Mountain bikes do not belong in wilderness. A friend of mine refers to adrenaline-laced mountain bikers bombing down a forest trail as “lycra-clad thugs.” While that is too harsh a judgment, mountain biking does not belong on federal wilderness lands set aside to maintain healthy ecosystems, peace, quiet and natural settings.
The wilderness idea began at Trappers Lake near Meeker, where in the summer of 1918, Arthur Carhart surveyed the lake shore for tourist cabins to be leased out on one-acre sites. He did the survey, but he also fly-fished all summer and realized that some places in America should be left alone – free from development and human-made intrusions. Carhart presented his idea at a meeting in the Denver office of the U.S. Forest Service, and Aldo Leopold understood it and expanded upon it in 1924, creating the Gila Wilderness in southwest New Mexico.
Leopold sought “a continuous stretch of country preserved in its natural state, open to lawful hunting and fishing, big enough to absorb a two weeks’ pack trip, and kept devoid of roads, artificial trails, cottages or other works of man.” He was seeking outdoor recreation where hikers and horsemen could experience nature on its own terms.
A pivotal ecologist whose research and writing bridged 19th century conservation and 20th century environmentalism, Leopold ushered in a wilderness ethic and a broad understanding of habitats and natural processes. He would be chagrined at 21st century mountain bikers who treat nature as a “dirty gym.” Too often, their goal is not awareness and transcendence but rather to speed down a trail and film personal antics with helmet-mounted cameras.
Leopold believed wilderness sharpened American character, taught personal responsibility and required humility in remote settings. Leopold’s ideas became national law in 1964 with passage of the Wilderness Act.
Twice a year, I teach a college class, “Wilderness in America.” Many of my students mountain bike, which is fine. There are thousands of miles of roads and trails on Forest Service and Bureau of Land Management lands. Mountain bikers can happily jump rocks, careen around trees and bushes, and spin through mud.
I’d rather walk. I teach my students that by definition wilderness is a place without mechanization. Firefighters can’t even use chain saws. They are required by law to use “the minimum tool” and that means hand-sharpened buck saws to cut trees and clear trails.
Where do you draw the line? Once you allow mountain bikes, then do you allow motorcycles on a single track? Once you allow mountain bikes, do you then allow elk hunters to use carts on wheels to haul out their game? Once you allow mountain bikes, do you then permit single-person flying machines once they are invented? Today, not even helicopters can land in wilderness without special permission for rescues. If you’re a firefighter and you’re dropped into wilderness by repelling out of a helicopter, you hike out – with all your heavy equipment.
We did not save millions of wilderness acres for extreme sports. Some of my students have gone on to become wilderness backcountry rangers.
“The appealing part of the job is about educating the public on why these special public lands we call ‘wilderness areas’ are important to us as rangers and why they should be taken care of. Why does the back country matter so much?” asks Ranger Jay Rezabek. He explains, “The real meaning of being a wilderness ranger to me is how simple, stark and unspoiled it is out in the wilderness. A ranger works to keep it that way for current and future generations.”
Instead, people poach wilderness for their own gratification. They poach it driving in on snowmobiles in winter, or riding mountain bikes in summer.
What difference does it make? A lot.
Federal wilderness is a protected landscape intended for natural ecosystems, not the latest craze in human toys. Wilderness is intended to be a place where we are personally responsible and free of the ever-changing technology that dominates our modern lives. Boundaries have to be drawn somewhere, and that’s why Congress drew the line at wilderness so that we could preserve a vestige of the wild frontier that shaped American history and culture.
The challenge now is not how many miles you can hike in a day, it is how many people you can teach about why wilderness matters. Wolves belong in wilderness, mountain bikes do not.
Andrew Gulliford is a professor of history and environmental studies at Fort Lewis College. His book Outdoors in the Southwest: An Adventure Anthology won the New Mexico-Arizona Book Award for Nature/Environment and the Colorado Book Award for Best Anthology. Reach him at gulliford_a@fortlewis.edu.
