A QUARTERLY JOURNAL OF ADVENTURE AND DESIGN. BROKEN AND COASTAL VOLUME 01 CREATIVE DIRECTOR CHRISTOPHER SAN AGUSTIN CONTRIBUTORS ANDRIO ABERO : ANDRIOABERO.COM BRAD ADAMS : ROADRUNNERBAGS.US BRANDON HARRISON : ENDERSENDER.TUMBLR.COM BRIAN BARNHART : BBARNHART.COM CHRIS RIESNER : TRAILBOUND.CO DKLEIN : DUSTINKLEIN.COM DONALREY NIEVA : DONALREY.COM GRADY CORBITT : GRADYCORBITT.COM JAKE SZYMANSKI : INSTAGRAM.COM/JAKESZY JOE ISON : INSTAGRAM.COM/JOSEPHISON JOHN DANIEL REISS : JOHNDANIELREISS.COM KYLE EMERY-PECK : FULLFRAMECOLLECTIVE.COM SID ENCK JR. : LITTLELOSTINDIAN.BIGCARTEL.COM STEPHAN HAWK : STEPHANHAWK.COM TERRA MAHMOUDI : INSTAGRAM.COM/TERRADIG GET IN TOUCH CHRIS@BROKENANDCOASTAL.COM WWW.BROKENANDCOASTAL.COM COVER PHOTO : ATCA TRAIL IN OAKRIDGE, OR. THIS PAGE : AN UNKNOWN TRAIL IN PORTLAND, OR.
CREATIVE DIRECTOR’S NOTE Welcome to the premiere issue of Broken and Coastal, a quarterly journal of Adventure and Design. Volume 01 was created by an obsessive group of creatives who share their experiences through photography, art, and story. Like all things creative, this project is and always will be a work in progress, and I couldn’t be more excited to share it with you. From sleeping beneath the coastal stars to climbing in the stillness of night, we’re all chasing some kind of mountaintop. This project has inspired me, and I can only hope that it will inspire you to get out and chase yours as well. If you can, please consider supporting this independent publication by making a donation or purchasing a copy at www.brokenandcoastal.com. Thank you for reading, Christopher San Agustin
BOV E 1 4 , 0 0 0 FT BOV E 1 4 , 0 0 0 FT BOV E 1 4 , 0 0 0 FT
FR IENDS HIP ABOV FR IENDS HIP ABOV FR IENDS HIP ABOV W R I T T E N BY J O E I S O N , P H OTO G R A P H E D B Y D O N A L R E Y N I E VA
Friendship is built on many things. Common interests, a genuine love and appreciation for one another, and the willingness to continue putting energy into the friendship are a few of the foundations for longevity. I am lucky to have a few of these kinds of friendships, and The Brothers Nieva, Don and Gerrard, are those kinds of friends. The three of us traveled to Colorado to hang out for Don’s birthday and ride bikes. Bikes are significant to our friendship, as it is originally how we started hanging out 7 years ago. Don and Gerrard’s sister lives in Denver, so we were fortunate enough to have a homebase for a few days while we did a bit of riding in the awesome canyons in Boulder, CO. *Quick shoutout to Kevin Batchelor for showing us some of his favorite roads around Boulder.* We had a really nice time riding bikes, exploring new rides, and catching up. Not the “catching up” you do over Instagram or even a phone call, but the catching up we used to do when we lived in the same city. It was great to simply be in each other’s company. There were plenty of jokes and reflections in between the many discussions we had about quality of life, well-being, relationships, and career trajectory. You know, the stuff friends talk about.
On the eve of my last night in town, Don and I were trying to figure out if it was worth getting up at 4:30 a.m. to have some food, drive over to the base of Mt. Evans, ride up, descend down, and make it on time to my flight back to San Francisco. Mt. Evans is North America’s highest paved road at 14,271 feet and is 60 miles from Denver. After some back and forth on whether or not we should go, we decided to just do it. (Even knowing a climb has a 9,000-foot elevation gain and is 30 miles round trip, you just never know how long it will actually take you—regardless of how many Strava files you look at!) The air does get pretty thin above the tree line, but I’d like to think we all did well for not riding at altitude all that often. As you can see from Don’s amazing photos, the ascent up Mt. Evans was spectacular. It’s like another world up there. We were lucky enough to have the sun peek through the moving clouds for most of our ride up to the top. Rest assured, Mt. Evans was worth getting up early for, riding up, descending down, driving back to our homebase, taking a shower, and packing my bike with just enough time to spare for an evening coffee at the airport. I might add that Don and Gerrard are two of the most down-to-earth, roll-with-the-punches kind of guys I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, so we weren’t stressing anyway. Our day trip to Mt. Evans was the perfect way to cap off Don’s birthday weekend.
