Seeing Through the Off-Roaders’ Demographic Mirage

January 22, 2008

You may have heard the story about an elite group of well-off recreationists that is selfishly laying claim to a disproportionate share of America’s public lands. Chances are good that this account would demonize the “privileged” hikers or backcountry skiers in order to justify the actions of off-road motorists. Such narratives about the threatened locking up of American public lands have become common rallying points in the on-going debate over recreational use, public access, and conservation. It is ironic that the motorists have commandeered the position of subjugation and framed the public narrative to signal their dispossession.

According to this framing, the fact that I do not own an all-terrain vehicle (ATV), snowmobile, dirtbike, or any type of off-road vehicle (ORV) means I should relinquish my voice on state and federal land management. To do otherwise and call for limits on motorized use simply demonstrates my close-mindedness. In fact, through that logic, most contributors to this book would be branded elitists because we advocate restraint and limits on motorized access. In some cases, class-focused derision greets those who shoulder a backpack rather than straddle a Kawasaki.

It has often made me wonder: do nonmotorized recreationists or wilderness visitors actually constitute a class of people markedly different and more elite—however that may correlate to income, influence, urban residence, education, or youth—than the average driver of an ORV? And if not, how is it that off-roaders have managed to cast themselves as the true apple-pie Americans just trying to get a small wedge of their hard-earned public lands dessert?

It’s tempting to casually dismiss this accusation that environmentalists are elitists and move on, but we do so at our peril. We ought to know by now that the champions of extractive industry and motorized recreation—a lobby that often surfaces under the banner of the “Wise Use Movement”—can’t be dismissed as politically insignificant or socially ignorant. They’ve positioned themselves from Barstow to Bismarck as the spokesmen of the “real” West and have rallied the sentiments of a wide-ranging constellation in the firmaments of the U.S. Congress, academia, corporate America, and the media. In a deft replacement of representation over reality, the thundering herd of ORVers has become the proxy for rural America resisting liberal oppression and urban sin.

We need to take another look, both at the ORVers themselves and at their rhetoric. Who are these people and how do they present their views? Are they truly some dispossessed tribe with a moral claim to public lands, or are they simply savvy enough to know how to position themselves as commoners and make a pitch to rally their cause?

Talking the Talk
Most coverage of ORV or road-closure controversies sticks resolutely to a particular cast of players and roles: scientists and environmentalists point to the adverse environmental and social impacts of motorized recreation, while plainspoken locals rail against elite coalitions of preservationists and land managers who “unjustly” block access to public lands. The Idaho-based BlueRibbon Coalition, the putative flag-bearer for off-road motorists, keeps this construction front and center on its website with its tagline: “Preserving our natural resources FOR the public instead of FROM the public.” If there is a single unifying principle for motorized recreationists, it may well be this claim that wilderness defenders and quiet recreationists represent an elite cadre of American society, determined to lock the hard-toiling masses out of their public lands.

For example, listen to Jim Branham, of the California Association of 4 Wheel Clubs: “We filed this lawsuit to stop the . . . agenda of the elitist groups which want the general public excluded from this public beach.” Or the Southwest Four Wheel Drive Association’s Mark Werkmeister: “The Bureau of Land Management [is] furthering the agenda of elitist groups who want our public lands all to themselves. These roads have been used and enjoyed by several generations of the general public since at least the 1950s for a wide variety of pursuits, and we simply desire that these uses continue for all.”

Similar rhetoric can be heard in the halls of Congress. During a June 2004 session in which legislators debated the merits of a ban on snowmobiles in Yellowstone National Park, Representative Barbara Cubin (R-WY) asserted, “Many of the radical environmentalists pushing for this ban want to put the parks in a museum where we can only view them through a glass wall. People in Wyoming know better. Those parks are there for all of us to enjoy, and they provide a living for thousands of people.”

Or, finally, you might have learned “The Truth About Wilderness,” thanks to the sleuthing of the International Snowmobiles Manufacturers Association, reported in an article of that title on their website: “The Wilderness Society attempts to speak on behalf of all Americans in righteous tones about the importance of preservation, BUT THE FACTS SHOW its elitist members don’t like recreational vehicles of any kind AND USE THE WILDERNESS SCARE TACTICS TO RAISE MONEY FOR THEIR COFFERS.” (emphasis in original).

