The sun is a hammer tapping the back of your neck and the air hangs thick in the smell of hot earth and two-stroke oil. In the distance, a lone rider cuts a line up a near-vertical hillside, the bike whine pouring in and out of frequency like a panicked song. Below, a family unloads a batch of dirt bikes out of a dusty trailer, the kids already bouncing with energy that cannot be contained. This is not just a sport; it is a subculture. It is passion. It is a quiet obsession that takes root in places you would never expect. From the humongous, whooped-out deserts of California to the loamy, root-filled singletrack of forests in Appalachia, dirt biking is the vibrant, pounding heart of this American land. It is the freedom of a wide-open trail, the instantaneous focus of a technical climb, and the shared, mud-smeared smile at the end of a long day. This is Dirt Bikes USA, and the story is not just about machines and dirt bikes, but about people who ride them and as importantly, the ground that they like to shred it up on.

The Long Road Here

To learn where we are going, you have to know where we've been. Dirt biking in America did not come from a single inventor or a lightbulb moment, but slowly evolved, morphed from necessity and creativity, along with an insatiable itch for off-road adventure. Before the advent of dedicated dirt bikes, there were only motorcycles and those who had an organic inclination to go see what was past the pavement. At the beginning of the 20th century, the pioneers of dirt biking on heavy, oversized road bikes would go off the dirt tracks and into the countryside, not really for sport or recreation, but for an experience bordering on the uncomfortable.

The seeds of dirt biking were truly sown after WWII. American GIs returning from Europe came back with a penchant for lightweight and nimble motorcycles bearing the British brands, BSA and Triumph, which were being utilized in scrambling and motocross events overseas. Meanwhile, Japan was engineering a different breed of motorcycle. Manufactures in Japan, like Honda, Yamaha, Suzuki and Kawasaki would start selling small bore, reliable and perhaps most importantly, inexpensive motorcycles to the American consumer market. They were the perfect blank canvas. It did not take long for American riders, who are typically hands-on, modify depending on preference and toughness allowing a machine more capable of off-road riding. They would simply pull off the fenders, change tire style, modify exhaust, and then would head to the hills. This is when the "desert sled" separation from a standard road bike would happen for the style of racing this time in brutal conditions of McHand racing which took place across the desert floor of California.

The 1960s were the age where purpose-built dirt bikes started to materialize. Japanese manufactures see what happens in the American market and stable oink factory manufactured and ready to ride off-road dirt bikes. The Elsinore series by Honda and DT-1 by Yamaha became the flagship for dirt bikes. They were light, relative power for the time, and most importantly, they were 2-stroke machines. The two-stroke engine, with its uncomplicated design, phenomenal power-to-weight ratio, and that characteristic, ringing exhaust note, was the official soundtrack of a generation. It was easy to work on in the garage with ordinary tools - just the right fit for the American DIY idea.

Then came the 1970s, the golden age. Motocross had established itself in the national consciousness, with rippers like Bob "Hurricane" Hannah and Broc Glover making the evening sports news, rivalry summarized in half-hour television broadcasts from places like Unadilla, and Carlsbad. It was so raw, so dangerous, so freaking thrilling. Every kid with a patch of dirt nearby imagined hitting a jump like the pros. Technology advanced at a dizzying pace, with suspension travel increasing and frames getting lighter. Dirt biking had moved beyond the fringes, to become a full-blown thing with its own heroes, style and a very particular culture.

The Tribe

The culture of dirt biking is a world of its own, born of a shared experience that transcends age, background or profession. A culture spoken in the universal language of a nodded hello from a helmeted rider on a forest trail, and the unspoken understanding when you see someone pulled over, wrench in hand, attending to a mechanical.

On Saturday mornings, the local motocross track is where the heart of the competitive scene is to be found. The environment is abuzz with different sounds: the engines warming up, the announcer speaking in a garbled voice about the races and the roar of a pack of bikes ripping out of the starting gate. Each sound follows a rhythm. The parents, many of whom are former riders themselves, are servicing their racer kids as pit crews, adjusting tire pressure, cleaning goggles, or giving last minute instructions. The smell of grilled hamburgers from the concession stand collides with burnt two-stroke oil. The tension, which ranges from fear, to anxiety, to excitement is palpable in the staging area. Riders, from the pee-wee on the 50cc up to the experts feel it in their guts. You also feel the sense of community. If a rider crashes, there will be a dozen people running to help. If a rider needs a spare part, there is a pretty good chance it will be lent, no questions asked. Riders get it. They understand this bond of community and the mutual understanding of risk vs reward.

