Off the pavement at Shelby Bottoms

 During my excursion to visit Meg in October, she needed to get out for a long run. 

Fortunately, she planned to run 8 miles at Shelby Bottoms, the nearly 1,000-acre park along the Cumberland River in East Nashville. There I could occupy myself just fine. 

I once ran at Shelby Bottoms, whether organized races (including one of Nashville’s few 15Ks) or just runs back when I still enjoyed that. Former Congressman Jim Cooper used to run there, and I always pretendedI didn't know who he was.You might see random friends on that trail enjoying the weather. 

I also remember wandering the unpaved trails of the park, where few people roamed. Once I saw a black snake that topped six feet, likely a water snake or a racer. At one point, trees grew through the rusted body of an abandoned car. Shelby Bottoms' unpaved trails can get quity muddy, but remain a great place for solitude just a short distance off heavily trafficked paved trail. 

As soon as I could leave the pavement, I did. Daylight fought to emerge from the Cumberland River fog. We rarely have fog in Colorado, but it was a rare welcome sight in Nashville. I crossed that fog-drenched river every weekday for work. 

Up the trail, a group of bird watched posted up in a little patch of trees but had not seen any interesting birds yet. When I passed them, I was alone with the sunrise. 

If you don’t like spiderwebs, never try to be a trail’s first visitor in the morning. I ran into more than expected. The heavy dew-soaked others, turning them into impermanent art along the trail. I ran into a few obstacles – the boardwalk along the unpaved routes had flooded and no repair was imminent. 

Instead I followed a neighborhood access trail and briefly ended on a quiet city street. I reentered the park a few blocks away at a different access trail. 

As I looped back into Shelby Bottoms, I noticed a little path through the woods. Was access closed? I had no one to ask so I went anyway. 

The unmarked stone trail took me along several decaying balconies and places where I needed to watch my feet. But soon enough, the trail rewarded me with a close encounter with a young white-tail buck. He grazed and I watched him for a few minutes before he escaped down the hill where I could not follow. 

Deer in Shelby Bottoms was mostly unremarkable. Several grazed in the grassy areas near Sevier Lake, which was thick with fishermen. But the image of the young buck stayed with me. From here I wandered the pavement again, mindful of the platoons of runners that owned Saturdays at Shelby Bottoms. 

By the time I joined up with Meg for head to breakfast, the park was a hive of activity, and the view that defined my morning were long past. 

As often as I rip Nashville for what it has become, the return to Shelby Bottoms felt alright.