My eyes narrowed and my lip recoiled. A swarm of mountain bikers rode in a circle between us and our cars. Dressed in black, they popped their tattooed biceps and forearms. Even their black trucks looked sinister. We scrawny runners had to wait for them to move. Never had other sports groups caused this much chaos.
An hour ago, Brenda and I ran side by side. Our feet landed on the trail and slight raspy sounds emanated under our shoes. We ran with identical strides near the golden grass, while rabbits nibbled at the edge of the trail. Sage permeated the air and bird song spread throughout the sky. This environment was my coffee shop, my gym, and my church.
Within seconds, a distant churn pierced the peaceful morning. My shorts ruffled and my tank top billowed, as a whoosh of air licked my arms and clothing. Rabbits scurried for cover under thick bushes. Squirrels pounced on trees seeking safety. Birds disappeared.
A mountain biker sped by leaving in his wake swirls of trail dust stretched toward the heavens. My peaceful church was transformed into a biker bar. Cold fear snaked down my back and traveled back up my spine. A split second later, a flush of hot menacing anger traveled from my brain and right out my mouth.
“Jerk! Watch where you’re going!” I yelled.
The biker stopped. He lifted just one finger.
“Out of my way!” He yelled.
My face grew warm, and my stomach tightened. I balled my hands into fists and imagined I pushed him off his bike. Instead, he rode away. I exhaled and unclenched my fists. My stomach relaxed but every few minutes a rustle sent me jumping. Since Fullerton trail possessed blind turns and lawless mountain bikers, we decided to switch trails.
The following Saturday, I leaned against the fence at El Cajón Trail while I peered across the dirt and paved trail that could easily accommodate two lanes of cars.
A few minutes later, we ran while the rising sunlight cast a gentle warmth on our faces. Conversation ensued. Soon, suburbia turned into micro farms and stables. A horse pushed his head over the fence and let out a loud neigh.
After a few miles, we turned our crunchy-crunch rhythm into a shoe-slapping pace. My breathing became shallow, as we quickened our pace. Sweat slid down my back as the workload increased. Still for a pair of former collegiate runners, intervals were some of our favorite runs.
At seven-and-a-half miles, we came to a halt. A mere half-mile from our cars. My eyebrows shot up and my eyes grew wide. People filled the width of the trail. Four abreast on the paved trail and packs of people shuffled on the dirt. Families took to the trails pushing strollers, walking dogs, and riding bikes. Sparks of fear traveled through my chest and mind. As I watched the people parade toward us, my mind leaped frogged to the virus. COVID-19 was literally walking towards us.
Brenda followed me through an opening in the fence to escape what seemed like the zombie apocalypse. Once safe in the quiet neighborhood, our foot falls hit the asphalt and echoed off the quiet homes.
“Did you see all those people?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah. It was worse than the mall!” I answered.
The pandemic and amusement park closures forced people to find alternative forms of entertainment. The trails were their answer. Our trails.
Now we shared problems with walkers, hikers, stroller pushers, and bikers. The newbies on the trail didn’t understand trail etiquette and accidents were inevitable. Two local papers ran articles stating that a hiker had been struck by a mountain biker. He was lifted over the handlebars and into the bushes landing at the edge of a cliff. The victim is undergoing physical therapy and is expecting a knee replacement.
Convinced we were the next victims, we decided our next run would occur on the most desolate of trails. One week later, we met at Santiago Trail. Inhabited by coyotes and mountain lions, the environment deters mall-types.
Santiago appears similar to the Serengeti with its twisted, charred tree trunks, scrub bushes, and dried out stems protruding from parched earth. A hawk swooped down and perched on a branch; he clung to his prey with his talons. He pulled the meat apart with his beak. Our presence was insignificant to the majestic bird.
Brenda and I ran along Santiago’s deserted path talking. The crunch beneath our shoes remained quiet and we kept our conversation at low tones out of reverence for the stillness of nature.