The narrative here is clear, consistent, and far-too-seldom questioned: this is a struggle for access between a class of privileged preservationists and working-class people who depend upon the land for their livelihoods and find themselves squeezed out. If you have never actually visited an ATV showroom or, for that matter, Yellowstone National Park in winter, you might even believe this. If you look a little closer, however, you might notice some peculiar qualities about these machines and the people you meet buying, selling, or using them that suggest an alternative version—one that actually rings far truer.

For one, ORVs are pricey: an average American family would need to shell out 20 percent of its annual income to buy a moderately priced ATV or snowmobile. As for the vendors and consumers, they’re not generally the farmers, welders, and mechanics suggested by their righteous defenders so much as they are often young and middle-aged professionals, clusters of men with high disposable incomes, and guys who just want to get outside and have some fun. One 1996 ATV users’ survey included the telling detail that ATVers are about two times more likely to buy Nerf bars or thumb warmers than farm attachments. My point here is not that there is something inherently wrong with these people—I’d rather ride with warm hands and avoid carpal tunnel syndrome, too—it’s just that they are not the disenfranchised lumpen they would like us to imagine. Actually, they look a lot like me.

Who Are These People?
For better or for worse, I very nearly fit the mean demographic profile of the off-road vehicle enthusiast: male, about forty years old, college educated, married, living in a small city,. Of course, in my household we lack the 1.6 ATVs and additional large vehicle (pickup, van, or SUV) that would make us true to the average. Even with these failings, however, I can’t imagine we fit an accurate portrait of underprivileged America. Which is exactly my point: neither do most off-roaders.

According to a 1996 survey of more than thirty thousand readers of ATV Magazine, which bills itself as “The World’s Largest All-Terrain Vehicle Magazine,” the periodical’s average reader was a forty-two-year-old male who had attended college, worked full-time, and owned his home. According to a similar survey in 1995 by the 210,000-member American Motorcyclist Association of its “off-highway demographics”—roughly half off-road motorcyclists and half ATVers—the typical off-roader was thirty-nine years old, earned more than $55,000 per year (that’s in 1995 dollars), and men outnumbered women by more than nine to one.

When we compare these numbers against the U.S. population as a whole, the charges of anti-ORV elitism start to crumble. As it turns out, motorized recreationists are wealthier, younger, better educated, more likely to work in the professional sector, and vastly more likely to be male than the average U.S citizen: by the ATV industry’s own reckoning, its devotees on average are slightly younger (42.1 versus 43.8 years old), have a gender balance more representative of a college fraternity (96 percent male versus 48 percent male nationwide), and have attended college at a rate of 51 percent compared to a national rate of 41 percent. Additionally, a remarkable 90 percent of ATV owners also own their own homes, and more than half work in the professional or managerial sector compared to just 28 percent for the broader U.S. population.

Compared more directly with wilderness visitors, a motorized off-roader is more likely to be a man and less likely to have a college or graduate degree. However you look at it, both motorized and wilderness recreationists are relatively privileged compared to the average American—no huge surprise since both categories are defined by their dedication to recreation and the leisure time this suggests—but neither stands out as being particularly disadvantaged.

Numbers can tell us only so much, but studies that look at the demographics of motorized and nonmotorized recreationists consistently contradict the common characterization of access management as a conflict between disparate classes. Surveys of ORVers both nationally and in states such as Wisconsin, Colorado, Utah, and Minnesota show that thrillcraft riders are essentially an upper-middle-class group with mainstream family demographics—again, with the notable distinction that the motorists themselves are predominately “middle-aged non-Hispanic White male.” Just like mirages that shimmer above the deserts, the view of folksy ORVers squaring against wilderness elitists retreats into hot air once you look a little closer.
Mistaken Identities?

None of this data is particularly new. Research from as long ago as the late 1960s found that there was no significant difference in income levels between vehicle-based campers and backcountry campers, though both were above the U.S. average. A 1978 Journal of Forestry study of backcountry visitors in Idaho found that ORV users had higher average incomes and were younger than nonmotorized recreationists. Another 1978 study, conducted by the State of Utah, determined that snowmobilers there had higher incomes than the general population. A study from the mid-1980s of nearly four thousand recreational visitors to national forests found that in most respects wilderness and non-wilderness visitors (mostly car-camping vacationers and not necessarily off-roaders) were virtually indiscernible: each group averaged forty years of age, the gender balance tipped 62 percent to 38 percent toward males, roughly 45 percent worked in professional or managerial positions, and approximately 57 percent had attended college. A 1998–1999 study of ORV licensees in Michigan found that the vast majority was male (94 percent), median household income landed predominantly in the $40,000 to $60,000 range, and nearly one-fourth owned a second home. For the past four decades, then, the facts have run contrary to the stereotype portrayed by many motorized use groups of themselves as “regular folk” being overrun by youthful, elitist backpackers intent on closing off public lands. Put simply, the efforts to restrict motorized access are not instances of class warfare.

