I emerged from the desert at the trailhead, riding through the parking lot, avoiding eye contact with everyone. I was fuming and nobody needed to experience my irrational rage. I had just finished riding one of my favorite trails, only to discover it had become a victim of the dreaded “trail sanitation.”

This phenomenon happens when well-intentioned volunteers smooth out obstacles on a trail in the name of maintenance, consequentially making it easier.

I know there are legitimate reasons for trailwork. It’s necessary to repair erosion, prevent siltation in the watershed, and protect habitats. And many volunteers and trail crews are nothing short of modern saints. But why did it have to happen to this beloved trail of mine?

I’d ridden it so much that it was a part of me—a little piece of heaven that could turn any bad day around. Sure, it was rowdy in spots, but this is the Sonoran Desert. It’s supposed to be a little mean. It builds character. This felt personal, and I pouted about it like an angry toddler as I rode straight to the pub to find some riding buddies to vent my frustrations to.

There I sat, sulking, when my old friend Pete rolled up. He didn’t even have a chance to sit down before I let loose. Pete is extremely well-traveled; pedaling more countries than I will probably ever see in my lifetime has given him a level head and a unique perspective. I finished my rant and realized that he hadn’t said a word, so I bought him another round for his troubles. He sipped his pint before speaking.

“You know, Mother Nature has a sense of humor about these types of things,” Pete said. “Give it until the end of the monsoon season and let me know how it ends up.”