PHOTOGRAPHED B Y BRANDON HARRISON
WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED B Y ST E P HA N HAWK
I went on a road trip recently. I don’t really know what to say about it. Nothing happened, really. I mean, I think a lot happened. But I imagine it wouldn’t look like much. We slept in tents and trucks, ate dinner, and drank wine by firelight, and we climbed everyday we could. It is alarming to me how much I enjoy the simplicity of a life on the road. Or at least a life with an objective that is clear. Even if it’s just to push that pebble a little farther up that hill, it creates the illusion of an end goal. What a fucking novelty. We ate so many eggs.
ANDRIO ABE ANDRIO ABE
WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY A N D R I O A B E R O
ANDRIO ABE The Marin Headlands is located just on the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge from San Francisco. It features mostly fire road and a few sections of single track, but come prepared to climb, because you’re either going up or down. The area is also great for a quick road ride with some descent, amount of vertical gain, and epic views of the Pacific Ocean and the city. Some of my favorite photographs were taken in the Marin Headlands. Getting up super early in the morning can be rewarding. It doesn’t get any better than climbing up a mountain and snapping a picture of it, especially when you share the moment with great friends. I remember watching a clip of a guy’s GoPro ride down the Coastal View Trail on the backside of Mt. Tam. He was following a small group of friends along a skinny and flowing section of dirt, winding around hills and inescapable views of the ocean to one side and lush hillsides on the other. “What is this, and why don’t
we live there?” I thought to myself. I was enthralled with the beauty of the Marin Headlands and needed to experience it myself. We packed up and moved west. My wife and I moved here from Brooklyn almost three years ago. I didn’t know too many people out here to begin with, let alone to ride with, so I went by myself, trying to crush it everywhere I could. Through Strava, I found a guy named David Belden. He seemed to know where to ride, as his name popped up consistently at the top of a lot of Strava leaderboards. He invited me to join his weekly Dawn Patrol ride through the Marin Headlands, and from there I met the rest of my tribe. We’d meet at the Golden Gate Bridge at 6:15 a.m. sharp every Tuesday and sometimes Thursdays. The rollout was steady with conversation and would gently pick up in pace as we neared the Marin side of the bridge. As soon as we hit Hawk Hill, it was game on to the first roundabout where the trailhead would pick up. We’d regroup before ripping down Coastal
ERO ERO
ERO Trail, a tame section of single track that brings you down into the Marin Headlands. It’s still quite amazing to me how someplace so remote and beautiful is so close to a major city. The trails aren’t the most challenging, but the epic nature certainly makes up for it. Our usual route goes up the Miwok Trail over to Old Springs Trail and down to the stables before climbing back up the backside via Marincello Trail and onto Bobcat Trail to complete the loop. If pressed for time, we’d hammer out the top section of Miwok up to the most amazing viewpoint of all the Marin Headlands. This is where I got the expression “Top of the mornin’ y’all” from. You’re literally on top of everything, and it’s so damn early in the morning, who can’t help but greet the world with an amazing sunrise photo? The Marin Headlands provides perfect training grounds for ultra-endurance events like the Leadville Trail 100. The sustained climbs and amount of recovery between each hill segment are
great for long uninterrupted intervals. The other skill-sharpening opportunity is fire road bombing, especially on Bobcat where there a few long sweeping turns followed by a couple tighter ones. When the weather turns to crap, the trails drain pretty well, so they can be ridden year round (granted it’s in the Bay Area, where the rain seldom pours days on end). If you’re looking for a more balanced cross-country trail experience, I’d suggest heading a little further north to ride Tamarancho or China Camp. You can also go further south into the peninsula for Skeggs, which will sharpen your handling skills in no time. Like I mentioned previously, the Marin Headlands has very few sections of legal single track. The area is massive, and you can string together some really epic routes if that’s your thing.