And then there is the trail-riding community, a moralatively different breed, with a common passion. For these folks, enjoyment is not determined by whether or not they win a race, but rather the experience. It is the concept of a hundred mile set of forest service roads, a secret waterfall, or finally conquering a gnarly, rock-infested hill climb that once defeated you. Most riders have different equipment, bikes outfitted for more fuel and tool kits, however, it is more about endurance than outright speed. Groups of buddies would giddily plan tent camping weekends around the riding experience of loading bikes in the back of trucks, along with tents and coolers. As riders gather around the fire at night they are often discussing their outings for the day — the hill a rider finally made it over, the amazing view they find, or the close encounter with the deer that was standing there minding its own business. As dirt bikers, they took part in a two-wheeled pilgrimage, a chance to disconnect from the social media-dominated digital world and reacquaint themselves back with something more visceral: trail, weather, and the simple machine-rider connection.

The machine is an essential part of their identity. Often, a rider doesn't just own the machine, they can identify with their dirt bike. They can tell you how each scratch, dent, or coat of mud got there, how grips feel when they are fresh, and the precise jetting for a crisp throttle response at altitude. Working on the machine in the garage is just as critical to the hobby as riding the machine. It offers a tactile, hands-on experience that is becoming rare in today's world. The dirt bike can become an extension of ourselves, a means of self-expression, and a partner-in-adventure.

Regional Influences and Local Icons

The geography of dirt biking in America tells its own story. Unsurprisingly, heading to Southern California is going to place you in the heart of the dirt bike industry. The Mojave Desert and its infinite network of trails, where there are legal riding areas, like Glen Helen and Cahuilla Creek, are responsible for generations of riders adding to dirt biking lore and culture. There also might not be a more distinctive riding style than the West Coast version of motorcycle riding — aggressive, quick, and ready to stand on the throttle because the desert has a lot of opportunity for wide open with no major obstacles. Annually traveling to locations like Glamis on Thanksgiving weekend brings thousands of riders to the dunes, creating a temporary city of RVs, generators, and the noise of all of the engines.

Head east to the woods of Pennsylvania, West Virginia, or North Carolina and riding is a completely different experience. This environment is tight, technical, rooted. You are actually threading trees on narrow single-track trail, constantly reading the ground for rocks, roots, and of course, mud. The bikes are generally setup softer and usually with lower gearing. Riders develop a different skillset in this environment: balance, throttle control, and the art of reading terrain at a slower speed. The culture has similar traits: there isn't a lot of talk about who is fastest, more discussion on who made it up Meat Grinder Hill without dabbing a foot.

The Midwest has an identity too based on the flat loamy tracks that favors smooth riding and perfect lines. Loretta Lynn's Ranch in Tennessee now serves as a pilgrimage location when it hosts the amateur national championships every summer. This is the place where careers are launched and dreams are shattered. The humidity is oppressive, the red clay stains everything, and making it to Loretta's is a badge of honor no matter where you live in the country.

Out on the Pacific Northwest, rain is a revered quality. Riders have an intimate knowledge of the mud, how it changes with temperature, how different soil responds in wet condition, and the delicate throttle control to maintain momentum without losing grip. The trails remain accessible all year long, and those who show up in January can be classified as hardy riders, since most of the country has put their motorcycles in storage for the winter, as you can see in chapter one.

Each area has produced their local heroes as well. Not the national champions on the TV screen, but the guys who win regularly at the regional level. The guys that know every line and jump on all the tracks within two hundred miles, work construction during the week, and then come out on Sunday and smoke everyone in the vet class. These are also the foundation of the sport, they continue to keep the sport alive, they pick the younger kids up, set up volunteer days to maintain the path, and are attending county meetings to fight for land access.

The Economics of Dirt

Now we should talk about money because being naive to the fact that it matters would be dishonest. Like I said, dirt biking is expensive. A race-ready motocross bike would run you eight to twelve grand if bought new. Then there's gear - A good helmet alone, which should be replaced after any considerable crash, is three hundred to six hundred. Boots, another four to six hundred. Pants, jersey, gloves, goggles, chest protector, knee braces, if you have any brains about you; before you turn a single wheel you're at least fifteen hundred dollars deep.

