Common sense can prevent a pedestrian ban on Oklahoma City trails

Runners and hikers can coexist with these guys. I promise.

Runners and hikers can coexist with these guys. I promise.

There’s some good news and some bad news coming out of Oklahoma City.

The good news: Much like many communities across the country (including my hometown of Tulsa), more people are spending time on trails to hike, run or ride bikes. This is a good trend for urban and suburban communities, which for decades have been zoned and sectioned to death, leaving residents stuck with seas of rooftops with the occasional park thrown in. Trail systems in our cities are getting more people back in touch with the natural world, as opposed to the more sanitized version of the outdoors that we normally see.

Now the bad news: Friction between different trail users has caused city officials in Oklahoma City to propose banning pedestrians from Bluff Creek Park, as popular place for local trail users. In doing so, they’re hoping to avoid accidents between people on foot and those on bikes.

According to this recent report, no one is happy with this. Runners and hikers feel like they’re being unfairly targeted, and cyclists feel like they’re being turned into a public safety scapegoat. All sides believe the proposal was rushed, without getting input on solutions from people who use the trails. The matter is being brought up at an Oklahoma City Parks Commission meeting on Wednesday.

When I look at this, I do it from the vantage point of someone who uses a busy urban trail system regularly. Here in Tulsa, we have a couple: Turkey Mountain Urban Wilderness Area in south Tulsa, and the trails on the west side of Chandler Park, in west Tulsa. In the former, our users are runners, hikers, cyclists and equestrians. In the latter, a lot of hikers, runners and in one area, rock climbers.

I’m most often at Turkey Mountain, and it is by far the busier of the two trail systems. It’s also become more popular every year. And yet its users manage to get by just fine without one specific group being told to stay away. (One small counterpoint, however – Turkey Mountain is a much larger trail system than Bluff Creek Park.)

So, when I look at the proposal floating around Oklahoma City, it seems like the solution was long on overreach and short on common sense. When it comes to common sense, execution is in the hands of the trail users. So here are some suggestions:

First, people need to keep their ears and eyes open. Be listening and looking for the sounds of bikes or pedestrians and don’t get too lost in the moment in what you’re doing.

Second, it’s far easier for the person on foot to give way to a rider. Do that and avoid a lot of confusion, and take care to give way to the person going downhill.

Third, if you have dogs, keep them leashed. I know it’s more fun for the pups to be off-leash, and maybe they’re trained to obey voice commands very well. But you have more control with they’re leashed, especially when a cyclist is rounding a corner.

Fourth, if you’re on a bike, verbally announce yourself if you’re coming up behind people on foot and slow down.

Fifth, lose the earbuds. In tighter spaces with trees obstructing views, you need to be able to hear what’s going on around you. This applies whether you’re on foot or on the saddle. A compromise might be having an earbud in only one ear, keeping the other free to hear outside noises. But I’d say it’s better to go without.

It should be noted that the proposal to make the trail system for mountain bikers only came as a result of a user survey, one in which less than a third of respondents wanted to ban pedestrians, and less than 2 percent had reported an accident with another user. And yet, the pedestrian ban is what’s being floated as a result of the survey.

Oklahoma City parks planners would do well to avoid discouraging trail usage from its residents, which is exactly what this proposal would do. We need more people getting outside and moving, not less. It sounds like what is needed here is a strong effort from the city and trail user groups to educate people on how to be safe when they’re on the trails, and to learn a little trail etiquette. Banning entire groups of trail users is overkill.

Bob Doucette

2016 get you down? Not me, and here’s why

2016 wasn't all gloomy skies and bad times.

2016 wasn’t all gloomy skies and bad times.

I know a lot of people bemoaned 2016. Certainly, there was enough bad news going around to make you think that 2016 was about as dark as it gets, though you’d have to admit, unless you’re someone who just fled the ruins of Aleppo, that statement might be a bit hyperbolic.

But I understand. We’ve been given a steady diet of celebrity deaths and election dysfunction for 12 months, and a chunk of the country is apprehensive about the future. But I’d ask you, before you go into a deeper funk, to do an inventory on your 2016. I did that, and found that while plenty of things left me scratching my head, I have much to be grateful for.

