Orogenesis: The Journey to Build the Longest Mountain Bike Trail in the World
Years ago, I remember being introduced to the term “BHAG” while reading some of Jim Collins’ business books. BHAG stands for Big Hairy Audacious Goal. The idea behind it is to set challenging goals since they will push us farther than we could do if we didn’t have them. We might swap out that phrase today and say something like, “Go big or go home.” The question we wrestle with is, do we have a BHAG? Or, more aptly put in the context of Trail Builder Magazine, do you have a trail-building BHAG?
What about building a 5,000-mile mountain bike trail?
That’s quite a BHAG. But that’s the vision of Gabe Tiller, who started the Orogenesis Collective. The vision? “We’re building the longest mountain bike trail in the world. It’s called Orogenesis, and it stretches from Canada to Cabo. Baja to British Columbia. Pericu to Syilix land.” But it’s more than one person’s dream; it’s a collective.
Tackling the development of a mountain bike route on the scale of Orogenesis is an overwhelming undertaking. We understood this challenge early on in the process and created the Orogenesis Collective—a loose conglomeration of ultra athletes, trail builders, event promoters, bikepackers, and ghost trail whisperers up and down the west coast. These scouts’ knowledge, ambition, and nose for sniffing out overgrown singletrack is what has enabled us to develop a more or less uninterrupted line for 5,000 miles along the western lip of the North American Tectonic Plate.
Recently, I had the privilege of joining Gabe and a crew of volunteer trail builders deep in the Gifford Pinchot National Forest to work on a remote section of trail that sits in between the volcanic peaks of Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Rainier outside of Packwood, Washington. My goal for showing up was two-fold. First, trail builders need coffee. I drove Nacho the Van, which contains my coffee set-up, to brew and serve Loam Coffee to trail builders before we headed out onto the trail. The second reason was to follow along with a crew to take photos and write this article for Trail Builder Magazine.
Those who build and maintain trails come from all kinds of backgrounds, ranging from those who do it for a living and others who willingly give up their free time and volunteer. Most of my experience has been around and working with volunteer trail builders. Most often, whenever and wherever I ride, the trails have been cared for by the rakes, McLeods, and chainsaws of volunteers. We can genuinely claim that love built these trails. Therefore, tagging along with a crew of volunteer trail builders, who gave up a precious weekend to dedicate blood, sweat, and their body to hungry insects to help the vision of a 5,000-mile-long trail, was special.
The task for the weekend was simple, work on the little-used backcountry Klickitat Sisters Trail. On the first morning, after coffee, Gabe briefed us on the project for the weekend and some of the trail’s history. We’d work on ancient indigenous routes that, at one time, connected the Cowlitz and Klickitat tribes. Due to its remote location, it sees little use and even less trail maintenance. However, it’s a key segment (like all) in connecting the trail from Canada to the tip of the Baja Peninsula in Mexico.
Getting to base camp was a 45-minute drive from the nearest town, Randle. Randle is a classic Pacific Northwest town that’s seen substantial population loss due to the closing of a logging mill. I happened to catch a tiny part of the story on my way out of town while getting food at a gas station and chatting with a local high school student who worked there. It’s a story and scene that is oft-repeated throughout the region.
From base camp to the section of the trail was another 45-minute drive on dusty gravel roads as we climbed in elevation. By the time we reached the trail, we were at 5,000 feet in elevation (Randle sits at 892 feet). The task at hand was simple, make the trail passable. That meant clearing downed trees and trimming back the overgrowth. The clock was also ticking. Since it’s fire season, chainsaws had to be shut down at 1:00 PM sharp. Afterward, it’s the policy on federal land to hang out another hour to ensure we didn’t cause any sparks that could ignite the next fire.
I tagged along with one of the chainsaw crews. Going was slow. We’d walk no further than a minute or two until we came upon the next log on the trail … and then the next … and next …. and next. Despite the demanding physical labor, spirits we high. Lots of laughter and camaraderie. There was a tangible sense that we were part of something bigger. It’s that BHAG … a 5,000-mile trail. BHAGs are potent forces. When wielded properly, they can galvanize people to accomplish remarkable feats.
Orogenesis as an organization and vision sits at the intersection of multiple vital topics. First, linking together and building more trails. We always want and need more. Second, respect for the land and those who came before us. Working on trails that existed long before mountain biking and even before Europeans made their way to the Americas is always remarkable. While land acknowledgments don’t undo what European expansion has wrought on native populations, a mindset shift still says, “From now on; we will do things differently.” Lastly, I always think of hope for places and people caught in the crossfire of the changing local and global economy. While the economic forces are genuinely global in scope, which can impact remote communities like Randle, any time there’s the potential that trails can elevate communities, I’m behind it.
I encourage you to follow what Orogenesis is doing and dream up BHAGs for your community. Why not dream big?
Words: Sean Benesh Photos: Sean Benesh
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sean Benesh
Sean is the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Trail Builder Mag. He is also the Communications Director for the Northwest Trail Alliance in Portland, Oregon. While in grad school, he worked as a mountain biking guide in Southern Arizona. Sean also spends time in the classroom as a digital media instructor at Warner Pacific University.
