Column: Riding in Dirt

Bob Engel

Many moons ago I was with a Marlboro class in the Chiracahua Mountains of southeastern Arizona. We were all watching a mountain biker make his way through a wet meadow at a place called Rustler’s Park. He left a deep track in the saturated grass and soil and single-handedly was establishing a new hydrological regime for the spot. His rut would help channel water out of the meadow, drying it out. We asked him about it. He was clueless.

On another front, I was reading a motomag not long ago and some guy was so out of control on a trail ride that he got his motorcycle stuck in the crotch of a double-trunked tree. They cut the tree down to get the bike out.
So there you have it, the ugly side of off road riding of ... nearly anything. But maybe we can agree on some terms and conditions that allow for the fun and minimize the costs? Let’s see how far we can get.

Proposition one: there are places where machines simply shouldn’t go. Legally, these are our wilderness areas, but more broadly, they might be any mostly pristine environment, especially those places that are very fragile (like centuries old biotic crusts in much of the west), or that "repair" damage very slowly because they are arid, less productive landscapes. The thousand year-old Anasazi roads at Chaco Canyon, N.M., are still visible and so are the wagon ruts on the Oregon Trail. I hope we can agree that these two provide historical and cultural grounding whereas a newish ORV trail through a Vermont wetland does not. For that matter, back in the wetter east, if a rider’s actions make ruts that start or accelerate erosion, then nothing can be repaired -- things only get worse. In Vermont, a general rule for vehicles might parallel the basics about hiking the upper portions of the Green Mountains. In all cases, stay on the trails/roads and don’t venture out when things are very wet and vulnerable to damage.

Proposition two: ride with care and respect for the surface. There are a lot of off road riders out there. There are even off road motorcycle tours in several western states. I can only hope people stick to the roads and do not attempt to see what 25 horsepower can do to, say, an unblemished hillside. Yeah, you can tear it up. Cool! Not really. Dumb is more like it. That’s why they make enduro parks so that people who really want to own and operate earth-moving machinery can do so by repeatedly tearing at a piece of earth with knobby tires. Does it show that this is not my thing?

Proposition three: respect other users of the off road areas. In Marlboro, a number of people use the back roads for walks or to ride horses. If I don’t know the rider and his/her horse, I stop the bike and wait for the rider and horse to go by. For the walkers, I slow way down. How hard is that?

It gets more complicated in remote areas. For some, especially people who use only muscle power to get there, a noisy, gas-guzzling machine can ruin their whole experience. The obverse? Not so much. Maybe you even feel a little guilty as you fly by the guy with the backpack? My take, therefore, is always to give plenty of room to folks on foot, horses, skis, and bikes (assuming this last group is not making a mess of things themselves).

I live on a series of dirt roads, but I’m a pretty bad off-road rider. The whole idea of the dirt is that it’s not pavement and so the surface gives way a lot easier. Sliding rear wheels are routine, and are a big part of the fun. Got mud and sand? Give it some gas and revel in the "roaming" of your machine. I sort of get it, but not completely. Part of the problem is that I hate washing motorcycles -- too many nooks and crannies. But one of these days, when I head back west, I plan to include a big off pavement component, probably in Montana, a place I know well. I did take a small, 17-mile loop of dirt road in Yellowstone last June. It was totally legit and there was nobody on it (the SUVs preferred pavement). Some mud holes, some loose gravel, so, yes, pay attention, but acres of blooming geraniums and other early plants, snow covered peaks in all directions, and one cow elk who thought my head was too big and white. There I was: in paradise, on a quiet bike, just moseying along, completely alone. I was starting to get it.

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Source: http://www.reformer.com/opinion/ci_15004846

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