I saw this in 2016, and it did not suck

I saw this in 2016, and it did not suck

I got to hike a lot. I hit my local trails hard, discovered a new place to go bouldering in town and found myself on a bunch of trails in the Rocky Mountains as well as Tennessee. I found four summits with my nephew Jordan, took my wife to Tennessee’s high point and had an unforgettable adventure in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of southern Colorado with a pretty cool dude. Never mind that weather and thieves robbed us of a couple of summits. The Colony Lakes region of Colorado is ridiculously beautiful.

I also ran a bunch. Not as much as the year I ran a marathon, but still quite a bit. I ran trails and streets, sometimes for a few minutes, and sometimes for several hours. I got better at running, too. Maybe even a little faster at the longer distances. As my age advances, I’m all too glad that I can lace ‘em up and bust out a few miles just about any time I want. Plenty of other Gen-Xers can’t.

Time on the bike increased a billion-fold in 2016. That did not suck.

Time on the bike increased a billion-fold in 2016. That did not suck.

I spent more time on a bike in 2016 than I have in decades. Daily bike commutes to work and longer rides just for fun. I almost forgot how freeing that time on the saddle can be.

My time in the weight room had been profitable. I’m not a terribly strong dude just yet, but I made progress, remained mostly injury free and learned a ton about what it takes to get strong. I’ll be putting that bit of knowledge to good use all through the coming year.

And then there’s this: I have my health. Only this past week have I felt the slightest bit ill, breaking a two-year streak sick-free days that kept me on my feet and out of the medicine cabinet. That’s pretty awesome. I also remained employed, well-fed and housed. Family and friends still bless my life, whether they’re here in town or in states many hours and hundreds of miles away. There are people I know who are looking for work, struggling with health and don’t have much family left.

A view seen in the Smokies -- in 2016! -- that did not suck.

A view seen in the Smokies — in 2016! — that did not suck.

When you total all that up, I’d say my 2016 was pretty good. I might not like the news of the world, but I can’t get too bummed when I consider the good things that happened to me. That’s not to say I didn’t have some disappointments, or that I’m entirely satisfied with where I’m at. There is definitely room for improvement for me personally, and I’d love to catch a few breaks in some other areas of my life. But I can’t dwell on the latter without considering the former.

Going forward, I’ve never been much of a resolutions guy. If you see something you want to change, change it. If other things are going well, keep doing the things that make you succeed. My plan is pretty simple. I’m going to hike some trails. Run ‘em, too. I’ll race some, but I’ll spend way more time running without a race bib, by myself, through urban streets and wooded trails because I can and I like it. I’m going to move some iron, and pick up heavy things. I’ll keep riding my bike. I’ll travel to wild places, hike secluded trails, spend time with rad friends or hike alone. God willing and weather cooperating, I’ll climb some more mountains. From the sound of it, 2017 is going to be a lot like 2016, though I’m sure there will be some tweaks and changes that will give it it’s own spice. And who knows? Maybe something awesome will happen along the way.

I got to run some in 2016. That did not suck.

I got to run some in 2016. That did not suck.

Take a look back at your 2016. It may have sucked, I don’t know. But maybe it was pretty good, even though Prince died, American democracy reached new lows, and the Kardashians are still on the air. If it was good, then consider that, be grateful for it and make the next 12 months worth celebrating. There’s a lot we can’t control, but you sure as hell can control you.

Own your 2017. Our days are limited, and each one is more precious than the last.

Bob Doucette

Freedom on two wheels

Hello, darlin'.

Hello, darlin’.

It was shortly after another holiday eat-fest that I felt too flubbery to stand it any longer. As much as I savored the food on the table and the brews from the fridge, all that consumption and sitting around had finally worn me down.

I needed to get out.

I guess I could go run. Or take a walk. But I looked in the corner of the sun room by the front door of my house and saw it there, like an expectant puppy, just waiting to be taken out: My old 1998 Trek, a mountain bike built in the days before mountain biking got fancy.

Let’s go, it beckoned. Let’s take a ride, feel the wind in your face, and breeze by some scenery before the sun goes down…

It didn’t take much convincing.

***

I come from a family of cyclists. All the kids learned to ride at an early age, usually on some sort of entry-level machine with a banana seat and a place to fly a flag. We’d clip playing cards on the frame so they’d make that cool sound on the spokes, helping us imagine we were on a motorcycle, getting ready to jump over a row of buses like Evel Knieval.

