“We don’t really have a brand. We just put on a good event,” a gravel race director friend told me.

He said it casually. Almost proudly.

And in one sense, he was right. His course was solid, and the race was a blast. The volunteers showed up. The aid stations were stocked. Riders finished tired and smiling.

However, if you put on a race, you have a brand.

The only question is whether it’s intentional.

I’m a fan of small towns.

If I’m being honest, I have a deep love and affinity for struggling small towns. Odd confession, I know. But it makes sense once I say it out loud.

That’s the kind of town I grew up in. And if it was a struggling small town back then, it feels like every time I return, I notice a little more population decline, a few more vacant storefronts, and a quieter main street than I remember.

This wasn’t always the direction of my work.

Building a brand is a long game. It’s less about viral hits and more about consistent presence, a clear identity, and showing up with something that actually connects. I’ve seen it firsthand in the adventure of building Trail Builder Magazine from the ground up.

Over the past few months, I’ve been reflecting a lot, not just on Trail Builder Magazine, but on the broader journey of building brands, launching projects, and trying to create something meaningful.

When I first set out, everything was personal. Each post, each article, and each project felt like an extension of my own story. Whether it was telling the gritty, inspiring stories of trail builders or working with small towns to spotlight their hidden adventures through rural tourism, it was all rooted in real people, real places, and a deep sense of purpose.

But here’s the challenge that I struggle with: the bigger things get, the easier it is to lose that connection.