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Dear Sundog: My buddies and I have been mountain biking together for more than 20 years. We’re not racers, but we ride hard and push each other. A few years back, one of the guys had a hip replacement and could no longer keep up, so he got an e-mountain bike. It was the right call to keep the gang together, even though it limited our access to trails that allow e-bikes. So we started poaching some trails that were off-limits to e-bikes: no one really noticed one electric bicycle in the middle of our pack, and besides, there’s not much enforcement.

Then, as Mr. Hip began to recover, he started leaving us in the dust. This prompted two of the fully healthy guys to switch over to e-bikes so they could stay out front with him. Now these rides are no longer fun for me, partly because I can’t keep up, and partly because I feel bad about taking e-bike riders on trails where they’re not allowed. I’m not sure how to change it without either being a dick and telling my friends how to act, or being a poor sport and dropping out. —Slippery Slope

Dear SLOPE,

There are two separate ethical questions here. The first is whether it’s okay to poach trails that are closed to e-bikes. Of course it’s illegal, but Sundog doesn’t always consider an act unethical merely because the state forbids it. You indeed make a good point that Mr. Hip, with his partial disability, is doing no real harm, and I accept that the good of allowing him to regain his health with his friends is of real value. It would be more ethical, of course, if your group chose to ride only on trails open to e-bikes; especially as e-bikes get bigger, heavier, faster—and begin to resemble what they literally are, which is motorcycles—they should not go on a non-motorized biking trail. But the occasional poach is perhaps no great sin, more akin to driving over the speed limit than, say, starting a forest fire. If Sundog chanced upon a middle-aged dude recovering from surgery riding his e-bike in the wrong place, I might be more inclined to applaud him than scorn him.

But as your name implies, it’s a slippery slope! Mr. Hip’s decision has enabled your friends to also break the rules. They of course are weenies, for whom there will be no sympathy from Sundog—much less the community of riders who are likely to bite their heads off.

The second and deeper question, which applies to Mr. Hip and your other friends—and to all mountain bikers—is this sense of entitlement, which comes across like this: I should be free to do what I want to do on public lands. Naturally this freedom has been enabled by the lack of law enforcement that you mention. Mr. Hip might say that he used to be able to ride this trail when he was younger and healthier, so isn’t it fine to use a small assist to stay in shape? Fair enough. But then the other friends might say that they used to be the fastest in their group, and if Mr. Hip has a motor, then why not them, too?

It echoes the debate that upended sport climbing a generation ago. Some bold and brilliant climber established a route on lead in pure style with minimal protection. Now nobody else could repeat the route because it was too dangerous. Well, reasoned the sport climbers, if we rappelled down and placed a few solid bolts, then a lot more people could enjoy this climb! Now those trad climbers who value pure form feel a bit like the Amish, clip-clopping around town in their horse-drawn buggies, the rest of the world scratching their heads at their ethical decisions from another century.

It’s true that, on some trails—specifically those that get wet and muddy—e-bikes can cause more erosion than a regular bike, particularly heavier e-bikes with a throttle. But in other places, that’s not a major concern, and I think those who oppose e-bikes on trails should admit that our chief complaint isn’t that the bikes are bad for the land, it’s just that they are annoying to those of us who choose to ride in “pure” form.

In the future, non-motorized mountain bikes may seem quaint and obsolete. But for now, Slippery Slope, I think you need to tell your healthy friends to stop riding e-bikes where they don’t belong. If they agree, then your rides will once again be fun for you. If they refuse, and this breaks up the old gang, then at least you’ll know it wasn’t because of your being too afraid to state your beliefs.

���ܲԻ�Dz�’s about people who leave dog poops in plastic bags on the trail elicited all sorts of passionate opinions. Sundog suggested that once you get a quarter of a mile from the trailhead, you could just kick the poop or nudge it off the trail with a stick. One reader disagreed strongly:

Let me relate to you why all dog poop needs to be removed, not just kicked off the trail. I was riding my bike on a recreation/bike trail. I got nailed by a hornet. Thinking there might be a nest near the spot I got stung, I returned with a can of spray, to take care of the nest. There was no nest, it was a pile of dog poop with hornets on it. The next day I had to take off work and go to the doctor’s office. My leg around the sting was an angry red color. It was very infected, from the dog-pooped hornet sting. Cost me a round of antibiotics, missed work, expense of doctor and prescription, all because of dog poop a few feet from the trail. I say all dog poop needs to be removed.

Others suggested practical alternatives:

I live in Summit County, Colorado, where dog shit bags are an epic problem. When I first moved here, I was one of those kick-it-off-the trail-in-the-leaves guys. I’ve spent most of my life in Arkansas and Missouri, where poop in the leaves degrades pretty quickly. That’s not the case at high altitude in dry Colorado. So I started bringing along bags, and I’d leave them by the trail, then pick them up on my way out. Well, most of the time I did—I might have forgotten one. Then reading social media here, I became aware of how seeing and smelling a fresh poop bag ruined the hiking experience for others. And then it ruined it for me, where at times within the first 400 yards of a trailhead, you’ll come across dozens of bags. So then I read a handy �����ԹϺ��� magazine gear blurb about the Turdle Bag, which was supposed to hold in the smell so you could pack out your poop. Only it didn’t quite work. My point is: me and my Labrador retrievers Copper and Elbert wrestled with this issue for months, if not years.

Finally, I figured it out: an empty plastic jar will hold the poop smell in 100 percent until you get home. I mean, after you bag it and jar it, you can put your nose right up to the lid and smell…nothing. The small Talenti gelato jar (473ml) will hold about two Labrador or human poops. The large jar will hold more like five. Bonus: it comes filled with gelato you get to eat before your first use! Another option is the Skippy peanut butter jar—but it takes a lot longer to empty!

My family even went so far as to take five jars with us on a two-night, three-day camping trip to Rocky Mountain National Park. You should have seen how delighted the ranger was when I told her we were going to “Poop it out, Pack it out.”

Mark Sundeen teaches environmental writing at the University of Montana. He does not own an e-bike, but he might consider one in a few years. Got a question of your own? Send it to sundogsalmanac@hotmail.com