THE JOURNEY HOME PHOTOGRAPHED BY C H R I STO P H E R SA N AG U ST I N
“ 2015 WAS AN AMAZING YEAR FOR ME ON THE BICYCLE. I SAID GOODBYE TO NEW YORK FOR GOOD AND MADE THE PERMANENT MOVE TO OREGON. I AM AT HOME HERE AMONGST LIKE-MINDED INDIVIDUALS WHO DREAM OF WEEKENDS IN THE MOUNTAINS AND ON THE TRAIL. THE WEST COAST IS MY HOME, AND I’M SO FUCKING GRATEFUL TO BE BACK.”
ATCA
O’Leary
Gales Creek
Sawtooth
Falls Creek
B I K E PA C K I N G B I G B A S I N T O T H E S E A WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED B Y C H R I S R I ES N E R
With word that my buddy Trevor Perelson was finally moving to Santa Cruz, I immediately got in touch to go for a ride. The planning of that ride quickly turned into a bikepacking trip scheduled for later that day. Although I had been feeling the symptoms of a cold creeping up, I thought about the times when I was younger, when going for a ride seemed to make the runny nose and cough go away. I figured that surely a non-stop ride through the woods would heal me up fine. We grabbed our bikes and some burritos and hit the road an hour before dusk. Our plan was to follow the outer rim of Big Basin Camp and wind up at the beach. No more than 200 feet from where the route turned into dirt, I got two flat tires. Shortly after, Trev broke some spokes and his chain. With the guidance of our shitty headlamps, we carried on for a few hours before setting up camp. Well, come the end of the trip, I ended up getting pretty sick and, thus, concluded that colds are not like hangovers—you can’t just sweat them out. But you know what? We never look back and think about the times we stayed in and slept all weekend, but rather the places roamed and times had. Making it to the coast, we chose a farm road, meandered past some abandoned beach houses, and found our way to the ocean. It had been years since I swam in the ocean. It felt so good diving in after the long ride.
Trever Perelson’s morning-eyed corner rip on the way out of camp.
“ My first weekend relocating to Santa Cruz in-
volved a lengthy single-night bike ride through Big Basin and Waddell Creek. The ride was a wee last minute and involved 3 flats, 2 broken spokes, and a snapped chain within a 2-hour period, causing us to cycle through the night to Sunset Camp along Big Basin’s finest and driest redwoods (where the rain at?). The following morning, after Chris and I side swiped each other on a turn smashing the avocados, we made it to Año Nuevo and witnessed the ocean’s favorite mating elephant seals in full effect, rolling, sluggin’, bathing, grunting. Those shark twinkies were a bit too big to fit in my frame, so you’ll have to find ‘em next January. - Trevor
”
After a long, hot day riding the outskirts of Big Basin, it was really refreshing to finally feel that coastal breeze blowing through the coastal trees.
A constant flow of stor
Trevor bikepacks all over the US (and now globe). With a constant knack for getting rad, he has become comfortable shredding whatever bike is between his legs.
rage from this guy.
With the coast now within taste, we just had to make it through the dust farmland before diving into that salty sea.
GODDAMNED KIDS BIKES WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY G R A D Y C O R B I T T
My initiation into the cycling world really started around 1993 via an Elf Doublecross combined with the similar interest of 20 or so pre-teens in my surrounding hometown area who shared the same spark. Prior to that time, I knew how to ride a bike and had a stealth-looking Schwinn Predator, but it was too big, so it never saw its just deserts. Right around 1992, BMX became cool again (not that it ever wasn’t, but it had hit its dark ages). All of the sudden, BMX and BMX bikes started to pop up everywhere—magazines on the racks at the grocery store, older kids ripping curb cuts, different bikes and parts in the various shops by my house—and I started to notice little tracks and jumps wherever I seemed to wander. Hook, line, and sinker, BMX was reeling me in. I hustled all summer long, mowing lawns, washing cars, selling lemonade, painting the fence, doing chores for my granny, whatever I could do—and, in September of 1993, I was dead set on getting a Robinson Pro. It didn’t work out that way, as Joe Ledesma, Schmitty, and the boys at California Bike and Snowboard didn’t have a Robinson Pro, just GT Mach Ones and the Elf Doublecross. There was no way in hell I was getting the GT like every other kid on the block, so I went with the Elf and chose the path I still voyage today. That path eventually led to the Sunol BMX track in Northern California, which happened to be dead set in the middle of a burgeoning Bay Area BMX racing scene where top amateurs and pros would come to practice and race. Wednesday nights at Sunol in the springtime, were packed with major talent and the attitudes to match. This place became my home track, and I made friends there that I still know today, some 22 years later. From Sunol, it turned to Santa Clara PAL (the old one), Stockton, Napa, and then nationals in Reno, Roseville, Bakersfield, Lemoore, Phoenix, and Los Angeles. I raced competitively until getting burned out and realizing it was a changing of the guards, holding on to golden era ideals, while trying to be in the mix was just not in the cards. I wasn’t fast enough. Racing was going the way of the road bike, and all the characters I knew and loved were either quitting or