The river is dry. Very dry. It makes for sweet running, a wide and winding trail, with sand that’s just slightly firmer than the beach.
For a Dutch boy growing up with and near and in the water, this is an odd experience: to run through viaducts, underneath roadways, in the places where the water should be running, not some guy in shorts.
I am the only soul here, on the edge of Santa Fe, moving my feet in the bottom of a stream, just after the sun has risen. I am loving it. But of course, the drought is a huge problem. It’s all they talk about in New Mexico. From a recent AP story: A New Mexico Rural Water Association official calls the drought “A slowly building disaster.”
So I run where a small river needs to flow, while praying for a few drops of rain.