By Ron Koch
“I want to come up and ride the Wizard of Oz Trail with you this weekend,” Grant texted me. Instantly confused because I had never heard of that trail, I asked him, “Where is that? What area?”
“That place you rode the other day and sent me a photo of,” he said.
“Oh, you mean the Kern River Trail?” I said.
“Yeah, that’s it,” he replied.
I know that he was aware of the real trail name, but instead of calling it that, he created a new name based on the wildflowers that are on display every spring. And that’s how easily it happens. All it takes is one simple renaming of a trail to start it. I’ve found myself calling it that lately, too. It spreads like a virus and creates a problem.
It all starts with the question, “What do you want to ride?” followed by rattling off trail names to create the route. The combination can sound something like, “Let’s take Viper to Golden Eagle, drop down Dan’s Ditch, back up Plantation, and finish with Thunder Alley.” The confusion starts when you either get one of the names wrong or somebody calls it something else. What typically transpires shortly after some back and forth about the actual names is, “Let’s just ride; we’ll figure it out,” and off we go.
What often gets me in trouble is calling a trail by a single name when others break it into sections. What I call Plantation in its entirety, others break up into Alley Cat and Plantation. I often wonder if riders rename trails to throw other users off who might be trying to find it. In fact, I often see riders name their local favorites something from a faraway county just to keep the masses from blowing it up, and I can’t blame them.
Who gets to name a trail is often debatable, too, especially when it’s new. Now, this is typically a non-system trail thing that we do not condone; however, it happens. And when it happens, it’s often the builder or whoever puts in the most time that gets the honor of naming the trail. Sometimes the trail is named after the builder, particularly when it’s a work of art. The name sometimes changes if it’s officially adopted, but other times it remains the same. Many of the trails in Sedona were born this way and kept the original name given by the trail builder.
GENERATIONS
Trail names often seem to be a generational thing. A group of riders will call it one thing, and then, as they age out and a new generation of younger riders takes their place, new names often come with them. Everyone has an idea of what something should be called for one reason or another, and different user groups often give a trail different names.
I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve been talking to somebody about a lesser-known trail, and one of us gets all excited because we think it’s something new to us that we’ve yet to ride, only to figure out that it’s the same old trail we’ve been putting tires on for decades, now called by a different name.
And just as generations can change things, so can age, or shall we say maturity? Numerous trails are partially named after some part of the human anatomy or another bit of vernacular seemingly taken from the Urban Dictionary. Some are really funny, others childish and dumb, but either way, I won’t be listing any examples of those here for obvious reasons. The fact that these are some of my favorite trail names says a lot about my maturity level, too.
INCIDENTAL IDENTIFICATION
Another common way trails get renamed is when something memorable happens on them. An incident is far more likely to be etched into your brain than even a catchy name. It’s even more probable if a trail or route name is something like 2N10, even though that Forest Service road name has been stuck in my head from years of racing at Big Bear. It’s also called Skyline Drive on one half and Sugarloaf Truck Trail on another, but years of suffering on 2N10 has it permanently branded in my brain via lactic acid. I can literally feel the burn in my legs and lungs, sweat in my eyes, and see the riders I’m chasing in front of me when I think of that name!
Then there’s another trail we call “Broken Brake Lever.” It has a real name on a map, but I’ve never bothered to look it up or call it anything else. A friend’s crash and limp back down, on what is already a very technical and difficult trail even with two fully functional brakes, was all it took for that one to stick for years.
THE SOLUTION
The only real solution to making a trail name stick for any length of time is a sign. Something, even if small, posted at the beginning of a trail is the best chance of keeping riders calling it by that name. Handmade signs make me smile more than the sterile Carsonite posts with reflective decals listing an alphanumerical code, but every zone has its way. However, even then, no matter how old the trail, how covered in signs it is, or how clearly it’s named on maps, somebody will come along and call it “Wizard of Oz”, and confuse everybody for years to come.