The Best And Worst Trail Names

It is a good sign that as I was perusing mountain bike trail names all over the western United States, I found more names I would place in the Best column than in the Worst column. As I’ve seen them though, the majority of the total were rather bland and inane.

You get a lot of “Connector” trails. Everywhere you look, there’s a trail named Connector, which is fine only when you realize those are mostly short jaunts from one crazy downhill to another.

It seems like it would be beneficial to everyone if there was a guide on how to name MTB trails. The first thing to remember is to avoid numbers. Mountain bike trails are not city streets. Unlike city streets, which are best laid out in a grid, such as is done in New York City or Salt Lake City. If you’re building a city, lay the streets out in a grid and number them so people have an easier time finding their way around…the city. Mountain bike trails on the other hand are almost never laid out in a grid, and they shouldn’t be. They are trails which often follow the contour of the mountain, aiming at the more enticing features of a mountainside, or just switching back and forth to make a climb easier. These trails are mostly wild (the good ones), not visited by machines, civil engineers, or city planners. These trails need dynamic, memorable names. Which would you remember more, a trail named Ripjaw, or a trail named Trail #657?

Yeah, it would be Ripjaw, right?

Ripjaw, by the way, is a character in the Ben 10 cartoon series. It’s not a trail name that I know about, but it should be.

The next thing to remember is less of a priority, more of a personal preference. It may have some merit, so take it into consideration. There are many names for trails which start or end with a real person’s name. The only time I feel this is trail-name worthy is when it’s a name like Sacajawea, Buzz Aldrin, or Haley Batten. When you get these trails named Mike’s Pass, Dave’s Turnaround, or Tyler’s Connector, it loses savor, and loses meaning. Nobody knows, or really deep down cares about Mike, Dave, or Tyler. Not that they aren’t super cool guys, but their names don’t make any trail memorable.

The last thing I think anyone naming a trail should remember is to name the sketchy trails with memorably sketchy names, and the ordinary trails with ordinary names. It’s honest marketing.

What’s an ordinary name? Look to the common ones first. There are quite a few which sound like the same person traveled around to all the new trails and suggested the same name over and over again. Not likely, but kind of funny, if you think about it. We still have some names which pop up everywhere. Ridgeline, Cougar, and Juniper show up far too often. Portal and Pipeline appear on every mountain. Even Rock Garden, Rock and Roll, and Punk Rock, are used in so many places, they sound less like something you want to ride and more like somewhere you’d easily forget to take pictures. Common, therefore boring.

So, how do you avoid common? Take a look at these names. The ABSOLUTE BEST mountain bike trail names, from the western U.S. are these:

Horsethief Canyon—California (The birthplace of mountian biking as we know it, California, should have some great names, and they do.)

Special Orange—California

Sinuous—California

Graveyard Truck—California

Spahn Ranch—California (Here’s one that could have been named Spohn Ranch after one of the most amazing skateboard icons, Aaron Spohn. Whoever named this trail decided to name it after the Electronic Music outfit. It happens to be more fitting when it’s not about skateboarding.)

Deathhair—Colorado (Though there is perhaps an unhealthy obsession in the mountain bike community with death, trail names like Dead Guy, Dead Man, and Deathwish, don’t catch the attention quite like “Deathhair”. Really, what is that? A trail name that makes you want to visit.)

Hula Girl—Hawaii (So fitting.)

Jeep Eater—Hawaii (Whoa, look out!)

$300 Haircut—Idaho (Now this might seem to violate the first rule, but take a second look. It’s not trail 300. Tell me you wouldn’t remember this name—I won’t believe it.)

5 O’clock Shadow—Idaho

Low Hanging Fruit—Idaho

Tighty Whitey—Idaho

Carcass #3.26—Montana (I thought this one was just another numbered trail, but as I investigated, I couldn’t find a Carcass #1 or Carcass #2, or even a Carcass #4. That’s a bit intriguing.)

Slag Slayer—Montana

Old Chevy Truck—Montana

Puke Hill—Utah (Understandably named because it takes you 475 feet up in one mile. That’s about 145 meters up within 1.6 kilometers.)

Petrified Whales—Utah

Bloviate—Washington State (I want more like this.)

Sasquatch—Washington State

Fiddlehead—Alaska

Pagh—Alaska

Voldin—Alaska

Zasade—Alaska (Are these Russian names?)

And then there’s Arizona, which somehow grew a fascination with beans:

Franks ’n’ Beans—Arizona

Rice ’n’ Beans—Arizona

Bean Butte—Arizona

Bean Boulder—Arizona

Bean Bluff—Arizona

And that concludes the list of all the good-attention-grabbing trail names.

Now for the ones that grossed me out, or otherwise repelled me.

Horse Dookie—California

Outhouse—California

Vomit—Colorado

Pot Farm—Hawaii

Pelvis—Idaho

Dump Run—Washington State

Stinky Seat—Washington State

Potholes—Washington State

Dead Indian Gulch—Wyoming

Published by Kurt Gailey

The latest update is that I've written seven novels, twenty screenplays, four self-help books, and one children's early reader, but only published half of them. So the question is: how can we speed up the literary machine?

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