becoming full on kooks. Thing was, any downtime from actual racing that you couldn’t do every day was spent at the jumps, either making your own close to home, organizing rides, or bussing it to get there (pre-license). Co-existing alongside the racing scene in Nor Cal was an equal, if not bigger, freestyle and jumping scene that catered more towards the older teens and guys in their early 20s. Not being sexist, but at this time in the game, women/girls were rarely seen participating beyond the track. The various jump spots littered throughout the Bay Area provided a place to be free, hone your skills, talk shit, hear the latest gossip, and make friends, and it was in these places that I found myself never wanting to leave—a second home if you will. These dirt jumping spots and homemade tracks soon became known as trails, and, in 1995, ESPN started the X Games, which offered a dirt jumping competition. This gave guys that used to spend all their free time hanging out in the woods, vacant dirt lots, sandy flood zones, and open fields riding and building jumps the option to work their hobby. A new era was upon us. The corporate commercialization of our lifestyle by things like ESPN and Mt. Dew is a fuck all by any means but also a story and discussion for another time. For now, let’s get back to trail riding in places like The Creek in Livermore and Nor Cups in San Jose.
BMX was alive and well in Northern California, and I realized that trail riding and jumping could be my exit out of racing. For a year or so, I battled internally with myself about quitting BMX altogether, as racing and competition were all I had known. In having various jump spots to ride where racers and freestylers came together I was exposed to a new style of riding and held onto the passion I was not ready to let go. There was more to all this than a sponsorship and a Top 10 number plate. In a 1997 issue of Ride BMX magazine, I saw the new Standard ad, which featured Isaac “Groundchuck” McCrea on a brown TrailBoss doing one of the best one-handed tabletops of all time at a place called POSH, shot by “Big” Ed Docherty. Who are these people? What is this place? I could not stop staring; I held the magazine in my hands longer than I held the Hustler we copped off Rooney’s dad—jaw open, miffed, Mecca. I could not believe a place like that existed. POSH came from Old POSH, which was in the same neighborhood, but in a different patch of woods. It was started by Mach 6 and Marky “8 Ball” Hall, and even saw the likes of Eric Carter and Brian “The Blue Falcon” Foster come through in the Chevy Lumina Hyper space van. When Old POSH got within plow king, Mach 6 ventured into the section of the woods that became known as New POSH or, better yet, POSH where it still stands today. When Jai Lonergan a.k.a. “J-Bone” a.k.a. “Trail Shaman” moved back home from a hiatus racing and representing for S&M and the P.O.W. Crew in Southern California, he joined Mach and 8 Ball Hall in moving massive amounts of dirt and shaping the general layout where, in season and after season, the small valley became filled with handmade dirt jumps. Chris “Sal” Sales was hesitant at first, but eventually came around and joined the crew in their efforts of bringing true MX style to BMX. Together with Jeremy “Magilla” Reiss, a fresh transplant via Ft. Wayne, Indiana, they began to push boundaries and ideas in ways riders had not yet begun to think about. Similar things were happening further west in Pittsburgh, in a set of woods called PUSH, which involved a different crew but shared goals and technique. Prior to this, you always pedaled at jumps starting from a flat area, then gassing it until you hit the first jump. Around ‘94–’95, rhythm sections began to appear, where in, after jumping the first jump, you no longer pedaled but, due to smoothness and pump, were able to carry speed and ride the entire set of jumps. This was called Flow, flow changed everything, becoming a standard that elevated skills and continues to be one of the more valued aspects of BMX riding. Unbeknownst to many, it was Sal and Magilla’s efforts that very quickly progressed trail riding and BMX in general. Magilla dug Ft. Wayne a new 6-pack that was stepper and deeper than anything else at POSH, raising the bar in homage to a line he had previously dug at The Ravine in Indiana. Sal’s thinking unified the lines of POSH, bringing them all to one starting point, linked with a walk-back path that takes you back to the start. Sal also foresaw the idea to use the natural hill from the new starting section, in turn eliminating pedaling. In my opinion, the idea of unifying the starting hill and using the natural speed to coast into the sections was game changing—far more important than anything that has come since then, including your double flips and energy drink sponsors. Under the guidance of Sal, Magilla, Jai, and the boys at PUSH, a new chapter of trail building and riding took over and forever changed core BMX. In 2005, after graduating from University of Arizona in Tucson, I moved east to New York City. I had continued to ride after quitting racing in 1998, actively riding street, ramps, pools, and trails when I came across them, but still had never sampled real East Coast trails. In spring of 2006, I was fortunate enough to meet John “Superfly” Skavarla at the Brooklyn Banks, and he brought me under his wing, taking me to his new spot Keyko on Long Island.
