The water in the creek is low, so we cross without getting our feet wet. We hike uphill some, and suddenly we are here at the mysterious opening of a deeply shaded trail beneath a dense canopy of trees. In this dry weather, the soil is hard-packed and flat, an open invitation for hikers and bikers.
This trail head is beautifully formed. It beckons. Payton says these trails extend for miles. The photographer has to get downtown for parade duty, so we can't go exploring right now. But this place is firmly fixed in my mental GPS for later adventuring.
Taryn Walker
Within the Trinity River greenbelt are acres of untapped forest.
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Back on top of the levee, Payton gestures toward the long reach of river running to the southern horizon. "It's awesome," he says. "It's already here. We don't need to build anything else. Everybody is so wrapped up in the hype of being in the big city, in the gung-ho of the Stars and the Mavericks. People drive by here, and nobody stops to smell the roses."
He is, in many ways, the perfect pied piper. An Oak Cliff kid with a degree in children's theater, he roamed Alaska on a motorcycle for years, working with Methodist youth groups and trail-riding on a mountain bike. He came back home a married father of two with a third on the way. To recruit him, a local environmentalist took him out and showed him Great Trinity Forest.
"I was blown away," he says. "I grew up here, and I had no idea we had a 7,000-acre forest here."
His organization, Groundwork Dallas, is part of an international non-profit chain of local trusts, supported by federal grants and private donations. Today's clean-up is part of an effort to turn this expanse of the river into an outdoor environmental classroom for a nearby charter school.
"Summer is a bit ridiculous out here," he says, "because it's 150 kabillion degrees, but spring and fall are just spectacular, when the birds are all migrating. You come out in the morning with a cup of coffee, and it will blow your mind."
I know that Hunt and Griggs believe their proposal for trails along the river will be non-controversial. This is in spite of the 14-year history of mistrust and recrimination associated with the city's Trinity River Project, a stalled multi-billion-dollar public works campaign that was to have included man-made lakes, a superhighway, a series of decorative suspension bridges and other man-made what-have-you.
They say that's the point. Do something like simple trails that can be accomplished quickly for very little money. Provide people with an important resource they can use right now. Don't put this vast natural asset behind an insurmountable pay-wall of money and politics.
Their idea is great. Compared to waiting 10 years and spending half a billion dollars for make-believe suspension bridges, their idea may even be brilliant. But what about Payton's idea? Why wait for anything? Get on your mountain bike. Go now. Take it over. Seize this land by using it. Save it by loving it.
Let's not pay less. Let's pay nothing. Let's not do something that's a lot faster. Let's do something that's right now.
People who understand natural areas, who are not afraid of sweat and bugs, who know how to get knocked off a bike and take a roll, can make more difference out here than all the planners and lawyers in the world. They can make history happen by not waiting for history to happen.
Access to the enchanted forest is open and legal from Crow Park at the Sylvan Avenue river crossing. That doesn't include motorized all-terrain vehicles and dirt bikes, which are strictly illegal on this sensitive flood-control soil. People who are out there regularly, like Payton, watch, listen and sniff for ATVs, and they do call the cops, code enforcement and the levee district.
It stays quiet that way, so being out here is like stepping through the looking glass, out of the city and into a kingdom of herons and foxes, soft breezes and wildflowers. Why aren't we here? What ever kept us away?
For years people only talked about the river in whispers behind their hands. It was considered a dirty, threatening place.
Let's not pay less. Let's pay nothing. Let's not do something that's a lot faster. Let's do something that's right now.