Then comes maintenance. If you're racing, you are rebuilding the top end on a four stroke every twenty to thirty hours. That's parts and labor. Unless you're doing it yourself, which is a little different, then you have the parts, the labor, plus the tools, the manuals, and all the mistakes you will make because you're learning. Tires often wear quickly. Chains and sprockets are consumables. Oil changes, air filters, brake pads, cables -- it all adds up more quickly than most people think. If you are a family who has multiple kids racing, it might feel like a second mortgage. The entry fees, the gas to get to races (sometimes hours away), the hotel rooms for a weekend, and the occasional ambulance ride when things go bad. Some families figure it out through sacrifice -- camping instead of hotels, buying used gear, doing all of their own work. Others just cannot sustain it, and slowly disappear.

The industry knows it is an issue. The used market is healthy, and if you can find a bike that is a few years old, you can save yourself thousands of dollars. Some manufacturers have also created less expensive models for beginners. But the reality is that dirt biking has become increasingly expensive, and this creates barriers to entry that did not exist before. In the past, a kid could simply buy a used bike and go ride in the woods for a couple of hundred bucks.

However, there is an entire ecosystem of small businesses surrounding the activity. The local shop that specializes in suspension tuning. The guy who rebuilds engines out of his garage. The mobile mechanic who is at the race with a van full of parts and tools. There are those individuals who are making kits for custom graphics, those who are making aftermarket exhaust systems, and those who are making new designs of boots. For some, it all started as a hobby, but for some, it has grown to be their livelihood. They are not getting rich, but they are able to make a living doing something that they are passionate about, and that is valuable.

The Women's Revolution

For a long time, dirtbiking has been a boys' club. There have been women riders, but often times have been spectators, and their accomplishments downplayed, and resources limited. This has changed, and not going to soon. The women riders of the current era are flipping the script altogether. At the professional level, riders like Tarah Gieger, Vicki Golden, and a new wave of women racers have thoroughly proved that gender has nothing to do with riding capability on a dirt bike. They are not just riding, but they are ripping with guys, pulling tricks in freestyle that would have been seen as impossible only ten years ago, racing in male dominated events and doing well. But the major change is at the grassroots level. Now when you walk into any motocross track, there are more girls than you can remember in the pee-wee classes. The industry has finally caught on and provides women's sizing and gear, rather than just shrinking men's gear and making it pink. All-female riding camps have also increased, providing spaces for women to learn and progress without some variations of toxic masculinity. There is still work to be done, as evidenced by the cesspools of comments after social media feeds showcasing female riders. The insults assume that women are riding for attention, are not serious, or do not have a right to be in the space. But those voices are getting quieter each day. The evidence is showing that women can also ride. Women can ride as hard as men ride, as fast as men ride, and are as committed as men in the sport. The push back is going away simply because it has been proven ridiculous. The negative effects are larger than an individual rider. Young girls that grow up today are seeing representation, and it is clear that this is something they can do. They will no longer have to fight for legitimacy the same way. They are able to purchase a dirtbike for their sons, and also purchase one for their daughters. The pipeline is filling, and in a decade, we won't look back at this legacy of dirtbiking being a male only domain, and see it as it is.

The Injury Question No One Wants to Face

There's an elephant in the room that is in the form of a bill from the orthopedic surgeon. Dirt biking is dangerous. Not dangerous as in it may or may not be dangerous, it is dangerous. You can do everything right – wear the gear, know your limits, take care of your bike, and still end up with a concussion or a compound fracture.

Talk to any rider who has been in the sport for over a decade, and they will have a catalog of injuries. It is almost a rite of passage to have broken a collarbone. Separated shoulders, torn ACLs, broken ribs, wrists, ankles, and the list goes on. Concussions are a serious and growing concern because we are continuing to learn about the long-term effects of repeated head trauma. Some riders have paid a much higher price when a concussive injury left them paralyzed or with a disability.

The sport has struggled, haunted really, with these realities in fits and starts. We have developed better and better safety gear, but that doesn't mean there is prevention. Equipment like the Leatt or Atlas neck braces can limit a catastrophic neck injury, but nothing is perfect, and some find them cumbersome. Chest protectors evolved from plastic outer shells, to systems that provide back and multiple impact areas. Helmets are being tested with stricter testing standards.

But after stating all that, equipment can only do so much. The fundamentals really haven't changed for years: You are on top of a machine that can go flat out 50 miles an hour and often three feet off the ground, riding on terrain that can mean anything is possible. Physics is not up to negotiation. What is curious to contemplate is how the community responds to it. There is a gallows humor and shared understanding where injury is simply part of the whole deal. Riders will laugh and joke about their scars, tell stories about injuries and complications with surgery– it's a coping mechanism. They normalize the risk in ways that aren't always healthy for younger riders, who may not understand the consequences of injury.

