Oregon and Going Rogue
New York City is beautiful in so many ways. It finds ways to make even the ugliest thing look pretty. I can be trapped in a subway car for fifteen minutes underground surrounded by random people who are angry, nervous or half asleep and even that rough canvas can be the perfect painting. But every time I am about to go on vacation, all I can think of are those famous lyrics “New York I love you, but you’re bringing me down.” I had decided a while back I needed a break and I wanted to go somewhere running would be the focus of my trip — a “runcation.”
Six days and five nights in Bend, Oregon with a travel running company called “Rogue Expeditions.” It was an impulsive decision I made a couple of months back when I stumbled on their website. The trip to Bend was sold out, but I decided to put my name on the waiting list and forgot about it. A couple of weeks later I got the email letting me know that there was a spot open and so I raced to a computer, typed in my credit card number and booked plane tickets once I figured out when I needed to get there. It is the one tweak about running. I used to think running gave me the confidence to get through my discomfort with new and unfamiliar situations. I think it was more a matter of running helped me find myself and what I discovered is that I like being around other runners.
The time in Oregon may have restored my faith in God. I am not a religious person, but the resounding thought was that God touched this place and somehow the people who lived around there had done everything they could to protect that. I ran in five different areas that were entirely distinct. But our third day at the McKenzie River Trail stood out among all of them. The guides for the trip had warned me how amazing McKenzie was. I didn’t get it at first, but they called it McKenzie without any further title or description as if it were a person that they were on they were on a first name basis with. They didn’t provide any details, only these broad smiles, and wistful looks every time it came up. By the time I finished it, I don’t have their relationship with McKenzie, but I think I fell in love.
Like all the trails that week, we drove down a long road that eventually led out to a small dusty parking lot and the trailhead. Aside from the cars, the only other sign of civilization was a little shed that has the markings of a restroom. Inside of four plain concrete walls painted white was a ceramic sculpture that simply covered a large hole in the ground. After our guides went over the route, we all set out into the woods that sit at the end of the makeshift parking lot.
McKenzie is a neatly manicured singletrack except for some sporadic tree roots and the occasional stone. All of my miles on that paved black tar in New York City may have been tough, but it doesn’t compare with the new set of skills I need to navigate the trails. One of my guides, Katie, a former runner at the University of Oregon, bounced effortlessly through the paths the whole weekend. There were portions of the trail that I could speed up, but I have yet to master that agility, so I spent a bulk of the weekend stumbling and inevitably crashing into the ground, with random scrapes and cuts on my knees and hands. I also managed to veer off the trails at random times, but on McKenzie, it didn’t matter.
At first, the trees wrapped the trail tightly but was relatively well manicured, so I felt myself picking up speed even as I was noticing all of these things around me. I could see the sun peeking through the trees and was starting to get the flow of having that peripheral vision of seeing everything but keeping an eye on the potential hazards on the ground. I knew someone is in front of me, and there were people right behind me, but somehow I felt all alone. Maybe it is the quiet of the woods or the winding trail that doesn’t allow me to see too far in front or too far behind, but it felt like it was my trail at that moment. About a mile in, the forest on my left started to thin out, and I could see glimpses of what they call “Clear Lake.” The pictures don’t do it justice. Surrounded by snow-capped mountains and impossibly tall trees, this translucent lake emerges from behind the trees. I am stealing glimpses through the branches until I come to a small hill that leads to a clearing and an open view. The surface of the lake has a spattering of people on small boats and kayaks. The trail continues back into the covering and away from the lake over some small footbridges and then back out to a bigger campground that overlooks the entire lake. That would be enough for most places but not McKenzie. Clear Lake is only the beginning of the journey.
The trail continues over an empty highway and back in the woods. About four miles in, I could hear the first waterfall in the distance and moments after that one came another one. These were probably the first waterfalls I had ever seen live and in person. I know that sounds crazy as a thirty-seven-year-old man, but I have spent most of my life in New York City. Places like this just don’t exist around here. I have seen waterfalls on television and smaller iterations in the Botanical Gardens in the Bronx, but this was different. A low rumble that grew louder and louder as I approached until I could stand at the edge of a clearing and look at the crashing water. Everything around me was like a fairy tale. The trees were decorated with thick green moss, and the waterfall was framed with black rocks that were painted by random striations of white and red.
About four miles later, we came upon the “Blue Pool.” A reservoir of underground water that is brilliantly blue and ice cold. I climbed down to the rim of the pool, stripped off my shoes and shirt and jumped in…and then I immediately launched myself back out as I felt the cold water start numbing my body. After one more attempt, I quickly dried off and then we finished off the last couple of miles of the trail. My first reaction after finishing was the desire to go back and repeat the ten miles in the reverse direction. Our guides had picked out a clearing in the forest and set up lunch for the group. I sat on a log eating, drinking and laughing with the others. I was 2,800 miles away from Queens and any paved road. The last care I had in the world was checking my pace or performance. I just smiled, laughed and kept gazing around me as I felt the crusty dirt against my skin. I found a whole new way that running could make me glow.
The Rogue Expeditions website tells the story of how Gabe and Allison started the company but hearing the story from them in person made it sound that much more magical. The beginning of this started with a man named Hamid that they met while vacationing in Morocco. Hamid was a tour guide who got them access to remote running routes. From that trip, they built a brilliant business and a relationship with Hamid. When Gabe and Allison tell the story, they don’t spend time on revenues, EBITDA, margins and exit strategy. On the contrary, they lingered on Hamid, his family, the meals they shared and the things he showed them since they started. There is a remarkable beauty to people being passionate about the world and the people in it. And I have a soft spot for anyone that can use running as a path to those things. Ten days before this trip they had their wedding, and now they were happily “working.” Gabe and Allison spoke in the most genuine way about seeing Hamid’s son growing up and the sadness they experienced when they couldn’t manage to get him a visa this past year so that he could visit them here in the United States for two weeks. We sat at a fire pit each evening after our runs, and they spoke about their friends in Croatia, Ireland, and Patagonia. We talked about their favorite meals in the various locations and stories about other runners going through the same experiences we were having.
Bend and Rogue were a reminder that running can be a pathway to growth and experience beyond just counting miles, medals, and personal bests. I went into this trip looking for a palette cleanser for the New York City Marathon in the Fall, and that is precisely what I got. I got a reminder that life is about experiences because the results, whether good or bad, are always fleeting.