A churn moved by us without warning. Gears shifted with a clunk. A gust of wind blew by ruffling my clothes. I trembled. A mountain biker zipped past us so close, I thought he hit me.
I moved my hands and arms instinctively to cover my head. A few seconds later, I surveyed my body for scratches or blood. Nothing. My mind went blank. I couldn’t stop shaking.
Brenda momentarily placed her hands on my arms in a motherly gesture. Something about my mental state ignited her and a split second later, she turned to yell at the biker.
“Idiot! Watch where you’re going?!” She yelled.
The biker slowed.
“No! Move out of MY way!” He yelled.
Brenda and the biker exchanged a few more colorful words and the biker moved on. I watched the mountain biker move further away in the distance. My voice came out in a whisper.
“I hate them,” I said.
“I wish Disneyland would reopen. All these people would leave our trails!” Brenda said.
Days later, dark clouds loomed. The breeze tussled my ponytail. My sunglasses shaded the worry in my eyes. My hip tugged and tightened. Each stride was shorter than the last. My eyebrows furrowed together. My entire left leg tight. I hobbled home.
Once home I tried heat. Stretching. Bengay. Nothing worked. After decades of running, I knew healing this injury would take patience and time. It would take physical therapy, acupuncture, and yoga. Now way past my running prime, the healing process would take much longer. My body needed a cardio workout with less pounding. My heart and soul needed my trails. An idea began to form, and I sent a text to my friend Sita, also an injured runner.
We met on Saturday. The spring morning clung to the winter chill. Our meeting was both familiar and strange. Four total friends. Brenda and Mirza congregated near their cars. Meanwhile, Sita and I unloaded bicycles for our first ride together. Riding would keep me on the trails, even injured. Prior to the mountain bike boom, I purchased a bike to ride with my husband and later our children. Decades ago, mountain bikers were rare and polite.
We made an odd group. Two runners and two bikers. We spoke in our familiar circle, except Sita and I straddled our bikes. I buckled my helmet, and we rode off on the hard-packed path while a familiar churn emanated from our tires. We entered Carbon Canyon Regional Park together but soon the running pace became too slow. Sita pushed forward and on instinct, I followed. Together we left our friends behind.
The ride was so reminiscent of our running days when we spoke about our lives and future plans. The geese were out in full force between the paved road and their lake. One goose lifted his head and glared at us.
We biked into the wild of Chino State Park. The path was wide, and rabbits scattered into the legions of wildflowers at full bloom, a rarity for a chaparral trail.
A familiar churn of extra tires filled the air and soon several mountain bikers were upon us. A baritone voice boomed.
“Ladies! Morning!”
“Morning,” We answered.
On the bike we were visible. On the bike we were their species. The path meandered into an incline. We remained on a twisted uphill trail and into a canopy of trees that shaded our climb. We shifted into the lowest gears and crested the top of the path. Streams of sweat ran down my neck. We stopped to rest and take in the view of Four Corners.
The terrain was flat and spread in all directions. The golden grasses were transformed into a carpet of green hills. A hue, a chaparral trail holds only for a geological millisecond. We marveled at the view and took selfies with the beauty as a backdrop.
Four Corners was sprinkled with bikers and runners separated only by sport. Bikers rested against the benches under the wooden canopy. We regarded bikers from a distance because of the pandemic.
Ten minutes later, we began our descent on the hard packed earth. Even though the shock absorbers took the brunt of each bump and dip, I rose from my seat. Our speed increased purely from gravity. The wind hit my face and ruffled my long sleeves. Never, in all my road or track racing had I ever felt this speed. Playful. A dance with danger. This adrenalin was different. Fun. New. As I approached the twisted trees and their canopy, I noticed a runner. Her back was plastered against a tree. Her hands covered her face. Fingers splayed. Now, how could she possibly think I would run her over?
Reader, this is how I became the enemy.
Kind of a shame that we are required to subscribe to division.
Great article. Running injuries led to my mt biking too. When I ride now and see runners and hikers, I alert them and give way if they are climbing as I descend. I remember where I came from. I do love going farther and faster now!