From the first laps at Keyko, I felt young again. It was like coming home to a place you had never even been. Real trees, green plants and bushes this place was a foreign land compared to ECL trails in Tucson and quickly brought me back to Creek trails and Nor Cups vibe wise. There was a strong local scene at the time, and soon, POSH, NAM, Minersville and newcomer Catty Woods were all anybody gabbed on about. I had come a long way in my 12 years or so of riding a BMX bike and could not wait to get to one of these places. It would be 2008 before I stepped foot on the legendary soil that is POSH, but, as they say, it is what it is and it was well worth the wait. In my first few visits I was introduced to Jai, Sal, Gilly, Stauff, Drew Jenkins, Dave King, Barney Barnhart, and Danny Bailey (#4). And despite the BMX rumor mill and the SHITE printed in Ride magazine, these guys were legit, cool, and welcoming— just don’t blow out a landing, or be quick with the fix if you do. I was amazed, intimidated, overwhelmed, and stiff. It took me session after session to learn lines and breathing techniques to aid in lap-after-lap succession, trying to keep up with the locals or bad ass visitors like Garrett Byrnes or the Deece Man “the Maniac” himself Derrick Girard. By fall of 2010, all I wanted to do was ride POSH. Any free time was spent organizing a ride to get there, sitting on a bus from Port Authority, or down in the woods once I arrived. It became part of my routine to ride certain lines first, check them off and move on. Long Runs to bomb drop, then Ft. Wayne to 6 on the Hill, then Qualimente, and the session would take its course. I found the exercise and repetition in laps to be consuming, a mix of adrenaline release and head-clearing calmness combined with camaraderie between all of the other individuals on the roll in. You did not even need to speak—the smiles and energy present were a force of their own, the only voices were to let others know which line you were riding or “On Ya” to let them know you were following on that lap. I learned the ropes and the lines and soon began chasing the dragon, a perfect lap was only met with one smoother or more roasty than the previous. If you fucked up - back up the hill for redemption. I turned 30 in 2012 harboring an increasingly bored and half-empty view of BMX as a whole after seeing the generation of riders I grew up watching, mimicking, and eventually riding with slowly dissipate. I would not ride BMX anymore in this day and age if places like POSH, Catty Woods, Keyko and Austin’s Eastside did not exist. Through the hard work, dedication, and commitment of trail builders and crews like them, a truly authentic DIY punk rock experience exists for the unsung heroes that choose to pirate the land, let their minds wander, and create something from nothing. It is now 2016, and cycling is a part of me. It is the best way to start or end a day, and it keeps me sane. I like all kinds of bikes, from road to mountain, and you can bet your ass I’ll be down the woods for some laps come autumn. My dig-to-ride ratio has never been the best. I have a lot going on, for fucks sake being a real trail guy is a full time job in itself. It is because of individuals like the ones listed above and those that continue to carry the torch that these amazing, special places exist. POSH and the ethics that surround it, from building to trail etiquette, have set standards that have influenced riders all over the world, whether they know it or not. Since the mid-90s, riders from England, Germany, Japan, France, Belgium, Australia, New Zealand, Spain, and all over these United States have been coming to the Lehigh Valley in northeastern Pennsylvania to experience Bicycle Motocross in its purest element. It is not as hush hush as it once was, you don’t have to know somebody to be welcome, but I doubt you will find any of the lines on Strava. If you are a BMXer that likes trails, pack your bike and your praying rug, and come to the holy land, our equivalent of Mecca, and pay homage with laps. Ye olde town of Bethlehem.
WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY KY L E E M E RY - P E C K A K A C U B BY
This past CX season, I made it out to a bunch of the races in Northern California. Race days can have a lot of down time if your carpooling with your buds who race at different times than you. I would pack my Hasselblad in my race day bag, bring a couple different kinds of film, and really just shoot what’s in front of me. Cyclocross racing can be extremely brutal, but can also be light-hearted and fun. I prefer the latter.
WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY J A K E S Z Y M A N S KI
When a friend of mine told me he had picked up a professional-grade film drone, I knew what we had to do. Everyone who’s serious about mountain biking around Portland has ridden Syncline. It’s often a go-to getaway from wet, winter weather, and it’s topgrade trails that take you charging downhill with a picturesque view of the Columbia River Gorge. While that’s happening, you’re also mere feet from the hundreds-of-feet-tall Coyote Wall cliff. This is prime territory for filming from a bird’s-eye view! Oh, we also took a Red Epic Dragon. That’s the camera that was used to shoot stuff like House of Cards, Independence Day, The Hobbit, X-Men Apocalypse and The Martian! All that gear meant we had two 30-plus-pound packs to haul up the climb. You’ll never believe our secret to getting that much gear up 1,000 feet of climbing. We brought a lot of snacks. We rode laps, took passes with the drone, and swapped high-fives over sandwiches. Since this was December, it was 30 degrees out and, after a few hours, we called it a day. It was a great opportunity to test our packing skills and ability to get a lot of heavy gear out onto the trail. For now, this was just a test, but you can find a rough cut of our footage over at gearjunkie.com under the Dakine Reload camera backpack review.
PHOTOGRAPHED BY R OA D R U N N E R B AG S
INSIDE THE ROAD RUNNER BAGS HEADQUARTERS. LOS ANGELES, CA.
WRITTEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY B R I A N B A R N H A RT T
Fort Tilden was my sanctuary when I lived in New York City; it was a place to get away from the madness. With inspiring scenery at every turn, the landscape helped develop the artist in me. It was beautiful in the summer months and the winter had its charm as well. Many visits were shared with friends, but I also loved to pedal out there alone, sometimes in the middle of the night, just to cool off. There was a certain desolation to the beach, dunes, woods, and abandoned army bunkers that I was completely drawn to. These photos are from one of my most memorable experiences, marching around with nobody else in sight.
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AMONG GIANTS WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY C H R I STO P H E R SA N AG U ST I N
Santa Cruz, California has always been a special place to me. Growing up just 90 miles away in the East Bay, it was the quintessential escape for friends and family. With all the touristy stuff put aside, what really brought me back to Santa Cruz weekend after weekend was the BMX scene. I’d go on to spend my late teens and early 20s there, riding BMX and creating friendships with some of the raddest people I know. As I grew older and my interests in cycling transitioned into Mountain Biking, Cyclocross, and Bikepacking, a whole new world opened up for me in the Santa Cruz Mountains. World-class single track is just minutes from downtown and there’s endless options for bikepacking beneath the towering redwoods. During my last trip to California, I was very fortunate to have four full days of mountain biking in the Santa Cruz Mountains. The complexity of life was put momentarily on hold. Stripped of my societal obligations, I was allowed to live in the moment and watch life unfold. Grateful.
ARTWORK BY DKLEIN
ARTWORK BY S I D E N C K J R .
PHOTOGRAPHED BY J O H N DA N I E L R E I S S
CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE WRIT TEN AND PHOTOGRAPHED BY C H R I STO P H E R SA N AG U ST I N
Portland, Oregon is widely known as one of the most bike-friendly cities in the world. I know this. You know this. So there is no need to acknowledge its Platinum status or its cycling infrastructure here. What I want to address is Portland’s hate of mountain bikers and its lack of off-road access within the city. The City of Portland owns over 12,000 acres of public park land and manages over 152 miles of trails. It’s an impressive number and Portlanders are really proud of it! So, out of all this land that the City manages with our tax dollars, mountain bikers have been given access to less than a mile of single track. For decades people have been piling in their cars and driving over an hour to get to trail systems that allow bicycles. This is wrong. It’s just so fucking wrong. Here we are. It’s 2016. We’re intelligent beings, capable of compassion, respect, and selflessness. We’ve come so far. Yet here I am. 5 a.m. in the morning. Alone in the woods. Cold. Scared. Driven here by the City’s callousness and blatant selfishness. Let me be clear: I can neither confirm nor deny that I have ridden any trails in the city of Portland. Yet here I am. 5 a.m. in the morning. Alone in the woods. Cold. Scared. And the City is what has brought me here.