My dad was a little more serious about it. He had this big, steel-frame Schwinn 10-speed that weighed a ton but could fly with the right sort of rider in its saddle. My dad was that sort of rider. He could make that lime-green chunk of metal go, and whenever he wished to take a break somewhere along his route, he’d dig into a little leather pouch attached below the seat, light up a Kool menthol and soak in the day.

My oldest brother Mike also made cycling a lifelong habit. As an adult, he’d do epic rides from his house in suburban Denver all the way into town and back, cruising up and down sizable hills that most of us weren’t ready to handle.

As for me, the bike was a tool to get me from my house to a friend’s place — fast transportation that would expedite whatever childhood hijinks was on tap that day.

Beyond that, it was also an escape pod of sorts. Imagine some sci-fi movie where people need to get off the ship and onto the surface of some strange, alien world. They step in, buckle up and jettison themselves straight outta there and into whatever adventure awaited. The bike’s not much different: Wheel it out on your driveway, hop on the saddle and go.

Where you go doesn’t really matter. The fact that you can zip your way down the street toward whatever destination awaited is the real trick, cruising as fast as your legs and its gears will take you.

In that way, a bike is liberating: A simple, go-anywhere tool to take you somewhere else on the spur of the moment. When you think about it, it’s pretty liberating.

A bike is freedom.

***

My road bike is in a bad way right now, so if I want to ride anywhere, it’s on my seriously outdated mountain bike, knobby tires and all. I definitely don’t look like one of the cool kids in their $5,000 road bikes, decked out in skin-tight cycling uniforms bedecked with company logos and whatnot. Not that I care. My bike’s got 21 speeds, is mechanically sound and does the job. And unlike the cool kids and their pricey get-ups, I can take mine across grass, rocks, pavement, mud and anything else and not fear a thing.

But we all hold this one thing in common — we can get places quickly, kind of like a car, but we can also stop and have a look around on a moment’s notice, just like you could on foot. It’s rather frowned upon to stop your car in the middle of the street to gawk at something you find interesting.

Anyway, I found myself in such a spot barely a mile into my ride. I was crossing a bridge over the Arkansas River, the sun sinking lower and giving the sky that soft, low-light glow of approaching dusk, right when the shadows are getting long. The river was fairly full, surrounding a small, tree-covered island. High-rise apartments and commercial buildings towered over the river in the distance. Reflections off the water were a rippled, tinted orange. Most of the trees still held on to their fall colors, matching the sun’s mellowing glow.

I lingered for a bit, taking it in. I wish I had a camera, but in my rush to ride, I left the electronics behind. No matter. I hopped back on the seat and pedaled on, crossing the river and ripping by a group of apartments overlooking the Arkansas’ west bank.

What it looked like on another ride.

What it looked like on another ride.

***

Some of my fondest memories growing up surrounding fishing. When I lived in Colorado, it was for trout. For the one year I lived in rural Illinois, it was bass.

And what a sweet year that was.

An 11-year-old kid in a small Illinois farm town has no excuse to be bored. None. I know this because I found plenty to do. Sometimes that involved getting into trouble, but most of the time, when the weather was good, it started with me grabbing a pole, a tackle box and a red 10-speed and jetting out of my wooded neighborhood down dusty farm roads to a friend’s house where there were a few well-stocked farm ponds.

I cut my angler’s teeth on those ponds, reeling in small bass and bluegills by the dozens during the summer months. Sometimes I’d meet up with friends, other times I’d go by myself. That suited me just fine.

I reeled in my first “big” bass on one such trip, happily riding home to show off the trophy I hauled out of that one-acre pond. A few weeks later, I bested the feat, coaxing a fat largemouth out of the weeds with a carefully retrieved plastic worm. I felt like an expert that day, that maybe there was a long-term future in this fishing thing for me. That’s what 11-year-olds think, anyway. I know better now, but no matter. The memory is a sweet one.

But getting to that prized fishing hole would have been a whole lot harder had I not had that steel-frame 10-speed. Without it, I might have been tempted to sulk around the house during those long summer days, waiting for the next thing to happen. Who knows? Maybe life in that small town would have been pretty boring after all, if not for the escape I found on two wheels.

***

I must admit, I fell out of love with the bike for many years. As soon as I got old enough to drive, I didn’t see the point.

