For many outdoor enthusiasts, a trail represents a straightforward conduit, a line designed to navigate from one point to another, often with the singular goal of descent or ascent. However, for Dillon Osleger, a professional mountain biker, dedicated trail steward, and accomplished scientist, these paths are far more profound: they are living archives, dynamic repositories of geological processes, ecological interactions, and centuries of human history. His new book, Trail Work: Restoring the Stories of America’s Forgotten Paths, transcends the conventional memoir format, presenting a compelling argument for a deeper engagement with the landscapes we traverse, the ancestral communities who first forged these routes, and the often-overlooked infrastructure that underpins all outdoor adventure.
Osleger’s journey into the intricate world of trails began not just on a bike, but through a diverse professional background that spans avalanche forecasting, backcountry ski guiding, climate science, and geology. This multifaceted expertise grants him a unique lens through which to view the natural world. Having raced at a professional level with Specialized, he understands the demands of high-performance cycling, yet his perspective extends far beyond the immediate thrill of the ride. He has dedicated years to the restoration of forgotten paths across the American West, meticulously uncovering narratives buried beneath the scars of wildfires, the tangle of overgrown switchbacks, and the remnants of abandoned mining routes. This hands-on work, coupled with his scientific acumen, prompted a fundamental question that became the bedrock of his literary endeavor: "I get the what and the how of trail work," Osleger states, acknowledging the arduous physical labor involved in digging and shaping earth. "You’re digging in the dirt. It’s hard work. But the why is a much harder question." This inquiry into the deeper purpose and significance of trail maintenance forms the central theme of Trail Work.
The Genesis of a Deeper Understanding
Osleger’s extensive résumé highlights a career deeply intertwined with the natural environment, blending rigorous scientific inquiry with practical, on-the-ground experience. His time in avalanche forecasting and backcountry ski guiding instilled a profound respect for terrain analysis and risk assessment, skills that translate directly to understanding the vulnerabilities and resilience of trails. His background in climate science and geology provides a macroscopic view of the forces shaping landscapes, from tectonic shifts to erosional patterns, offering a long-term context for the seemingly ephemeral paths underfoot. It was this synthesis of knowledge—the visceral experience of riding combined with a scientific understanding of the land—that illuminated the critical need for a new narrative surrounding trail work. He recognized that while the immediate physical act of maintenance is clear, the underlying motivations and broader implications are often poorly articulated and undervalued.
The evolution of Trail Work itself mirrors this journey of discovery. Osleger admits that the book was not initially conceived as a memoir. Instead, it began as a collection of personal journal entries, reflections on his experiences restoring trails and observing the subtle nuances of the land. These personal anecdotes, he found, became the most effective "vehicle to make the bigger ideas interesting," transforming complex ecological and historical concepts into relatable human stories. This approach allows readers to connect with the material on an emotional level, fostering the very "ethics shift" Osleger believes is crucial for the future of public lands. His narrative seamlessly weaves together geology, ecology, history, and personal experiences, creating a rich tapestry that explains not just what trail work entails, but why it is an indispensable act of stewardship.
Cultivating "Trail Eyes": A New Way to See the Landscape
Central to Osleger’s philosophy is the concept of "trail eyes"—a unique perceptual skill that allows one to interpret the landscape with an acute awareness of its underlying processes and histories. While most mountain bikers might perceive a descent merely as a series of corners, rocks, and technical features, someone with "trail eyes" observes much more. They see intricate erosion patterns sculpted by water and wind, discern the nuanced composition of the soil, identify remnants of historic routes, and recognize how diverse ecosystems interact in real time. This elevated perception, Osleger argues, is not only crucial for effective trail stewardship but also a powerful tool for enhancing the recreational experience. "Trail eyes are really about learning to read a landscape," he explains. "Can you see old trail bed? Can you feel how geology influences the trail? Can you tell how ecology shapes the ride? That’s the fastest way to become a better mountain biker; it’s cheaper than buying new suspension."
This scientific perspective, honed through years of study and professional racing, informs every decision Osleger makes, whether on or off the bike. Even elite athletes, he notes, implicitly employ a form of "trail eyes," meticulously studying terrain and geological formations to make critical equipment choices based on rock type, elevation changes, and dynamic environmental conditions. Understanding the "hatch"—the subtle clues and characteristics of the terrain—becomes paramount for optimal performance and safety. This sophisticated understanding transforms the act of riding from a purely physical endeavor into an intellectual engagement with the environment, revealing the deeper connections between human activity and natural processes.