Trying to figure out if this is a satire piece.
If so, uh, OK. I don’t really get the point.
If not:
Really?
Sorry but I have to call BS.
So, apparently, every time you run, mountain bikers almost run you over and then get nasty with you?
I’ve been mountain biking for 30 years and in that entire time, I have yet to see a situations like what you claim is happening constantly. My wife has been a trail runner for well over 30 years and has never had that happen to her.
I’m not saying it NEVER happens but comon…
My thoughts exactly, in my area all trails are exclusively multi-use and have not had any interactions like this. Sure, its lame when people don’t follow trail etiquette, but I brush off the minor inconvenience and am still happy they are out there.
This story seems like hyperbole of trail user’s responses to a person that considers other people on the trail to be an nuisance so much so that they shout insults at them.
I think if you’re looking for a “point” here, you might be missing it. Really, it’s not even directed toward using the right etiquette, although it does cite examples of where the lack of etiquette has shaped someone’s view about a user group.
To dissect it a bit, the story follows this arc: Runner has conflicts with MTBers during pandemic, develops distaste for MTBers. Runner then develops an injury and sees MTB as an alternative with a lower chance for injury and a new way to recreate outdoors. Runner experiences the difference between user groups by being on both sides.
As a mountain biker who lives outside of Denver, I have to say I see shitty behavior on the trails all the time. Maybe it’s because I leave near a major population center with a lot of eager trail users, but it can be downright embarrassing to see other mountain bikers blow by other user groups without a care in the world. It happens A LOT. It’s equally frustrating to see hikers and runners cutting trail, hiking with dog off-leash, etc. But, to others’ points, there are places around the U.S., where this isn’t the norm.
This story, is just one example of how conflict happened to shape someone’s view who became a mountain biker in the end.
My point was that I don’t believe it happened. I think it was a made up story. I lived/rode in the Chicago area for 20 of my 30 years of MTBing (cities don’t come much bigger) and I have never seen that kind of interaction. She basically claims it happened every time she ran?!
I stand by my call of BS.
All good. Everyone is entitled to their opinion.
Are you really taking the position that we should overlook a very obviously false or absurdly inflated story because she was trying to make a happy little point? If the truth is not interesting enough to grab eyeballs, maybe you should write on a more interesting topic or be open to writing an article that just gets to the point without fiction.
Good perspective, and glad to hear that you were able to find joy in biking.
Fun read! I will say, as someone who bikes and hikes, when on foot it is incredibly startling to have something huge and fast come up from behind, seemingly out of nowhere, and blow past what feels like just a few inches away. It makes you tense, it’s exhausting over time, it can ruin your day. To bikers I can say every single inch of space you can give helps, and the faster you’re going when you pass the closer it seems like you are. Slow down and go wide. And call out as early as you can, yelling “ON YOUR LEFT” six inches from my ear is surprisingly unhelpful.
If it seems like I’m taking the runners’ side on a bike forum, it’s just because there are a lot more runners, hikers, walkers (and drivers!) than there are of us, and the general public seeing cyclists as assholes is a real, sometimes even life-threatening problem for me, as someone who hasn’t owned a car in a decade. We don’t need to be enemies!
As a rider of almost exclusively multiuse trails, I encounter hikers/runners/dog walkers all the time, as well as the occasional equestrian. The overwhelming majority of those encounters are friendly, or at least neutral.
I’m surprised at how many horror stories I hear from fellow riders about their encounters on the trail. It makes me wonder who truly were the original a**holes in their stories. The pair of runners shouting obscenities at the riders for no apparent reason? Or the mountain bikers “just minding their own business” blasting past the runners with a 10-15 mph speed differential on a 4-foot wide trail?
Well written. Welcome to the community
I feel the animosity is overblown. Its an incredibly rare occasion where I encounter an a-hole trailuser…regardless of their particular sport. As everyone already knows…its not the sport…its the person.
I guess we tend to NOT remember the vast, VAST! majority of courteous people?
