Mountain bikers love the word community. It’s a catch-all term that, while imperfect, does the tidiest job of describing the real reasons so many of us spend hours chasing each other through the woods in brutal cold or heat, or soaking wet, shoulder to shoulder, as we scoop out clogged drains to give our local loop a bit of “TLC.”

Perhaps the ambiguity of a term like community is its power. To speak of community is to err toward the abstruse, away from the tangible. Dissecting its meaning only hinders the path to understanding because the essence of community, as is the case with love, or music, or any of life’s other mysterious joys, only reveals itself in fleeting moments of inexplicable connection. Community can be messy and complex, but a semblance of something more orderly only equals another blot on the ever-growing list of concepts we pretend are categorizable, verifiable, trackable, and manageable down to every last godforsaken detail. And who needs more of that?

If there’s one thing the greater mountain bike community has in common, it’s that the sport means something different to every one of us. This edition of Freehub celebrates that fact by exploring community in its infinite schemas. In her feature, “When in Roam,” veteran mountain bike journalist Nicole Formosa dives deep into how Roam Fest organizers are building truly unique gatherings for like-minded riders. Radical acceptance pervades these parties in the desert and the result is an environment free from rivalry and posturing. The lightning speed at which Roam Fest events sell out (minutes) proves many riders are hungry to connect in ways beyond organized competitions.

Across Oaxaca, as our own Editor in Chief Brice Minnigh reveals, enterprising Mexican mountain bikers are working with locals in small villages to tune up old trails used to collect firewood and tree resin. This surge in interest is filling hotel rooms and restaurants with hordes of hungry riders, but it’s also inspiring a new cadre of trailbuilders to reimagine and explore misty pockets of the Sierra Norte region.

Brett Rothmeyer’s profile of former pro vert skater Mike Frazier details how relentless knee injuries, personal hardship, and constant travel led him to seek refuge in the form of long, solitary journeys on his bicycle across his home state of Florida. Now, on any given morning, Frazier finds flow at Alafia River State Park with a group of buddies before heading to work at a bike shop nearby. For him, mountain biking is the closest thing he’s found to the euphoria of skateboarding in his youth.

These stories chip away at uncovering what community signifies at its core. But don’t take my word for it. Flip through these pages at your own pace and see what resonates with you.

— Ian Terry, Associate Editor