Your latest social media post could be thoughtful, beautifully produced, and genuinely useful.

It could also disappear from your followers’ feeds before most of them ever knew it existed.

Social media is a lot of fun for me. Over time, I have trained my algorithms to show me content I am interested in. My feeds are filled with bikes, trails, outdoor recreation, photography, small towns, rural tourism, and content marketing. All fun stuff.

But when it comes to creating and publishing social media content, there is a reality we cannot ignore.

One of the challenges many rural communities struggle with is exposure.

I am talking about more than attracting social media views, engagement, and followers. The larger challenge is simply letting other people on planet Earth know that your town exists.

That is where marketing comes to the forefront.

How do you get the word out?

Every time we cut a new trail through the woods, not only are we changing the landscape, but we’re also changing the future of the communities that surround it.

Most of us don’t show up to a dig day thinking about hotel occupancy rates, tax revenue, or rural economic development. We’re thinking about drainage, sightlines, sustainable grades, rockwork, and building the best trail we can. And that’s exactly how it should be.

On a random weekend in June, I found myself driving through Moab, Utah.

Long before I reached the edge of town, I knew I had arrived.

Sprinter vans lined the highway with expensive mountain bikes hanging off the back. Signs advertised jeep tours, climbing guides, and bike shuttles. Every parking lot seemed full of dusty adventure rigs. There was an unmistakable energy in the air.

You could feel it.

Every year, the gravel cycling world turns its attention toward Emporia, Kansas.

Thousands of riders from around the world travel to Unbound Gravel. The event attracts roughly 5,000 participants and generates millions of dollars in economic activity for the community. For a few days each year, Emporia becomes the center of the gravel universe.

It’s an impressive success story.

But I think many rural communities are asking the wrong question.

The question isn’t, “How do we become the next Emporia?”

The better question might be, “What is our version of Dufur?”

It’s easy for small towns to look at places like Bentonville, Arkansas, or Moab, Utah, and think: “Well, sure ... but we could never do that here.”

Truth be told, most communities are looking at the finished product instead of the starting point.

What many of today’s well-known cycling destinations figured out early was something surprisingly simple: People will travel for experiences. Especially experiences that feel authentic, scenic, adventurous, and different from everyday life.

That’s where cycling events come into the picture.

Race mornings in small towns are special. I love watching these communities come alive in a different kind of way.

Coffee shops and breakfast places are packed before sunrise. Bike traffic noticeably spikes around town. Hotels that might normally sit half-empty during shoulder season are booked out. Downtown streets buzz with energy.

For many rural communities, cycling events such as gravel races, mountain bike festivals, fondos, and stage races provide an immediate and visible economic boost.

Pretty much all of the race directors I work with and talk to already believe content matters. You see, the problem is not belief. It's really about expectation.

Content marketing has been tied to the idea of virality ... BIG reach ... FAST growth ... a post that suddenly BLOWS UP. That expectation actually undermines good work. Why? How?

When content does not spike or blow up, it feels like failure. When nothing takes off, people assume they are doing it wrong. So they change formats, chase hacky trends, or stop altogether. Many feel deeply discouraged (it happens to me, too).

In practice, content that works rarely looks exciting while it is happening. It looks consistent ... yawn.

After registration opens and before race day arrives, many races go quiet.

There is nothing new to announce. No deadlines to push. No obvious reason to post. So content pauses. Or disappears. Or slows waaaaaayyyy down ...

This stretch, the months between announcements, is the longest part of a race’s story. It is also the most underused. Not because race directors do not care, but because they are unsure what belongs there.

The assumption is simple. If there is nothing new to say, there is nothing to share. I’d contend that assumption is wrong.

Most race content shows up too late.

A registration announcement. A reminder post. A last-minute push when numbers feel soft. By then, content is being asked to do a job it cannot do alone.

No one registers for a race they do not understand. No one commits to an experience they cannot picture. And no one travels to an unfamiliar place based on logistics alone.