A few years back, I found myself riding in the Oakridge-Westfir area of Oregon at Mountain Bike Oregon. It’s the kind of place that makes you believe in second chances, not just for old logging towns, but for entire communities looking for a new way forward. The singletrack was (and is) world-class, and the ridgeline views were unforgettable. But what struck me most wasn’t the trail—it was the people. A small, tight-knit community that had weathered economic downturns and reinvested in itself through the simple act of getting people out on bikes.

That didn’t happen overnight.

If you’re a rural town dreaming about becoming the next trail destination, the reality is this: building a network of mountain bike trails is a long, bureaucratic process. It involves securing access to land, navigating environmental and zoning approvals, funding construction, and then maintaining those trails season after season. It’s not just dirt and tools. It’s diplomacy, funding cycles, and a whole lot of patience.

And yet, there’s good news.

Before the first tool scraped dirt or the crew finished their first jokes, the kettle in Nacho the Van was already on.

It was one of those Pacific Northwest mornings—the kind that clings to your flannel and seeps into your bones. My van was parked just off a gravel spur road, pine needles crunching under boots as everyone trickled in. Tools rattled, mugs clinked, and the aroma of fresh coffee started cutting through the cold.

Lighthouse from Treeline Coffee Roasters is a single-origin Guatemalan with notes of strawberry, cola, and a winey finish. But tasting notes aside, it just hits right in the stillness of a trailhead morning.

A few years ago, Trail Builder Magazine was just an idea scribbled in the margins of a notebook after a long day shooting photos at a trail work party. I remember it clearly—sitting back at my van, soaked, boots caked in mud, coffee in hand.

In that quiet moment, it hit me: the stories of trail builders—the real, gritty, inspiring ones—deserve a place to live. That’s where this all started.

Since then, Trail Builder Magazine has grown into something much more than a publication. It’s become a platform to elevate the people, places, and passion behind the trails we ride and build. And now, we’re taking the next step: offering magazine subscriptions.

But this isn’t about selling magazines—it’s about sustaining a movement.

Trail building is often a quiet act of devotion—a labor that takes place early in the morning, in the rain, or long after the last rider has left the trailhead. For Gerry Creighton, what began as clearing brush in Southern New Jersey has evolved into leading build crews in Bellingham, WA, where he now stewards trails like Swirlz and Brown Pow. His work is rooted in a deep love for the ride, shaped by personal loss, and sustained by community. We caught up with Gerry to hear more about his journey, the evolution of his trail work, and why raw loam still makes his heart race.

Three years ago, I launched Trail Builder Magazine with a simple dream: to tell the stories no one else was telling.

Stories of people quietly shaping the landscapes we ride. Of advocacy and dirt. Of purpose built into every turn, every climb, every hand tool. It was never meant to be flashy. It was meant to be real.

And in so many ways, it has become exactly that.

On a recent trail scouting mission, I strapped the Clyde Jr to my pack and hit the trail. The route had seen better days—ruts forming, water not shedding properly, and a few stretches that clearly needed drainage work. I wasn’t out there for a dig day. I was scouting. But the Clyde Jr changed the way I approached the task.

Artificial intelligence (AI) is making waves in nearly every industry, and trail building is no exception. While the idea of using AI in a field traditionally built on hands-on craftsmanship and creativity might seem contradictory, trail builders are beginning to explore how it can complement their work. To better understand how AI is being applied in trail building today and where it might be headed, I spoke with three trail builders who offered a mix of optimism, skepticism, and practical insights.

Trail building is an inherently rugged and often remote endeavor, where safety concerns are as critical as the trails themselves. While the physical demands and environmental challenges are well understood, the unpredictable nature of accidents remains a persistent risk.

Enter Twiceme, a company pioneering smart safety technology that enhances emergency response and preparedness.

By integrating near-field communication (NFC) technology directly into personal protective equipment (PPE), Twiceme transforms helmets into essential safety tools—allowing instant access to vital medical information, geolocation tracking, and emergency alerts.

In this interview, CEO Christian Connolly discusses how Twiceme’s technology is helping trail builders stay safer, reduce response times in critical situations, and foster a culture where safety is as much a priority as the trails themselves.

Pulling open the side doors of Nacho the Van, I reached for my gloves—damp, muddy, and tucked inside the Small Mesh Bucket from Stōd Gear. The bucket had been bouncing around my van for weeks, stashing and carrying everything from soggy gloves to wet gear after a long day out on the trail. The first thing that struck me about this piece of gear? Its durability.

Trail builders and mountain bikers are constantly managing a mess—whether it’s hauling tools, clearing debris, or stashing gear on a multi-day trip. The last thing we need is flimsy storage that can’t take a beating. Stōd Gear’s Small Mesh Bucket is anything but flimsy.

Cathy Naveaux, a DIRTT Tutor and trail advocate, shares her journey from dedicated volunteer to professional trail builder. Driven by her passion for the sport and commitment to environmental protection, she advocates for education, funding, and community collaboration to create sustainable trails.