I can remember a couple failed attempts at mountain biking. It seemed cool, and the people who were doing it seemed cool. I guess I wasn’t. Being out of shape and riding a borrowed (and rather crappy) bike didn’t help.

But moving from my apartment to a new place farther away from work got me thinking. I used to be able to walk to work, which I loved. I spent more than 20 years driving anywhere from 70 to 100 miles a day on my daily commute, so spending a few minutes walking to work was an eye-opener. Leaving that luxury behind left me a little blue.

But what if I could live close enough where I could bike to work? Surely, I could find a cheap ride that would do the job. I found a place close enough to my job to do just that, and within a month, I purchased two used bikes for dirt cheap, fixed them up, and became a bike commuter.

Bike commuting is sort of a pain. Walking to work is far simpler, and driving to work is more convenient. But a year later, it’s become normal.

But something else happened. I rediscovered what I’d lost when I got my driver’s license, that simple pleasure of feeling the wind in your face and the smell of fresh air on a casual ride around town. Or the satisfaction of being able to hop on my ride and go pretty much anywhere, and do it without spending a dime in gas money. People ride around town, on trails, across the country and even over frozen wildernesses and high mountain passes on bikes, you know.

It was nice to ponder that as I rounded out my loop, riding a few miles in the cool autumn air, then climbing the big hill toward home, out of breath but feeling good. No, not just feeling good. Feeling right. I’d gotten reacquainted with a long-lost love, and discovered that even after such a long time, things could be good again.

It feels good to be free. To go on a whim. To ride for miles, wondering what I might see, how much ground I might cover. To escape lethargy and feel the burning in your lungs and legs, payment for seeing how fast I could rip the straightaways in a high gear.

We often wonder what it would be like to go back in time, to be a kid again, with a chance to start anew.

Well, get on a saddle, point your ride down the road and find out.

Bob Doucette

A cure for the election flu

election1

I’m not sure how many days this election season has encompassed. Well over a year, I’m sure. I think it officially kicked off when Ted Cruz made his announcement in front of a captive audience at Liberty University’s student chapel service in 2015, and it ended today.

From the lines I’ve seen (and one that I’ve been in), it’s pretty clear that people are engaged. That’s a good thing. But it has come with a lot of baggage.

I’m not sure what your experience has been, but here’s a sampling of mine…

Social media feeds filled with simplistic (and usually false) memes, sketchy links and heated (pointless?) arguments. A bunch of butthurt. A guy telling me my eternal soul was in the balance depending on how I voted.

Fun, huh?

But now it ends. We still have to live with each other, and indeed, with ourselves (got any words you’d like to take back?). Once that ballot is cast, what are you going to do next?

The temptation will be to dance in the end zone (if your candidate wins) or lament the end of the republic (if your side loses).

I voted early last week. Thirty minutes in line and it was done. Not long after, I went here.

electiontrail

It was a short run in the woods before work, maybe 40 minutes. Holy cow, was that the tonic I needed. I mostly had the trails to myself, and the weather was perfect.

So that brings me here: Free elections are wonderful. Way better than dictatorships. And it’s good that people care. But folks get wound up to a fever pitch. I call it the election flu. People get so emotional and self-righteous that they drive themselves sick with anger, worry and despair. It’s like a virus, spreading through mass media on television, radio and the internet. Social media makes it even more contagious. It’s bad enough to where people will actually end friendships over arguments on things like Obamacare and emails.

We all could use a reset, something that will break the fever. Hint: Go outdoors, unplug and move. Science tells us it’s good for us.

So go for a run in a place like this…

electionrun

More of a bike person? Take a long, dirty ride.

electionbike

Maybe  find yourself a view from a high place. Mountain summits can clear your head.

electionmountain

Time in the hills, in the woods or on the saddle can do a lot toward breaking the fever of election flu. So go ahead. Turn off the news, shut down the computer and leave the cellphone behind, even if it’s just for a couple of hours. Get away from the election buzz. I know democracy is important, but so is keeping a balanced and healthy life. Do your part for your country, but then do your part for you.

Bob Doucette

Everyday adventure: Go micro, go local to get your outdoors fix

Crags in Chandler Park.

Crags in Chandler Park.

Rock climbing in Yosemite. Mountaineering in the Rockies. Trail races in the Cascades. Through-hikes on the Appalachian Trail.

