I am a trail builder.
I like to get out into the woods, imagine a path through the trees and
across the hills, and then make it real.
Of course a big part of the drive to transform a piece of wooded
hillside into a contoured trail is the desire to get out on the finished
product on a bike, but there is so much more to it than that.
Typically around here in northeastern Ohio trail building is
done in the milder temperatures of fall and spring - even during winter months
if there isn't too much snowfall. The
benefits from this schedule are many - cooler temperatures, little foliage, no
mosquitoes and no interference with the summer mtb riding opportunities. Add to that a corollary benefit - all the
poison ivy is dormant - and it's easy to see why this is the widely accepted
practice.
Unfortunately I'm not patient enough to wait through the
whole warm season to start trail work - my fevered little mind can't help but
see potential trails everywhere (and if I don't build them WHO WILL??) So when I started as volunteer trail boss on
the county park project I made it clear that I would be working all year 'round
- including summer. That means suffering
through the mosquito hordes and doses of toxic repellant. It means sweating like a dog while working in
hot and humid conditions. And to protect
against the poison ivy it means wearing gloves and long pants in weather that
is far more suitable for shorts. As a
bonus, at the hills of the state park project we not only have poison ivy, but
also stinging nettles - an interesting plant with miniscule hollow
hairs that you cannot touch without producing instant itching and burning as chemical
irritants are injected into your skin.
Not surprisingly there are far fewer volunteers that show up
during the summer months. Sometimes it's
just me out there, slowly figuring out the next section and leaving new trail
behind me. But a day in the woods is
almost always a good thing, so I try to head out and do some trail work every
weekend, regardless of the number of other people that show up.
A trail work session usually starts with choosing the tools
of the day and hauling them out to the work site. Since I'm located in northeast Ohio, where
there are no remaining large tracts of unbroken forest, this is usually a
fairly short hike. Our tools are mostly
not that heavy to carry, but limiting yourself to two at a time is the safe way
to go. Or if I'm doing rock work and
carrying a 40 pound, 5 foot long rock bar, then ONE tool is definitely enough.
On my back there is always a light pack, with plenty of
water, some small tools, and a first aid kit.
I've carried these small packs for so many rides and hikes that I often
forget I have one on and end up working most of the day without removing
it. But with my past safety record it's
an excellent idea to carry first aid, and during the summer heat I need more
than one bottle of water, so forgetting the pack is not an option. Besides, being prepared is part of the
responsibility of solo adventuring.
Having the means and capability to handle unexpected situations can mean
the difference between having an interesting story to tell and having a closed
casket ceremony.
It's always a great feeling hiking out to the work site from
the parking. I get to follow the trail we've
built from the start, progressing from the part done on the first day of work
way back when. Each section I travel is
another day's work, with the memories of how it looked before in my mind and
the accomplishments of each day under my feet.
Before long the end of the trail is there - and the land ahead goes on
with its forest business as I look at the task of the day and plan the next
step. Then on go the work gloves and let
the festivities begin.
I've found that whether the job is using loppers to cut a
corridor through a thicket, benching a tread into the side of a slope, or
skimming back the grass and weeds from the tread it's best to keep my pace
slow. During winter trail days you start
off cold and then warm up as you work, in the summer you start off hot and quickly
progress to overheated. So I set a pace
that I can maintain, at least for short periods, and start to carve a thin slice
of direction out of the wonderful clutter of the woods. Piece by piece, foot by foot, the unordered
undergrowth slowly parts as the new trail reveals itself. Each rest break shows a bit of progress,
another step, another pedal stroke of distance created. Two hours to build and ten seconds to
ride...
Rocks are rarely where you want them to be. If they're big enough, you just change your
expectations to conform to the position of the rock. But usually your relationship with rocks
involves them changing from one location or position to another. The bigger the rock, or the bigger the
distance to move it, the more difficult it becomes. One thing I've found to be a big help when
working with rocks on hillsides is gravity - it's always easier to move a rock
down a hill to the trail then up a hill.
But even with a best case scenario moving rocks is a gradual
business. And when working alone it
requires not only a bit of muscle, but some planning skills as well. Sometimes it can be like solving a puzzle:
trying to move a big rock, turn it 90 degrees and use the rock bar as a lever
to flip it over, get log rollers underneath it and PUSH it into the desired
position. Days with lots of rock work
can be both rewarding and frustrating.
It always gives a feeling of accomplishment when you see a nicely built
rock feature, and know that it will likely be there without problems for years,
maybe even decades. But then at the end
of the day, when you walk back over the brand new trail and see that you only
finished 20 feet in three hours - well, that can certainly be demoralizing.
Undertaking one of these projects means realizing that it's
going to take a long time, lots of sweat and
a lot of volunteers. But it's
always the same - small steps, one section at a time, one rock at a time, one day
of work at a time. At each session's
end, carrying the tools back out gives a chance to see what got done that day,
and how many more feet were added. The
hike out usually gives me a chance to imagine the finished trail, and what it
would be like riding it back to the start.
As I look out through the trees and relish the sight of a well defined
line of new trail swooping across a hillside and over the rocks it always
brings a smile. No matter how dirty,
sweaty and tired I am that always gives me the motivation to come back again.