E-bike turf wars
As more powered mountain bikes hit nation’s trails, clashes over open spaces, access and abilities increase
FOUNTAIN HILLS, Ariz. – A grayhaired dude jumped on his mountain bike and began pedaling into the Sonoran Desert along a rocky, single-track path.
The trail at McDowell Mountain Regional Park wound past towering saguaros, around paloverde trees in blooming splendor and through sand-filled arroyos. There was no sound except the grind of tires on gravel, the gush of a May breeze and the occasional call of sentinel quail.
Mile after mile, the ride seemed easy. Even as he climbed steep hills, 73-year-old Rand Hubbell barely broke a sweat. In fact, thanks to the bike’s inconspicuous electric motor, his ascent was relatively effortless: Hubbell could remain seated while a 750-watt battery let him use as much or little leg power as he chose.
Electric mountain bikes, known as eMTBs, are more than just welcomed in this 21,000-acre playground; they’re encouraged. The county park’s 40 miles of trails include specialized tracks for competition, plus rest stops with air pumps and spare inner tubes. More than half of the visitors are cyclists.
Next door, the McDowell Sonoran Preserve shares a border with the regional park. It, too, is laced with miles of hiking trails.
Yet the preserve has a giant sign at its entrances featuring a picture of an e-bike with a slash through it: “Electric Bikes Prohibited.” It is run by neighboring Scottsdale, where a municipal ordinance bans batterypowered bicycles on all 225 miles of trails.
Adjacent properties. Opposite policies.
Adding to the confusion, numerous trails from the county park lead
“I kicked a hornet’s nest. Everyone hated the bill. It was cursed.”
Sen. Todd Weiler Utah lawmaker on his bill that would clarify rules on e-bikes and single-track trails
over the mountain crest and into the preserve’s no-eMTB zone.
The two grounds might as well be a symbol for the turf war that has emerged with the infusion of electric mountain bikes into America’s backcountry.
Over the past five years, smaller and stronger batteries have powered a booming market for e-bikes of all kinds. And, especially since COVID-19 lockdowns, backcountry trails have seen a proliferation of the dirt-ready variety.
While there is only partial data on the phenomenon, experts agree that cycling has skyrocketed, with electric mountain bikes the most popular model. Bicycle shops nationwide ran out of inventory during the past two years, with prospective buyers on monthslong wait lists.
According to PeopleForBikes, an advocacy organization for manufacturers, suppliers and cyclists, electric mountain bike sales increased by 1,000% from 2015 to 2019. LEVA, another analyst, reported more e-bikes were sold in the United States last year than electric cars. Mordor Intelligence predicts the worldwide market for battery-powered mountain bikes, valued at $5 billion in 2020, will double by 2026.
The onslaught of motor-assisted cyclists has generated a surge of traffic not only on streets, but on trails revered for serenity – trails where, often, motorized vehicles have been considered off-limits.
Thus began the turf wars. When U.S. Forest Service managers tried to open trails near Lake Tahoe to e-bikes three years ago, the agency wound up in court – sued by the National Horsemen’s Association.
When the Department of the Interior announced that eMTBs would be treated as nonmotorized vehicles and allowed on trails in national parks, government employees filed another lawsuit.
In Utah, America’s mecca for mountain biking, lawmakers tried to devise a statute this year that would clarify rules on e-bikes and single-track trails. The proposal got battered from all sides, said state Sen. Todd Weiler, who introduced the measure.
“My lesson?” Weiler said. “Don’t run an electric bike bill ever again.”
On Mackinac Island in Michigan, ebikes are banned unless a rider has a “mobility disability” – a medical condition – or an inability to walk more than 200 feet without stopping.
Back in Scottsdale, when city staffers suggested last year that the Sonoran Preserve might open some trails to ebikers, conservationists stormed social media and bombarded City Hall with email, most of them rabidly opposed to any motorized traffic in the parklands.
The proposal was promptly tabled, and no one has dared bring it up since. “It’s a very passionate discussion,” said Scott Hamilton, preserve manager.
During a rest stop, Hubbell mentioned that in 1998 he helped write the city ordinance banning motorized vehicles from the preserve. Later, he served on a commission overseeing its trails. And from 2003 to 2015, he was supervisor of the adjoining county park.
Hubbell said he became an avid mountain biker after retirement. But age and health issues took a toll until the morning rides just sapped his strength.
That’s when Hubbell started noticing e-bikes as they passed him on hills. “I thought, ‘That’s pretty cool,’ ” he recalls. “I’m working hard and these guys are going right by me. And they’re smiling.”
‘Trail punks’
Manufacturers, vendors, riders and other advocates insist that although eMTBs have motors, they are really just bicycles.
They contend e-bike ownership is dominated by older people who travel slower, with less danger and trail damage. And the battery allows disabled or weak riders to enjoy the great outdoors while getting moderate exercise.