In spite of the facts, ORVers have largely and increasingly succeeded in presenting an image of themselves as working-class Americans fighting the entrenched, privileged interests of an oligarchy of environmentalists. Never mind that ORV groups and retailers are themselves propped up by an array of corporations that manufacture and market their products with multimillion-dollar ad campaigns, television shows, sporting events, and direct sponsorships. Once when I visited an ATV dealership in Montana, I listened in amazement as the owner described his recent visit from a Las Vegas consultant who was helping him plan the interior design, garment displays, and color schemes for his expanding showroom—all provided free of charge by one of the vehicle manufacturers in order to boost product sales.

Ironically, many print and television advertisements romanticize and commodify the very environments their products will later threaten, depicting off-road vehicles splashing through mountain streams, sending rooster tails of dust along mesa tops, or rumbling across tundra slopes to reach the perfect mountain overlook. I’d like to believe that someone in these companies’ public relations departments might have the decency to blush when they see that they’re selling ORVs by marketing the machines’ domination of nature. The ads are scarcely subtle in this regard: “Shouldn’t the sled be as individual as the snowflakes it’s pulverizing?” asks one, while another shows a snowmobiler blasting up a steep slope and boasts, “Suddenly a look of awe came over the face of the mountain.” But there can be little doubt that the advertisements work. Sales for ATVs have climbed rapidly since the early 1990s, and SUVs—which use similar marketing tactics—by 2003 represented one-fourth of the market share of all new vehicles sold in the United States.

The ORV industry has also been clever enough to recognize that narratives depicting concern for environmental issues can gain public sympathy and support, far more than demographic realities or piles of statistics. Despite studies that show that most ORVs are used primarily for fun or recreation, the industry has managed to emphasize the machines’ role in a broader suite of tasks, including maintaining fence lines, search-and-rescue operations, or noxious weed control. Indeed, manufacturers or retailers will sometimes donate ATVs, snowmobiles, or personal watercraft to agencies for these purposes. Manufacturers and ORV clubs have also aligned themselves with land-management agencies for campaigns such as Tread Lightly or for trail rehabilitation and cleanup projects, thus enhancing the public impression that ORV enthusiasts are magnanimous and responsible citizens. The Yakima Valley Dust Dodgers Motorcycle and ATV Club in Washington state, for instance, displays a banner up-front on its website that counts the number of volunteer hours the group has contributed to Wenatchee National Forest trail projects, as well as photos that document their good deeds.

There are two conclusions we should draw from this: first, we can acknowledge off-roaders’ volunteer service but remain clear that it is volunteerism with a vested self-interest; and second, we need not vilify ORVers to oppose the damage that they and their machines wreak. In fact, the better we learn to understand them—who they are, what they do, and why—the more effective we may be at curtailing the adverse impacts of their machines.

Divide and Conquer: Strategic Considerations
Toward this end, a more detailed look at motorized recreation demographics can prove useful. While it is easy to lapse into thinking of an “ORV community” as if it were a monolithic body of like-minded motorists, off-roaders actually come with a variety of interests, machines, and preferences, many of which are not always mutually compatible. A study published in 2000 of Michigan state ORVers determined that ATVs were far less likely to roam onto public lands than SUVs or motorcycles. They found that nearly 80 percent of ATV use occurred on private lands, while more than half of motorcycle and SUV use took place on public lands. Activists working to contain ORV impacts on public lands in Michigan would obviously do well to design their messages specifically to target the appropriate group of users (ATV users in western states predominately ride on federal public lands). With more than one-third of all ATV use in Michigan reportedly coming as support for hunting or ice fishing, conservationists working on access issues could collaborate productively with groups of anglers and hunters concerned about water and air pollution, noise, or the ethical implications of expanding use of ATVs for these activities. Strategies of this nature are also geographically sensitive: what holds for ORV use in Michigan may not apply at all to, say, Arizona, where we can rest assured that very few ATVs are rigging up for ice fishing.

