His trail work has taken place across hundreds of miles of California’s duff, with foci on his home bases of Truckee and Ojai, the latter of which is the center for his nonprofit trail stewardship, Sage Trail Alliance. Dillon is an ambassador for Specialized Soil Searching and Rapha.