The Silent Crisis of Disappearing Trails
Osleger’s cultivated "trail eyes" also brought into sharp focus a disturbing trend: the accelerating disappearance of trails across the American West. After more than a decade immersed in full-time stewardship, he repeatedly encountered routes that had been completely erased—swallowed by wildfires, neglected by underfunded agencies, or simply reclaimed by the relentless forces of nature. Driven by a desire to understand the scope and causes of this phenomenon, he embarked on a painstaking process of filing public records requests and delving into federal land management data. What he unearthed was nothing short of alarming.
According to his findings, the United States Forest Service (USFS) manages approximately 158,000 miles of trails across its vast public lands. However, a staggering two-thirds of these trails—over 100,000 miles—are currently classified as unmaintained, unsafe for public use, or actively detrimental to the environment. This statistic is not merely a number; it represents a profound crisis for outdoor recreation, ecological health, and the preservation of historical pathways. The implications are far-reaching, impacting not only the accessibility of natural spaces for hikers, bikers, and equestrians, but also posing risks to ecosystems through unchecked erosion, invasive species spread, and disruption of wildlife corridors.
The causes of this widespread neglect are complex and multifaceted. Decades of insufficient funding for federal land management agencies have crippled their ability to perform routine maintenance, let alone address major restoration projects. The USFS, for instance, has seen its budget disproportionately allocated to wildfire suppression in recent years, often at the expense of other critical programs, including recreation and trail maintenance. The increase in outdoor recreation participation, while positive for public health and local economies, also places greater stress on existing infrastructure, exacerbating maintenance backlogs. Furthermore, the rising frequency and intensity of natural disasters, particularly wildfires in the Western U.S., directly destroy trails and alter landscapes, making restoration efforts even more challenging and costly. The Great American Outdoors Act, passed in 2020, provided significant funding for public lands, including trails, but addressing decades of deferred maintenance requires sustained and substantial investment.
Many of Osleger’s most cherished routes are not purpose-built mountain bike trails but rather ancient pathways—old mule paths used by prospectors and pioneers, Indigenous travel corridors that predate European settlement by millennia, and mining roads carved out during boom-and-bust eras. These trails, often following "steep, awkward, gnarly lines," represent ingenious feats of engineering and navigation by earlier generations. They offer unique insights into historical land use, cultural practices, and the ways in which people adapted to challenging environments. Restoring these routes, Osleger emphasizes, is therefore not merely about creating a "fun ride"; it is an act of preserving irreplaceable cultural heritage and historical memory. Each switchback, each rock cairn, each faint depression in the earth tells a story of human perseverance, resourcefulness, and connection to the land.
Stewardship: More Than a Buzzword, an Economic and Ethical Imperative
The implications of trail neglect extend far beyond the immediate realm of mountain biking, touching upon the broader health of the outdoor economy and the ethical responsibilities we hold towards public lands. Osleger forcefully argues that a robust outdoor economy—a sector that contributes significantly to the national GDP and supports millions of jobs—is inextricably linked to healthy, accessible public lands. Yet, funding for ongoing stewardship and routine maintenance frequently remains an afterthought, overshadowed by the allure of new construction. "If you want to build a brand-new trail with a company’s name on it, people get excited," he observes. "If you want funding for routine maintenance, it’s like pulling teeth." This disparity highlights a systemic issue: a societal tendency to prioritize visible, novel projects over the less glamorous, continuous work that sustains existing infrastructure.
Despite these sobering realities, Trail Work steadfastly refuses to devolve into a eulogy for lost trails. Osleger, while candidly discussing the destructive impacts of wildfire, chronic neglect, and diminishing access, insists that hope and a proactive approach are absolutely essential. "People don’t respond well if all you tell them is that everything’s doomed," he wisely states. Instead, he advocates for a fundamental "ethics shift" in how individuals, communities, industries, and governments perceive and interact with public lands. This shift involves moving beyond a transactional relationship—where trails are merely consumed for recreation—to one rooted in genuine care, responsibility, and reciprocal stewardship. It implies recognizing that these spaces are not "broken" beyond repair, but rather require a renewed commitment to a different, more sustainable relationship.