A 2001 study that focused on snowmobiling in Wyoming found five clusters of users with “substantially different reasons for snowmobiling and different social/demographic characteristics.” These varied from those most interested in “achievement and stimulation” to those who sought time with family and friends. Relative wealth, educational levels, desire for solitude, and a host of other factors differed across clusters (though each was still overwhelmingly male by more than a nine to one ratio). Again, activists working to regulate snowmobile activity and impacts might be more successful if they targeted these clusters differently. The snowmobilers most interested in winter scenery or a family experience, for example, would have different preferences for machines and routes than adrenaline junkies trying to “highmark” in mountain cirques.

We should also note that defenders of motorized recreation often seek to validate their activities by pointing to the economic contributions of ORV recreation. At times one must almost marvel at the agility the ORV lobby exhibits as it trumpets the hundreds of millions of dollars off-roaders kick into state economies, while simultaneously portraying these big spenders as the downtrodden castaways from an elitist society ruled by Sierra Clubbers. (For more about the economic impacts of motorized recreation on local and state economies, see the essay by Thomas Michael Power in this book.)

Clearing the Air
So how is it that a relatively small group has managed to capture and claim this unfounded populist position? How could thrillcraft drivers and their corporate beneficiaries clamor successfully for increased motorized access to public lands even though their claims aren’t grounded in reality and their constituency has a rather loose internal consistency? Environmentalists could continue to point plaintively to money and power working against them as corporate-government alliances increasingly look for revenue-generating uses of public lands, such as those provided by 2005 Federal Lands Recreation Enhancement Act (this law effectively serves as a ten-year extension of the controversial Fee Demo program that allowed agencies to charge fees at recreational sites where more intensive recreational opportunities could attract citizens-turned-customers). Those of us who advocate closing and removing roads, limiting motorized recreation to those roads that remain, and managing America’s public lands based on principles of fairness, environmental protection, and a broadly-conceived public good, however, must also recognize that we have taken the organizing abilities and determination of motorized recreationists too lightly. In at least this one realm, ORVers’ claims of elitism may ring true: we have generally not bothered to get to know or understand them (and in this we should be wary of easily dismissing the lot as “slob recreation”).

Individuals can certainly decide for themselves whether or not they wish to become friends or working partners with motorized recreationists, but conservationists and public lands advocates ought to look more carefully at what kinds of issues ORVers consider important. Off-roaders’ working-class claims are largely overblown, but we should little doubt the sincerity of their passion for driving their machines or the creative means by which they will seek to retain and expand motorized access. A 2004 industry-sponsored study of New Hampshire ATVers found that the average state ATV license holder owned two ATVs, one off-road motorcycle, and spent more than $3,100 each year on ATV clothing, equipment, insurance, and related fees, along with nearly $1,000 annually on ATV-related trips. According to Michigan State University researchers, Michigan snowmobilers averaged $5,700 per year on equipment, repair, insurance, and trips. ORVers consistently rate maintaining or expanding opportunities to ride at the top of their list of most important recreational issues. It’s clear, as well, that ORVers can be sensitive to public pressure. As I noted earlier, many ORV groups go out of their way to publicize trail cleanups or point to their volunteer service, and surveys have found that riders’ typically consider social variables in choosing where to ride—either where they feel welcome or where they can ride in groups with others.

What we say matters, and many of us are not only conservation advocates; we are also ORVers’ neighbors and coworkers. Our discourse, then, can and should work at multiple levels. The messages we convey or the distortions we counter can sway public opinion and shape policy not just at the political and social levels—for example, as we work to reshape the common presentation of clear class distinctions between motorized and wilderness recreationists—but also at the personal level of where and how people choose to ride off road.

The truth is, ORVers on the whole are slightly different from the average person you meet in the United States. ORV owners are wealthier, better educated, and much more likely to be men than a glance at the U.S. population would suggest. So, are we elitists for trying to figure out how to limit the damage caused by a bunch of well-off men driving noisy machines? If we can frame the question that way, then the answer pretty well surfaces by itself.

- David Havlick is the author of No Place Distant: Roads and Motorized Recreation on America’s Public Lands (Island Press, 2002) and cofounder of Wild Rockies Field Institute, in Missoula, Montana. His articles have appeared in Conservation in Practice, Forest History Today, Walking Magazine, and Ethics, Place & Environment, among other publications. He is currently an Assistant Professor of Geography and Environmental Studies at the University of Colorado-Colorado Springs. Dave recently served as board president for Wildlands CPR.