Then there is the financial burden. Hospitalization, surgery, physical therapy - even with health insurance, not all of the costs are covered, and out of pocket expenses can be crippling. You also miss work for two or three months while you heal - not only do you have the medical bills, but you also have lost wages. There are some riders who have lost their jobs, relationships and financial security due to injuries from riding.

But still, people get back on the bike. Why that is complicated - part of it is the same reason that people climb tall mountains or surf big waves - the risk is part of the reward and part of the adventure. Part of it is community and identity - if you get off the bike, you are not only getting off the bike, but you are also losing a big piece of what you are and losing the people who you have bonded with. What part of it is, like many of our experiences, riding feels so good and is so pure, that there is no rational way to weigh the experience into the risk.

There doesn't seem to be an easy resolution here. Making the riding experience safer is an ongoing process, but recognizing that danger would entirely change riding's definition. Our best practice is to be straightforward about the hazards, encourage informed choices, stress proper training and gear, and help racers when things go wrong.

The Next Generation and the Video Era

Technological innovations have dramatically changed how young racers learn the sport. When today's veterans came up, you learned by watching the fast guys at your local track, reading magazines, and maybe watching some bizarre VHS tapes of supercross races. Now, a kid can just pull up YouTube and watch hours of helmet-cam videos from the best riders in the world, frame-by-frame breakdowns of technique, suspension setups, and race analysis.

On the one hand, this is amazing. The pace of progression is quickening. Tricks that spread through the sport over years are now getting learned and replicated in months. Young kids are hitting jumps and trying maneuvers that not that long ago were something you would only see professionals do. The knowledge is democratized – you no longer need to live near a facility, or have the connections to learn from the best.

But there is also a downside. Racers are now trying the things they saw on Instagram even when they are outside of their skill set. It can blur the line between confidence and hubris. There's also the pressure to capture everything, the need to get the shot, and to build a following. Some young racers can appear to care more about their social media presence than about the development of their actual riding.

Freestyle motocross and extreme sports culture have also had a big effect on this too. The aesthetics have shifted - riders now want bikes to have bolts of graphics and other things which prioritize stylist over functional. The language has changed, borrowing heavily from skate culture and BMX culture. The heroes have changed - rather than race champions, kids now will rally around freestyle riders pulling backflips and YouTube personalities that have made a brand out of riding vlogs.

For many old-timers, these things are concerning. They see no respect for the basics, a shortcut mentality and all of this is an obsession with being cool rather than doing mundane and monotonous work at getting better. But every generation feels that way about the generation after. The truth is it will evolve, it will change cultures and some of it will be lost while some will be gained. The kids today are certainly more creative, more willing to experiment, and less resistant to we have "always done it this way".

The Vanishing Act: Where We Are Allowed to Ride

This is arguably the most serious issue facing the sport - one that keeps advocacy groups up at night, and the old-timers shaking their heads. Places to go ride are disappearing. And once lost, they are not coming back. Every year a new OHV area closes for a variety of reasons. Every year old private property ads up more no trespassing signs. Every year a new forest service trail is reclassified to "hiking only".

Why is this happening? It's complicated.... but we are all witnessing it. Urban sprawl is certainly the big reason. Housing developments are encroaching into previously rural areas, and suddenly the desert riding area you have enjoyed for the past two decades now has a neighborhood built next to it. The new residents, not surprisingly, do not like the noise. They contact county officials, environmental impact studies are done, and the next thing you know that riding area has been closed to all uses.

Environmental issues are a real concern, but they are sometimes used inappropriately. A well-designed trail system, well-maintained, that includes water bars and sustainable grades, creates almost no impact to the environment. However, it is easier to outlaw every type of use rather than manage it closely, especially during tight budget times. There are some absolutely irresponsible riders who tear through sensitive areas, ride when it is wet when they shouldn't, and create erosion problems that harm everyone else.

Liability plays a role too. People with private land who once allowed riding don't want to expose themselves to a lawsuit and are unwilling to take the risk. Even if you have insurance, it is just not worth the time and hassle. The same is true for public land managers; one injury can create a lawsuit and public outcry regardless of whether they are at fault.

What happens next is a slow squeeze. The riding areas that remain are more crowded, more impacted, and create more rules. Riders have to travel further to find riding areas that are legal. New riders have an increasingly difficult time finding somewhere they can learn to ride. All of this creates a negative feedback loop – the fewer the access points, the more the riders that remain get concentrated, adding to conflict and closures.

