I grew up near Yellowstone National Park with deep respect for the National Park Service and its role in protecting our sacred public lands. My father worked as a seasonal employee at the park, which is what first brought him to Montana—where I was born. I have long admired Yellowstone’s geology, wildlife, and natural beauty.
John Muir’s essay The Yellowstone National Park remains my favorite account of its magic. I am especially moved by his words about how lucky we are that this land was set aside: “Fortunately, almost as soon as it was discovered it was dedicated and set apart for the benefit of the people, a piece of legislation that shines benignly amid the common dust-and-ashes history of the public domain…” We can also thank Ferdinand Hayden, who surveyed the park, Thomas Moran, who painted the park, and William Henry Jackson, who photographed the park, to demonstrate the uniqueness of the geography, which helped lobby Congress to establish it as a National Park.
Despite how special Yellowstone is, I did not care much for visiting it when I was young. Most of my memories are of long lines of cars and the stress of finding a parking spot. I preferred Montana’s designated Wilderness Areas—places increasingly under threat by the current administration—where I could escape the crowds and motorized vehicles altogether. One of the defining protections of the Wilderness Act of 1964 is the prohibition of mechanized transport: no roads, no cars, no RVs—not even bicycles. In these places, you experience the land on foot, or where permitted, on horseback.
What if we do the same for national parks? When I was an aspiring granola in high school, I read Edward Abbey’s “Desert Solitaire.” It had a profound impact on how I view our public lands and their protection. Abbey’s proposal in the book to eliminate private vehicles from parks always stuck in my mind. Whenever I go to a national park, I think about what it would be like if his proposal to eliminate motorized vehicles were implemented.
It is timely for us to familiarize ourselves with, and consider, his proposals and vision for our national parks.
Abbey strongly opposed industrial tourism and believed the automobile was its most destructive force. He argues that the main unfortunate intrusion into the wildness of our national parks is the personal vehicle. In the opening of his case for removing personal vehicles from parks, he encourages the Park Service and anyone concerned with preserving the national parks to “begin a campaign of resistance” against the personal automobiles in national parks. “The automotive has almost succeeded in strangling our cities; we need not let it also destroy our national parks.”
Amid the upheaval in funding for the agencies responsible for protecting our public lands, our top priority should be defending the legislation that safeguards the National Park Service, Forest Service, Bureau of Land Management, and other threatened public land systems. At the same time, this moment of uncertainty opens space for new conversations—including a closer look at Edward Abbey’s three proposals: eliminate private cars in national parks, stop building new roads, and empower park employees to help the public access these lands without relying on their own vehicles.
Step One: No more cars in national parks.
Abbey proposes removing all private vehicles from national parks – yes, this also means your camper van or RV. In Abbey’s words:
“Let the people walk. Or ride horses, bicycles, mules, wild pigs anything – but keep the automobiles and the motorcycles and all their motorized relatives out. We have agreed not to drive our automobiles into cathedrals, concert halls, art museums, legislative assemblies, private bedrooms and the other sanctums of our culture; we should treat our national parks with the same deference, for they, too, are holy places. An increasingly pagan and hedonistic people (thank God!), we are learning finally that the forests and mountains and desert canyons are holier than our churches. Therefore let us behave accordingly.
Consider a concrete example and what could be done with it: Yosemite Valley in Yosemite National Park. At present a dusty milling confusion of motor vehicles and ponderous camping machinery, it could be returned to relative beauty and order by the simple expedient of requiring all visitors, at the park entrance, to lock up their automobiles and continue their tour on the seats of good workable bicycles supplied free of charge by the United States Government.”
This arrangement is similar to how John Muir and the visitors before the personal automobile experienced the park. At the time John Muir wrote his essay, tourists would end their motorized journey three miles north of the grand gated entrance of Yellowstone Park in the then-existent town of Cinnabar. They would disembark from the train and then mount horse-drawn carriages to shuttle them into the park.
What could this look like now? Visitors would ditch their vehicles in Livingston, West Yellowstone, Cody, and Jackson before getting on a bus to the entrances of the park. At the entrances, they could ride into the park on bicycles or depart on foot. A park service vendor could rent bicycles, and even bicycles with trailers to carry gear for those who want to get to a trailhead and backpack into the wilderness. In the winter, they rent cross-country skis with pull sleds – no motorized snowmobiles.
There is a special time every spring and fall when Abbey’s vision is essentially alive in Yellowstone. Most roads are closed in the winter, but before the roads open to vehicles and when the roads are clear of snow, bicycles are permitted on roads closed to regular vehicles in Yellowstone Park. Cyclists ride from one entrance to another, such as from Gardiner to West Yellowstone, packing what they need for the journey. If you speak with anyone who has ventured through the park powered by foot and ask them if they prefer the park by vehicle or bicycle.
There would still be motorized tour shuttles operated by the park service or available to those who are disabled or have motor issues. Exceptions would be made for visitors with medical conditions or those over 65, who could still access the park via electric shuttle.
And specific to Yellowstone, those who need to travel to Cooke City, which is only accessible through Yellowstone Park in the winter months, would be granted a permit to drive through the park to get there.
Step Two: No more new roads in national parks.
Abbey explains that if we are not bringing in private vehicles, there will not be a need for new roads or development. He also makes a great point about the amount of space motorized vehicles take up in national parks, including boats and campers.
“After banning private automobiles the second step should be easy. Where paved roads are already in existence they will be reserved for the bicycles and essential in-park services, such as shuttle buses, the trucking of camping gear and concessioners’ supplies. Where dirt roads already exist they too will be reserved for nonmotorized traffic. Plans for new roads can be discarded and in their place a program of trail-building begun, badly needed in some of the parks and in many of the national monuments.