These are the things that make social media stars, best-selling books and outdoor ad campaigns. They make for great adventures, too. Lord knows I’d love to partake in these endeavors on a much more frequent basis. But like most of you, I also hold a full-time job, live far from these adventure meccas, and have people at home that would rather not see me leave for months at a time to pursue my outdoor fantasies.

There is something to be said for those who radically simplify their lives so they actually can travel the country — and the world — to hunt for adventure. Much personal sacrifice must be made. But for the rest of us? You’ve got to think local and micro if you want to get your adventure fix more than a couple of times a year.

I’ve got a number of friends who live in states where the playgrounds I mentioned above are close by. So it’s no problem for them. But living in Tulsa presents its own challenges. Ask anyone locally where the best and closest rock climbing is, they’ll tell you it’s in Arkansas. Drive four hours east and you’re there.

Johnny traverses across a wall before gaining the summit ridge.

Scrambling in the Wichitas.

In-state? The Wichita Mountains are about three and a half hours southwest of me. Anything closer? Robbers Cave State Park, in southeastern Oklahoma, is a little more than two hours distant.

And yet, even here in the Southern Plains, there are jewels in the making only minutes away.

When I first moved here, I heard about Turkey Mountain, a large, hilly park left in its natural state that has around 48 miles of dirt trails weaving through the woods. Places like this are rare in Midwestern cities, and yet here it was. Hikers, runners, mountain bikers and more flock to this park in increasing numbers, and it’s safe to say I would not have become a trail runner had it not been there.

I also heard of another park, this one even closer to home. Tulsa County manages a huge property called Chandler Park. There are your typical park amenities there, but there are also a number of hiking trails and, as it turns out, some crags on the side of the hill where the park sits. Tulsa, as relatively flat as it is, has a nice-sized system of bouldering and climbing routes within sight of downtown.

Testing myself outdoors has become a more important part of my life. So this past weekend, in lieu of high adventure, I got my fix locally.

Another 3.1 miles in the books. I'm slow, BTW.

Another 3.1 miles in the books. I’m slow, BTW.

On Friday night, there was the annual Cinco de Mayo 5K. Yeah, it’s a road race, but it was also a good excuse to go outside, run with friends, snag a couple of free, er, refreshments, and get my heart rate up.

Then on Saturday, a friend joined me to do a few scrambles and climbs at Chandler Park. I don’t climb a lot, and I’m not particularly good. But we had fun, I didn’t bust my butt, and you can bet more repeat trips to the park will improve my climbing skills.

My friend Thomas climbing one of the walls at Chandler Park. This was a fun one.

My friend Thomas climbing one of the walls at Chandler Park. This was a fun one.

Short walls that are good for bouldering, at Chandler Park. You can see Thomas traversing the wall at the top.

Short walls that are good for bouldering, at Chandler Park. You can see Thomas traversing the wall at the top.

In any case, these explorations have taught me a few things about microadventures right in my own city. On any given day, you can hike through the woods, or run trails, or go mountain biking inside the city limits. You can also go kayaking or fishing on the Arkansas River. And yes, you can go rock climbing or bouldering, inside the city, and not have to be resigned to a gym (though New Heights is a pretty sweet climbing gym in town). Rigorous trail races are held several times a year for runners and mountain bikers. You can see eagles soaring along the river, looking for prey in the waters below. And if you’d rather stay on pavement, there are loads of bike and pedestrian trails that attract runners and cyclists year-round (and have also helped grow the Tulsa cycling community which, by the way, hosts an awesome, all-weekend bicycle racing event in June called Tulsa Tough that gets bigger every year).

Turkey Mountain and the Arkansas River in Tulsa. Two natural resources that people are starting to value more.

Turkey Mountain and the Arkansas River in Tulsa. Two natural resources that people are starting to value more.

The Arkansas River, just south of downtown Tulsa.

The Arkansas River, just south of downtown Tulsa.

We bike here.

We bike here.

...And we run here.

…And we run here.

Sure, I still get envious of my buddies out west who are bagging peaks in the Rockies and whatnot. Same goes for the people on social media I follow who are killing it in the Cascades, the Smokies, and the Sierras. But if you don’t live in Boulder, Chattanooga, Bozeman or Bend, you owe it to yourself to do some deeper exploration in your own community. Maybe Omaha has some sick singletrack right in town. Perhaps Kansas City has some crags. And don’t look now, but you can hop in a kayak and challenge some whitewater courses… in downtown Oklahoma City.