The ones that tend to startle the most (and get the most angry) are people that don’t hear someone approaching. This is almost always earbud users. I don’t understand why they don’t just wear open earbuds. I love my boneconducting headphones. Music and complete awareness. On the flip side…BT speaker users piss the hell out of me.
A bell. I ride a busy mixed use hiking, horse and MTB trail. The bell alerts and most hikers move to the side. We yield for horses. I also say “thank you” to everyone who is kind enough to move over. Biggest nemesis on the trail is the unleashed dog.
Bells were completely foreign to me until I rode in Southern California. While the constant jingle was annoying, it was awesome to come around a blind corner and have hikers already standing off the trail, waiting for me to pass. Most bikers I’ve talked to outside of California are unaware of the bell…where I live, line of sight is pretty good on our trails, so bells aren’t really necessary. But I wonder if we will see that trend grow…
You got that right… the unleashed dog is a problem. To mtn bikers, hikers and runners. I don’t get these folks… obviously some dogs are fine off-leash. But that is rare. Border Collie?? Other than that… no.
Welcome to our world. BTW, I sure we crossed paths on the trails many times.
I wonder how much of this trail-user conflict is also a regional issue–and, honestly, it seems like much of the conflict I hear about is in California. I live and do most of my riding in Bend, Oregon. Mountain biking has become integrated into the culture here in Bend so much that it feels like hikers and runners’ mentality is that they are using “mountain biking trails.” My family and I are able to do a bit of traveling and I’ve found this to be true in other places we’ve visited. Not California though.
Perhaps it is too hasty to call it a “California” problem but maybe it can be viewed more as a population density problem. I suppose if Oregon had the same population density in its major cities as California does things would be different. More people means more potential for conflict. On our 2 month trip through California, I often rode areas that seemed to be far off the beaten path. I figured I was getting way out there, backcountry-ish, where I wouldn’t see a soul. This would be the case if I was in Oregon but time and time again I encountered many hikers and runners on the same “way out there” trails.
I concur with Matt Miller’s comments. It can be embarrassing (and concerning) to see mtbers’ behavior. No matter what our opinions are of this story, trail etiquette is that bikers give way to all other users when approaching from opposite directions (up or downhill), and we should also give time and space to all other users as we approach from behind and then pass them slowly. A friendly hello and thank you make a huge difference too. More than once in Colorado, I have approached a hiker, stopped to let him or her go by and have them say something to the effect that I was the only mtber to stop for them that day. I have also more than once stopped to let hikers go by only to have a mtber rudely blow by. All sad but very true. We are all ambassadors of the sport the moment we place a foot on a pedal. Another common concern this time of year is not making ruts on wet trails. I hate to see the damage bikers do to wet trails. If trails are wet, ride on the freeze in the morning or don’t ride. Or if the trail has mixed conditions, then get off your bike and walk in bad places. I just saw a biker ride through a trail yesterday afternoon, leaving rut after rut. Crazy! Actually other choice words are more appropriate, but this is a forum.
This is pure fanfiction that’s been ginned up by a factor of 10 in order to get clicks and sound more dramatic. I’ve been biking on the trails you describe for more than 22 years and I’ve never seen or heard of an encounter, either in person or by report from other bikers or trail runners, that somebody actually behaved the way you describe.
The “no, you get out of MY way!” Line was just the icing on the cake. Did everyone stand up and clap afterwards?
I’m not making the argument that your collection of experiences are TECHNICALLY impossible, but you would have to be the single most unlucky and abrasive individual telling partial stories for this to happen on the trails that you described that you should be buying lottery tickets.
The only time there is the briefest exchange of words is when a mountain biker passes a hiker with plenty of room and the hiker says a few words following their emotions that they felt entitled not to be startled by lack of situation awareness.
I know I speak for the majority of the riders in this area who would read your article, but don’t bother to make an account to refute you. I basically live on these trails year-round and know you’re punching it up.
I think we all hope that it’s not true. Keep in mind that this is an essay and not a reported news article so it’s not like she’s using direct, attributable quotes from anyone.