This call for an ethics shift is particularly relevant given the booming outdoor recreation industry. While brands benefit immensely from access to public lands, their financial contributions to the ongoing maintenance of these resources often fall short of what is needed. Osleger’s book serves as a critical mirror, reflecting the imbalance between consumption and contribution. He challenges the industry and its participants to move beyond superficial gestures, such as "throwing five bucks at a local stewardship group or volunteer[ing] for a dig day," and instead embrace a more profound and sustained commitment. The aim is to elevate the perception of trail stewards from unrecognized laborers to essential guardians of our shared outdoor heritage, deserving of substantial support and recognition.
Start by Paying Attention: The First Step Towards Advocacy
When asked for the single most important action readers should take after finishing Trail Work—whether it be volunteering, advocating, or donating—Osleger offers a surprising, yet deeply resonant, answer. He advises: "Start by deepening your relationship with the places you love. Figure out why you care about a trail before you try to save it." This recommendation underscores the core message of his book: genuine, effective stewardship originates from a place of personal connection and understanding. Without this foundational relationship, practical actions, while valuable, may lack the sustained passion and informed perspective necessary for long-term impact.
This deepening relationship can manifest in numerous ways. It might involve taking the time to research the history of a local trail, learning about the Indigenous communities who originally traversed the land, or understanding the unique geological formations and ecological systems that define a particular route. By consciously observing the subtle clues of erosion, the types of plants growing alongside the path, or the remnants of past human activity, individuals begin to cultivate their own "trail eyes." This heightened awareness transforms a simple outing into an enriching educational experience, forging a stronger bond with the environment.
Once this genuine connection is established, practical actions naturally follow and become more impactful. Osleger encourages people to volunteer for trail days, offering their labor to local stewardship organizations. He also stresses the importance of engaging with elected officials and policymakers. However, he emphasizes authenticity over automated responses. "A personal letter matters," he insists. "If you explain why a specific landscape means something to you or your family, that carries weight in a way a stock form letter doesn’t." This direct, heartfelt communication can cut through the noise of mass advocacy campaigns, demonstrating to decision-makers the tangible, personal value of public lands and the critical need for their protection and maintenance.
Every Trail Has a Story: Ensuring Future Access
Ultimately, Osleger hopes that readers of Trail Work will internalize one critical realization above all others: trail access is not an inherent right; it is a privilege that must be actively preserved. "People buy an expensive bike and assume the trails will always be there," he observes. "That’s just not true." This assumption of permanence, he argues, contributes to the very neglect that threatens these vital pathways. Without continuous attention, care, and funding, even the most beloved trails can quietly disappear, lost to the relentless march of natural processes and human indifference.
The next time an individual clips into their pedals for an afternoon mountain bike ride, or sets out on a tranquil hike, Osleger hopes they will perceive something they previously overlooked. He envisions them recognizing that the very path beneath their feet exists due to the tireless efforts of countless individuals they may never meet. Someone maintained it this year, clearing fallen debris or shoring up eroded sections. Someone else undertook a major restoration project decades ago, reclaiming a route from encroaching wilderness. And perhaps, generations before, Indigenous peoples or early settlers first carved that route through an untamed landscape, establishing the very opportunity for us to be there today.
For Dillon Osleger, every trail is far more than a ribbon of dirt connecting point A to point B. It is a profound, interwoven tapestry, a thread tying together the intricate layers of geology, the delicate balance of ecology, the enduring narratives of history, and the collective spirit of humanity. It is a legacy worth protecting, not just for the immediate thrill it offers, but for the stories it holds and the connections it fosters. Trail Work is not merely a practical guide to digging trail or restoring forgotten routes. It is a compelling and timely reminder that every path has a history, every ride is built upon the labor and vision of others, and the future accessibility and health of our public lands depend on individuals who care enough to look beyond their handlebars, to see the deeper meaning in the dirt beneath their tires, and to act as stewards of these invaluable living archives. If readers close the book feeling inspired to view their local trails with fresh eyes, or motivated to help ensure these pathways endure for generations to come, then Osleger’s mission will have profoundly succeeded. For anyone who has ever pondered the hidden depths beneath the dirt ribbon carrying them through the mountains, Trail Work offers an insightful and essential starting point.