Come out and play...

Come out and play…

Tulsa will never be synonymous with rock climbing, trail running or mountain biking, at least not nationally. But I know for a fact that you can do all those things here, because I’ve done it, and spent no more than 15 minutes driving from my urban doorstep to my chosen destination.

So what’s in your town? Give me a shout in the comments, and let me know what hidden gems are in your community.

Bob Doucette

Seen on the ride: A two-wheeled cruise along the river

bike1

When I was a kid, you could hardly get me off my bike. If the weather was good and I had somewhere to go, I was on that red Schwinn 10-speed as fast as my little legs would take me.

I did hill repeats on that thing. Pedaled to friends’ homes. It was my ride to my favorite fishing holes.

But I became a teenager, had friends with cars, and upon getting my driver’s license, pretty much abandoned the bike as a mode of transportation. Sure, I rode every now and then, including a couple of hilariously ridiculous attempts at mountain biking in my 20s. But for many years, if the journey wasn’t on foot or behind the wheel, it wasn’t happening.

A move last fall inspired me to start a bike commute to work. The rig of choice, a 20-year-old Trek mountain bike, is actually a fine piece of machinery. Reliable as all get-out. And cheap. Just $150 off a friend.

About the same time I was soliciting social media for bikes for sale, a co-worker offered to pawn off a $75 road bike. I didn’t need it, but at that price, what the heck? A bike built for pavement might be a nice alternative to all this running I do, right?

It’s an aluminum frame 10-speed — very light, definitely not fancy. It needs some work — I sound like a rattletrap when cruising by — but it’s rideable. As the weather has improved, I’ve taken her out for a spin a few times, mostly to do something different and squeeze the life out of every last bit of weekend daylight I can get.

I love being outside. I run a lot. I hike some. Hiking is awesome when you’re looking to do something outside and don’t want to kill yourself physically. You can, of course — hiking in the Rockies will flat wear you out, as will any kind of backpacking. But in my local woods, you can take your time and be very chill. The trouble is, you can’t cover much distance unless you want to spend a bunch of time out there. I’m good with that, but life happens and doesn’t always allow for a day-long trek.

Running will get you that mileage a lot faster. Even at my pedestrian pace, I can run for an hour or two and cover a lot of ground, see a bunch of things and generally have a great time doing it.

Funny thing about running, though. It’s hard. You sweat a lot and come back from any decent-sized run pretty spent, even beat-up. Want a good excuse to call it a day and go to bed by 8 p.m.? Pound out a 10-mile trail run with lots of vert. Or sign up for and run a marathon. Problem solved. But if you look to have some pluck later in the day and don’t want to sweat out every last bit of energy you have, choosing a run for every outdoor adventure may not be the best thing.

bike2

The bike is another matter. On a bike, you can ride 10 or 20 miles and feel pretty good when you’re done. You can see a lot. You can see it while whizzing by and not feel like you’re going to die, and do it all in an hour or two while still being up for taking your gal/guy on a date or meeting up with friends for a brew or five. Yes, you can slaughter yourself on a bike if you so choose (see mountain biking), but you can also just cruise along, get your heart rate up a little, but not tax your heart and lungs to the point of self-destruction.

I’m digging the cruiser rides. A lot. We have bike trails in Tulsa that follow both banks of the Arkansas River, and they’re mostly flat and kinda pretty. That’s where I’ve been going lately.

On Saturday, I had a long agenda ahead of me. I hit the gym, then rewarded myself with a short but hilly trail run. I ran it pretty hard, but when it was done I felt I had something left in the tank. So I hurried home, grabbed the road bike and spirited off to the bike trails for an hour of riding as the sun dipped to the west.

Aside from my noisy/cranky gears, my rides are quiet. There is wind in my face and ears, but I’m not bothered by the labored breathing of running. I like the quiet while on the saddle of my bike.

And like I said, I saw a lot of stuff. There were a bunch of families out, and on the lonelier parts of the trail a few runners and other cyclists. But not so many to make things crowded.

I found a spot to stop and take a look across the river, admiring the colors of the skies reflecting off the river as the sun began to set.