In mountainous areas it may be desirable to build emergency shelters along the trails and bike roads; in desert regions a water supply might have to be provided at certain points- wells drilled and handpumps installed if feasible.
Once people are liberated from the confines of automobiles there will be a greatly increased interest in hiking, exploring, and back-country packtrips. Fortunately the parks, by the mere elimination of motor traffic, will come to seem far bigger than they are now there will be more room for more persons, an astonishing expansion of space. This follows from the interesting fact that a motorized vehicle, when not at rest, requiresa volume of space far out of proportion to its size. To illustrate: imagine a lake approximately ten miles long and on the average one mile wide. A single motorboat could easily circumnavigate the lake in an hour; ten motorboats would begin to crowd it; twenty or thirty, all in operation, would dominate the lake to the exclusion of any other form of activity; and fifty would create the hazards, confusion, and turmoil that make pleasure impossible. Suppose we banned motorboats and allowed only canoes and rowboats; we would see at once that the lake seemed ten or perhaps a hundred times bigger. The same thing holds true, to an even greater degree, for the automobile. Distance and space are functions of speed and time. Without expending a single dollar from the United States Treasury we could, if we wanted to, multiply the area of our national parks tenfold or a hundredfold simply by banning the private automobile. The next generation, all 250 million of them, would be grateful to us.”
Think of all the space that would be saved from the lifeless asphalt parking lots without private vehicles in the park. I feel deep sadness when I go to Old Faithful and see the huge asphalt parking lot next to it. Look up Old Faithful on Google Maps with the satellite image layer. It is a giant parking lot.
Perhaps some of that asphalt real estate could be restored, but this would take time.
Step Three: Put the park rangers to work.
First, we must ensure that park employees remain employed. While Abbey had his personal gripes with park staff—and uses some colorful language you can find in his book—he ultimately makes a compelling case: removing private vehicles from national parks would actually increase the demand for park personnel. But rather than staffing offices or patrolling from vehicles, that demand would shift toward fieldwork—rangers leading hikes, guiding visitors, and helping people safely experience the land on foot.
“…kick them out of those overheated air-conditioned offices, yank them out of those overstuffed patrol cars, and drive them out on the trails where they should be, leading the dudes over hill and dale, safely into and back out of the wilderness. […]
They will be needed on the trail. Once we outlaw the motors and stop the road-building and force the multitudes back on their feet, the people will need leaders. A venturesome minority will always be eager to set off on their own, and no obstacles should be placed in their path; let them take risks, for Godsake, let them get lost, sunburnt, stranded, drowned, eaten by bears, buried alive under avalanches that is the right and privilege of any free American. But the rest, the majority, most of them new to the out-of-doors, will need and welcome assistance, instruction and guidance. Many will not know how to saddle a horse, read a topographical map, follow a trail over slickrock, memorize landmarks, build a fire in rain, treat snakebite, rappel down a cliff, glissade down a glacier, read a compass, find water under sand, load a burro, splint a broken bone, bury a body, patch a rubber boat, portage a waterfall, survive a blizzard, avoid lightning, cook a porcupine, comfort a girl during a thunderstorm, predict the weather, dodge falling rock, climb out of a box canyon, or pour piss out of a boot. Park rangers know these things, or should know them, or used to know them and can relearn; they will be needed. In addition to this sort of practical guide service the ranger will also be a bit of a naturalist, able to edify the party in his charge with the natural and human history of the area, in detail and in broad outline.”
Abby asks, do we dare experiment? Perhaps now is the time. Abby says, “I, for one, suspect that millions of our citizens, especially the young, are yearning for adventure, difficulty, challenge—they will respond with enthusiasm.”
Right now, there is heightened enthusiasm for protecting our cherished public lands. Perhaps now is the right time to seriously consider Abby’s proposals.
Is removing private cars from national parks feasible?
How can all of this be done? Automotives can be removed from our national parks and still meet the mission of the National Park Service: Preserving unimpaired natural and cultural resources of the parks “for the benefit and enjoyment of the people.” But it will require a revolution and serious advocacy to make it happen.
“By following the steps I have proposed, plus reducing the expenses of wilderness recreation to the minimal level. Guide service by rangers should, of course, be free to the public.
Money saved by not constructing more paved highways into the parks should be sufficient to finance the cost of bicycles and horses for the entire park system. Elimination of automobile traffic would allow the Park Service to save more millions now spent on road maintenance, police work and paper work. Whatever the cost, however financed, the benefits for park visitors in health and happiness virtues unknown to the statisticians—would be immeasurable.
Excluding the automobile from the heart of the great cities has been seriously advocated by thoughtful observers of our urban problems. It seems to me an equally proper solution to the problems besetting our national parks. Of course it would be a serious blow to Industrial Tourism and would be bitterly resisted by those who profit from that industry. Exclusion of automobiles would also require a revolution in the thinking of Park Service officialdom and in the assumptions of most American tourists. But such a revolution, like it or not, is precisely what is needed. The only foreseeable alternative, given the current trend of things, is the gradual destruction of our national park system.”
With public lands under renewed threat, it is time we seriously consider Edward Abbey’s proposals—not as a nostalgic fantasy, but as a bold framework for the future. Let us protect our national parks with the same care we give designated wilderness areas: by restricting private vehicles, restoring damaged landscapes, and ensuring equitable access through public resources like bicycles and electric shuttles.
Most importantly, we must remain vigilant in keeping public lands in public hands. If we lose that battle, all other efforts are of no matter.
Cover photo: Yellowstone Falls. Photograph by Owen, June 2022