Those who oppose e-bike access to single-track trails include not just environmentalists and hikers, but equestrians and others who argue that eMTBs are faster, heavier, more dangerous and more destructive than regular mountain bikes. The motor also transports cyclists deeper into the outback, with increased impact on nature.
Some of the fiercest eMTB critics are regular mountain bikers – purists who view the battery boost as “cheating.”
A 2020 article in Gear Patrol pointed out that mountain biking had once been the “drunk uncle” of outdoor activities, with riders disdained as “trail punks” by hikers, conservationists and horsemen.
After decades of diplomacy and trailbuilding, regular mountain bikes gradually gained acceptance. “But here we are again,” the article noted, “only now ebikers are the pariahs.”
In Washington state, the Evergreen Mountain Bike Alliance lobbied for a bill prohibiting eMTBs from all “natural surface trails.” The reason, as explained in Singletracks magazine, was a fear that if e-bikes are permitted, then land managers might close trails to all bicycles.
Amid the debate, government officials have concocted a chaos of rules and policies from Alaska to Florida.
The regulations and enforcement are so inconsistent that even vendors warn customers not to purchase electric mountain bikes until they’ve checked with city, county, state and federal land agencies to learn whether they’ll have places to ride.
What is an eMTB?
In one sense, the dilemma is like any conflict that arises with disruptive technology: A new product or invention encroaches, prompting backlash.
Years ago, snowboarders fought for access to ski slopes. Today, drone operators struggle with flight regulations aimed at protecting privacy and public safety.
But eMTBs are particularly fraught because the technology places them in a gray area. Are they motorized vehicles or bicycles?
Modern e-bikes feature a motor that either assists a rider in pedaling or can provide all the power. Most jurisdictions set a 750-watt limit to the battery and recognize three levels of eMTB:
● Class 1: The motor kicks in only when the bike is being pedaled, and a governor caps battery-enhanced speed at 20 mph.
● Class 2: A rider can rely fully on the motor, without pedaling. The top speed under battery power is also 20 mph.
● Class 3: The motor delivers energy only when the cyclist is pedaling and only up to a speed of 28 mph. (Class 3 bikes are generally banned from natural, one-track trails.)
The e-bike is a techno nerd’s dream, with multiple motor types and software systems. But all draw power from a rechargeable battery that turns a shaft, creating torque that propels a wheel.
Because the mechanics are so small, with batteries concealed in the frame, many e-MTBs are nearly impossible to visually distinguish from regular bikes.
Anyone who has ridden a nonmotorized mountain bike on steep trails knows the sport is demanding. Electric motors can dramatically reduce that stress, letting riders decide how hard they want to work during climbs.
Of course, that advantage comes with a price: eMTBs start at around $1,000, soaring to upward of $15,000.
Legislatures and agencies around the U.S. have struggled to define and regulate eMTBs. Most states have designated Class 1 and 2 bikes as nonmotorized, but often with confusing exceptions.
Even cycling organizations seem conflicted, caught between members who bristle at e-bikes and those who love them. The International Mountain Biking Association’s policy position is noncommittal, supporting Class 1 electric bikes in the backcountry unless that means traditional bikes will be banned.
“We want to see eMTB access granted,” said Todd Keller, the association’s director of governmental affairs, “but it has to be in a responsible way.”
PeopleForBikes, which represents manufacturers and suppliers, touts a model policy that presumes eMBTs may use trails open to regular bikes – except where prohibited or restricted in the interest of safety.
The state level: E-bikes in Utah
If Scottsdale’s adjoining parks epitomize local conflicts over trail use, Utah has emerged as a fascinating study at the state level.
This year, Weiler sponsored a bill he thought would simplify the rules on nonfederal lands. One change would have reduced allowable power for ebikes while allowing them almost everywhere regular mountain bikes can go.
As Weiler tells it, manufacturers and retailers went bonkers over the reduction in battery power. So did hunters, who rely on 750 watts to pull heavy loads of gear and game.
Weiler said he started trying to tweak the bill, but every change stirred up new opposition. County officials were outraged that the law would take away local control.
Plans to create a permit system so anyone could be exempt from e-bike bans – even those not legally disabled – riled up the disability community.
Native Americans also were upset, envisioning motorized bikes rolling over sacred sites.
“I kicked a hornet’s nest,” Weiler acknowledged. “Everyone hated the bill. It was cursed.”
Eventually, lawmakers adopted legislation urging land managers to consider e-bikes when developing trails.
“We ended up passing a nothing burger bill,” Weiler said.
‘You’re made to feel like an outlaw’
A few years ago, after a couple heart attacks, Steve Spiro of Orange County, California, bought his first electric mountain bike. The 64-year-old gets a workout using pedal power until it’s too tough, then lets the battery help out.
However, as Spiro began taking his mountain bike to public trails, he kept getting turned away by signs and rules banning the electric motor. It was infuriating, he said: “You’ve paid your taxes, and then you’re made to feel like an outlaw or criminal – for riding your bike!”
Spiro said he came to realize that trail policies are based largely on politics, with the loudest voices winning.
