Stiffling heat soaring toward triple digits smothers me as it typically does in late July along the Methow Valley Founder’s Trail, but anticipation, not the heat, buzzes in my head.
Last year I rolled around this corner to see one of the masterful wooden bridges barely intact after a wild spring runoff blasted it.
Twisted and warped, sitting off its foundation with branches and limbs still piled where the raging waters dropped them, it continued to serve its purpose getting riders across the rocky dry bed.
Sometime, somewhere I fell in love with wooden bridges carved cleverly into Mother Nature’s landscapes. When one pops into view my heart skips a beat like it did when I would see Laurie Kolda in junior high.
When we landed in the Pacific Northwest my infatuation soared to new heights. The more rustic, the better. One-railed hefty old growth chiseled flat blow me away.
A few days later I arrived to see the Methow Valley Trails gang working hard in the blazing heat dismantling the remains to begin reconstruction.
We’ve been coming here outside Mazama, Washington for five summers to enjoy the spectacular web of trails that lure cyclists in the summer and cross-country skiers in the winter.
No matter how many times I ride these trails, they never seem to get stale. Always fresh. Always alive.
I’m rewarded as I round the corner and glide to a stop when their handiwork stuns me. The new bridge looks stellar, stretching far beyond the usual banks of the creek, and wider than most logging roads — no doubt prepared for whatever Mother Nature can throw at it.
The Methow Crew obviously taunting her like lieutenant Dan in a hurricane.
I’m equally smitten by this modern wooden marvel, and roll across it thinking back to last year.
As I thanked the trail crew, some agreed to have their picture taken.
While I snapped a colorful photo of my trail heroes, all I could see in my imagination was a weathered black and white photo of hearty pioneers or depression era work crews, their pride of their work etched into their sunburned faces.
I look at that photo a lot and send a pulse of gratitude into the cosmos.
It’s impossible to imagine how many chilling moments I’ve enjoyed on my bike because of the countless trail heroes across this land.
I’ve shoveled, raked and trimmed over the years, but certainly not often enough to balance my ledger.
I better fix that.
Time to ride