The fight will take organization, money, and political involvement. Organizations such as the BlueRibbon Coalition have had some successes, re-opening closed areas, working with land managers to develop compromises, and developing new riding areas. But it is hard work to buck the larger trends of population growth and changing land use.

Most likely the long-term solution includes more private facilities – commercial riding parks that can be managed properly, insured adequately, and maintained in a sustainable way. But that requires startup capital, ongoing operating expenses, and zoning that permits it. And they are also not a complete solution for trail riding within large, varied landscapes.

For now, our approach is defensive and evolutionary. Show up for public comment periods. Volunteer to maintain the trails. Abide by the rules. Do not give our enemies any leverage through unintentional violations. Cross your fingers that the approach is satisfactory to keep the even fewer places we have open for another generation. Not inspiring, but reality.

The Global Connection and America's Place

This is, of course, a story about dirt biking in America. But that is not its only context. The sport has a massive international footprint, and the flow of ideas, techniques, and riders across the pond informs what we do here.

European riders, especially from France, Italy, and Spain, have dominated hard enduro and technical terrain riding. In their natural training terrains – rocky mountainsides, in alpine forests, these riders develop an almost superhuman sense of balance and throttle control. When American riders witness first-hand, or through social media, the other-worldly abilities demonstrated by European riders, pushing seemingly impossible to theologically gauged limits in terrain most would opt to avoid, the domestically increases the capability of American riders; both mentally and technically.

The Australian connection is also strong; particularly pertinent is desert racing and rally raid. Aussies have a cultural love of enormous, harsh terrain and the challenge of riding there on two wheels. This affinity has influenced navigation systems for ultra-endurance events, bike set up for ultra-endurance events and the mindset of riding in dangerous remote conditions.

Latin America has supplied its own flavor (primarily Mexico and Chile). The Baja Peninsula has become sacred ground for desert racing; a punishing proving ground that has fostered amazing riders and events that have become legendary. The terrain itself is steeper and more punishing than any American desert -pointed rocks, silt beds and elevation changes that are outrageous.

American riders have had a global influence also. Freestyle motocross first and foremost was an American phenomenon, born out of X Games and the American penchant for spectacle and progression. Supercross, racing stadium with a man made track is entirely American yet has been exported to the worldwide scene but never really had the same cultural penetration related to impact down to the event itself.

Right now there is coming together. The best riders are travelling across nations to compete, camp training programs are mixing riders from different continents, and then social media means that as fast as someone innovates something anywhere in the world, it will be spreading so quickly across borders. An innovation in bike set up out of Austria is being tested by riders in California a few weeks later. A new innovative training approach created based on research by a Spanish coach and meant for a college training squad gets adopted by a team in America too quickly to mention. This international exchange has lifted the sport to higher standards at every level, while creating a more competitive disposition. The dominance of the USA in certain disciplines is not what it once was. That can be sobering; however, it's also healthy. It speaks to everyone else on the planet improving, innovating, and doing a little harder.

Conclusion

At the end of the day, if Dirt Bikes USA has a story, it's not going to be found in a spec sheet, or even a record book, but in the feeling. It's the vibrations coming up through the bars into your bones. It's the dust you can taste in your mouth. It's the focus that is so laser-sharp, that you never even notice the rest of the world has melted away, remaining only you, your motorcycle and the next ten feet of trail. It's about shoving one's motorcycle out of a mudhole, cracking up, and suddenly coming to the revelation that with one day on the bike, all of the world's problems seem simple.

It's a sport that grows resilience. You will fall. You will fail to make a hill climb. You will get stuck. And you will learn to pick yourself and the machine up, reflect on what went wrong, and try again. Dirt bikes nurture a subtle confidence that flows into other aspects of life. It's that connection to a community, a tribe of people who understand the call of the trail and the delight of taking a perfectly executed corner.

From blocks made by children and their minibikes, to the multi-millions of dollars of stadium supercross with sold-out crowds, the thread is the same per the excitement, the love for the machine and what it provides. It is complicated, messy, beautiful, and incredibly American. It is the smell of pre-mix on a cool morning, the sight of a line of headlights snaking up a mountain trail at dawn, and finally the weightiness of the earned exhaustion. A dirt bike, in all of its forms, is not just a machine, but a key to opportunity, experience, adventure, challenge, and friendship. and we are once again, grateful for every ride that perpetuates the American spirit.