Spiro decided to fight back, creating the Electric Mountain Bike Association to rally geriatric rides. A third of the U.S. population is 50 or older, he reasoned, and banning e-bikes amounts to elderly discrimination.
Internal combustion engines are banned from single-track trails in the outback, in part because the engine noise messes with wildlife and destroys solitude.
An e-bike’s power train is virtually silent. So, from an environmental standpoint, there are only a few differences from a regular mountain bike.
The first is that eMTBs can put far more people into wild places and take them much deeper. To date, there are almost no studies on how that affects habitat.
The second difference is the potential for a heavier, faster machine to cause trail damage. Once again, there is little research to go by.
Randy Rasmussen, director of public lands and recreation for Back Country Horsemen of America, said single-track trails are not designed for motorized use, and the notion that e-bikes won’t damage them is a “myth.”
Rasmussen added that, on uphill climbs, e-bikes are likely to spook horses from behind, endangering animals and riders.
And then came the lawsuits
If local and state officials ignited controversies over eMTBs, federal authorities in the Trump administration poured fuel on those flames.
In 2019, without public hearings or discussion, Secretary of the Interior David Bernhardt announced that electric bikes would no longer be treated as motorized vehicles and could use all trails open to regular bicycles on Interior land. That includes 419 national parks and recreation areas, plus millions of acres overseen by the Bureau of Land Management.
A day later, acting National Park Service Deputy Director P. Daniel Smith echoed that decision in an edict to all park superintendents.
The public backlash prompted some 24,000 emails and letters to the agency.
Within months, Public Employees for Environmental Responsibility filed suit.
Peter Jenkins, an attorney with the employee organization, said the Park Service’s policy decision in 2019 was spurred by recommendations from an E-Bike Partner & Agency Group. The civil complaint alleges the “illegal committee” was loaded with cycling industry representatives.
In 2021, as the case proceeded, national park superintendents were instructed to reconsider their decisions. Jenkins said only a handful withdrew ebike access.
Meantime, the Park Service began a review and was flooded with more than 17,000 public comments. The policy was replaced with a new regulation empowering superintendents to allow eMTBs but not requiring them to do so.
The Forest Service adopted a flipside policy but with similar results. In 2019, the agency treated electric mountain bikes as motorized vehicles but allowed individual ranger districts to authorize Class 1 eMTBs on multiuse trails.
Tahoe Ranger District did just that. Without environmental analysis or public hearings, 130 miles of nonmotorized trails near Lake Tahoe were suddenly opened to Class 1 e-bikes in 2019. The Horseman’s Association filed suit in U.S. District Court, joined by an unlikely coalition of trail users and environmental groups.
Within months, the Forest Service backed down. The suit was settled.
Today, according to the Forest Service, just 35 miles of single-track paths in Tahoe National Forest are open to ebikers, along with nearly 400 miles of off-highway vehicles and single-track motorcycle routes.
Potemkin enforcement
There is scant evidence that cyclists who violate e-bike laws face any repercussions.
Agencies post signs with bans, class restrictions and speed limits, but it’s not like there are cops lurking in the outback.
Every land manager contacted for this story stressed a focus on education rather than prosecution.
BLM press secretary Brian Hines said bureau officers have documented just five electric bicycle violations in recent years. Four resulted in warnings; only one rider near Moab, Utah, was ticketed.
Back in the McDowell Mountain Sonoran Preserve, Hamilton, the land manager, said volunteer stewards might advise a rider that e-bikes are barred, but that’s about it.
Pedaling into the sunset
Which brings us back to Rand Hubbell.
In Arizona, the Legislature adopted a bill declaring that Class 1 and 2 bicycles are considered nonmotorized, with access to all trails where regular bikes are allowed.
A Maricopa County spokeswoman said McDowell Mountain Regional Park is “just following the law.”
At the McDowell Sonoran Preserve, Hamilton used exactly the same language.
How is that possible?
The statute in question turns out to be virtually meaningless. One sentence after establishing that e-bikes may ride on multiuse trails, it says local agencies are free to ignore that rule, banning battery-powered bikes from pathways.
Hubbell said it could be that the nation’s eMTB policies are varied by design. Voters created the McDowell Sonoran Preserve as an open-space conservation area, while the McDowell Mountain Regional Park was developed as a recreation site.
Different purposes, divergent rules. In fact, there seems to be a consensus among trail users, conservationists and land managers that any blanket policy for e-bikes would prove a dismal failure. From Arizona deserts to Rocky Mountains highs, the logic goes, rules should be based on trail conditions, environmental factors, traffic volume and local politics.
Some day, Hubbell predicted, eMTBs will be accepted wherever their analog counterparts are allowed. In the meantime, however, he carries a disability letter from his doctor when he cruises through the Sonoran Preserve on his e-bike, just in case one of the stewards challenges him.
Hubbell climbed back in the saddle and began pedaling. “I ride now more than I ever had before,” he said. “I’m 73 and don’t see any reason to stop in the next 10 years. Hopefully, longer than that.”