34 hours, one bike: Inside a marathon ride through Park City

PARK CITY, Utah — Tomás Parra-Gómez remembers the first time he pedaled a rough-cut ribbon of single-track locals called Moose House. It was raw, technical, and decidedly unofficial—precisely what he had hoped to find when he left Virginia’s hardwood forests for Utah’s Wasatch Back.

“Those trails were an expression of the builders and the community trying to enjoy them,” he said. “They weren’t built to disturb anything. They were built because people wanted something different.”

Five years later, Moose House became legal, signed, and maintained each spring by volunteers who packed hand saws next to handlebars. Parra-Gómez, 22, helped dig many of those drainage dips and turns. The evolution, he said, proves a simple rule: “Trails are built by the people who ride them. Once enough of us dig, ride, and advocate, the town usually adopts them.”

Riding to freeze a moment in time

Last July, Parra-Gómez set out to “Everest” Park City—climbing 29,032 vertical feet in a single push—so he could archive the skidders he loves before they morph again.

“I wanted a big effort where I could ride every single trail and remember them for what they were as they continue to evolve,” he said. “The film wasn’t for the sake of making a video. It was a time-stamp on this era of Park City trails.”

The 34-hour ride, documented in the short film “Another Lap. Every Lap.”, linked legal and soon-to-be-legal lines such as Evil Empire—another route born underground and now celebrated by land managers. Parra-Gómez rode alone, but Park City followed his headlights.

“A buddy at the farmers market handed me lemonade and a sandwich. Mountain employees yelled from trucks on King Road,” he said. “That small-town energy is why I chose Park City over a faster route somewhere else.”

Skidders: local flavor that becomes public asset

Most evenings at Park City Bike & Demo he sees gravity riders clock out, grab a shovel and disappear into the trees. “These after-work digs expand the variety of riding we have,” he noted. The rough-cut ribbons they create—known locally as skidders—act as living prototypes for future projects. “Sometimes skidders are about showing the planners what riders are looking for and why it matters.”

When enough people dig, ride and advocate, a skidder can graduate from stealth to signage, preserving its soul while joining the official map. Parra-Gómez believes that bottom-up cycle is key to keeping Park City’s trail system fresh, challenging and rider-driven.

Grassroots lines such as Parra-Gómez’s beloved Moose House often become blueprints for sanctioned routes, while some trails begin as full-fledged community projects. “Change Reaction and Seldom Seen are trails that have been proposed and legally carried out by Mountain Trails in Park City from start to finish. Both are jump trails that show progress in the right direction of advancing the level of trails built by the city. We have many great green and blue trails and seeing the city build more technical options is awesome,” Parra-Gómez said.

Style as open door

Parra-Gómez completed his Everest wearing skate shoes, a T-shirt and casual pants—part comfort, part invitation. “I’m not knocking Lycra or Fox pants,” he said. “But don’t feel less than at the bike park because you showed up in blue jeans. Bikes should be accessible, not a fashion contest.”

At the shop he reinforces the point by treating a tourist’s hybrid with the same care he gives a pro’s downhill rig. “Less ego is always the answer,” he said. “The more styles we welcome, the stronger the trail community becomes.”

Next lap: dialing growth, keeping grit

Parra-Gómez plans a quiet rematch of his Everest route—this time aiming to break 29 hours—but his bigger goal is civic: formalize a rider advisory panel for future trail reroutes at Canyons Bike Park.

“Parking-lot chats show everyone has an opinion,” he said. “Channel that into planning and we all win. The town’s already listening; it’s on us to keep speaking up.”

His advice to newcomers is equally collaborative. Mix mid-week solo rides “to process what you’re learning” with weekend group laps that trade pointers in real time. And, above all, respect whatever tool is beneath you.

“Every bike is good at something,” he said. “Enjoy the one you’re on and help shape the trail you love.”