No one was out there, and the river lazily made its way south. Canada geese announced their pending arrival, squawking and honking as they made their final approach to the stiller waters below. I drank that in, and once they’d settled down, I turned around to head back.

Recreational life along the river isn’t confined to runners and cyclists. People like to fish the river, too. I saw a couple of guys walking south as I rode north, a full stringer in hand. “Nice haul!” I shouted as I zipped by. I couldn’t quite hear their response, but it looked like they had a decent day.

bike3

Cruising north, I rode past a couple of retention ponds near a big power plant. Industrial skylines are interesting to me, and when you add that to the yellows, oranges and reds of dusk reflecting from the ponds, it added up to a really cool visual. Gorgeous, really. Mountain lakes are far more beautiful, sure, but I’ll take what I can get and what I got was pretty good.

Nearing the end of the ride, I coasted past a more crowded part of the trail system, where there’s a restaurant and more green space for people to hang out, listen to music and play with their kids. There were some hippie-looking 20-somethings lounging in some hammocks, two dudes playing a guitar and a drum, and one guy twirling fire pots tied to chains. Seeing how the sun had just set, that fiery display stood out — an exclamatory sight on what had been a peaceful but sensory-rich little ride.

People spend a lot of money on vacations, heading off to tropical beaches, European hot spots or swanky ski resorts. I envy that. But then I think back to picking up that childhood pastime of hopping on my bike and zooming off to somewhere, and the freedom it brings. Nothing epic was achieved. No fancy vacation pics to put on Facebook for people to fawn over. But it was a good time.

A really good time.

Bob Doucette

Waterlogged: When it’s time to give the trails a break

My favorite place to run, but maybe now is not the best time to be there.

My favorite place to run, but maybe now is not the best time to be there.

This is the time of year when I would like to transition my long runs to the trails. I’ve got two trail races I’m eyeing over the next couple of months, and it makes sense to put those big miles on the dirt tracks of the woods.

But there is a problem. As it turns out, 2015 was the wettest year in Oklahoma history, capped off by an extraordinarily heavy weekend of rain over the Christmas holiday. Adding to that was some rain and snow over the past couple of days.

My local trail running haunt, the Turkey Mountain Urban Wilderness Area, is saturated. The last time I ran there, only the highest trail atop a ridge crest was halfway dry. Everything else was anything from muddy to flooded.

Mud and standing water is a de facto badge of pride for trail runners. Trail running is tougher than road running, mostly because the paths trail runners take don’t avoid elevation gains, traverse sketchy terrain and force runners to tackle the elements on their terms. Part of that includes mud.

I’m OK with that. Especially when it comes to races, rotten route conditions add a little spice to the event.

But there comes a time when you have to think bigger. The places where I run are pretty busy, and not just with runners. Cyclists, hikers and other trail users frequent my local trails by the hundreds every day, at a minimum. All that use has an impact on trails under the best of conditions. Add enough rain to the mix and trail erosion and degradation is greatly accelerated.

So when Saturday’s programmed long run came up, I stayed off the dirt and hit the pavement.

I know one person won’t cause much damage. Neither will 10. But hundreds will when the trails are in such poor condition, as they are now. And with so much rain behind us, it may be a bit before they dry out to the point where erosion and other damage is slowed.

As a trail runner, I care about the places I run. I care enough to get active in protecting the places those trails cross. I want to make sure the trail system is cleaned of trash, protected from urbanization and maintained in a sustainable way. I’ve even learned a little bit about trail restoration along the way.

But I also know that part of protecting those trails can be more passive. In their current state, my presence will likely add to deeper ruts and other associated harm that comes from my weight digging into the mud via my feet.

It’s also key to understand how many runners, hikers and even some cyclists react when confronted with a big pool of water in middle of the trail. Most try to sidestep it, to avoid getting their feet wet and to preserve those pristine kicks from the dingy stains of muddy water. Never mind that the edges of the trail are also likely to be very muddy, and that going around mud puddles causes even more damage, which is why we are told to run through the middle of the mess in the first place. But human nature is what it is.

So while I take a little pride in coming home from a trail run with mud splattered all over me, I also understand that maybe now it’s a little too muddy, a little too wet, and a bit too fragile for me. Not everyone will share this conviction, and I understand that. But it is something we should consider.

Maybe next weekend it will be different. But for now, I’ll grudgingly pound pavement and give my trails a break.

Bob Doucette