Lora Anthony, Executive Director

This year, the Mountain Trails crew hit some big milestones, conquered nuclear-level burn out, and weathered a remarkably dry, dusty, buggy summer. The grit it took to push through, stay focused and tick off the extensive to-do list inspired the slightly guilt-ridden admin staff as we worked comfortably in air conditioned offices. The work MTF’s tough trail crew does, the mental and physical stamina it takes to work out there day in and day out, is nothing short of heroic – and it’s something most trail users will never fully understand. I am told that until you’ve spent 40 hours per week digging, sweating, moving, grinding, swatting, you can’t imagine what it’s like. I see them when they return to the shop after a day in the field, and I believe it. But what inspires me the most, what makes me know that these people are straight up hard core is that, after a long day in the heat and dust, many of them hop on their mountain bikes for an after-work spin. 

So, as we put the heat and dust in the rearview mirror, and break out the puffy jackets and beanies, please join me in honoring the MTF trail crew. Without their talent and stellar work ethic, Park City’s year-round trail systems would not exist.  

Park City is a well cared for, one-of-a-kind, year-round place to recreate because a small, dedicate group of wonderful humans chooses to show up every day and make it so. This community appreciates you, MTF trail crew! 

Please donate today to support this hard-working trail crew in 2026.

For some unexplained reason, summertime plagues me with memories of my teenage years. It could be that long, hot days bubble up buried memories of the lazy summers spent in a southern California hometown, and from there it’s a short trip to the synapses where the myriad details of a younger life are cached. This month’s passing of my teen self’s third favorite heavy metal rockstar, Ozzy Osbourne, intensified the trips to Memory Lane. Hearing Ozzy tributes, it was funny the things that popped up to the conscious surface. . . like how the stereo in my Volkswagen Beetle blasted 1980’s cassettes all the way through Malibu Canyon. Then vivid memories of Zuma Beach’s sensory flood: Coppertone tanning oil, neon beachwear, laughter, sand volleyball, boom boxes, and body surfing in the cool, salty ocean. I mean, what spells nineteen eighties youth better than that?    

As I’ve stumbled up and down Memory Lane these past weeks, there’ve been many mental trips to the trail adventures of my young years. The local trails were in the hills encircling the San Fernando Valley – all of which, back then, were undeveloped and free for the exploring. Over the years it took to transcend to adulthood, those wild spaces, trails and jeep roads disappeared beneath massive housing developments and strip malls. Now, when I return to LA County, which I do often, little of what I remember as a teenager remains. And that’s the snap that returns me to the place I now call home, Park City.

There’s nothing like the loss of something you so loved in one place to make you appreciate its abundance in another. When I cast about Park City with a nostalgic eye, sure, I see the change, but there are also the places that are, if not the same, then much better than they were 25 years ago: trails and preserved open space, for example.

Utah’s population number continues a sharp upward trajectory and so it is safe to say that many of the once wild places, and the trails upon them, whether designed by humans or wild animals, will go the direction of those from my California childhood. However, with collaboration between private landowners and the hard-working local trails organizations and land trusts, we can, as a trail loving community, preserve trail access for generations to come.

There are many sayings about history, but a favorite is by Grandma Moses, “A strange thing is memory, and hope; one looks backward, and the other forward.”

Here’s to a belief that Trails Are Forever. 

My husband has this thing, “Call it ‘Independence Day’ not the ‘4th of July.’  Independence Day means something. It’s important.” And he’s right. 

The freedoms we enjoy in this country are among the greatest in the world. Every day, We the People are free to wake up, dress, speak and associate as we please. The freedom to hop on a bike, hike up a mountain, run like a banshee, or travel to the edges of the world (or just the community) is a privilege. And to slightly mis-quote Marvel Comics (or was it Voltaire?), “with great privilege [sic] comes great responsibility.”  

So, in the spirit of gratitude for our great American privilege of independence, tomorrow, on the 249th anniversary of the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, I extend an invitation. Might we all take a few slow-rolling moments to honor and hold dear the freedoms we possess. For me, those moments will happen as I exercise my freedom to hit the trails with my dog, on an early morning run, upon a vast, free and peaceful trail network.

Grace to America, land of the free, home of the brave. 

I hope to see you out there!

When I moved to Park City, my children were toddlers and infants. We found our new community, exercise and mental wellbeing outdoors, on the trails. With the twins in a double-wide baby jogger and the two older boys on foot or tiny mtb’s, our trail adventures were long in duration but not distance. If we made it from our house to the Whistling Gate in Round Valley, it was an epic tour.

Back then, the days seemed to pass so slowly, one day flowing seamlessly into the next. One trail adventure after another, the years went by. I couldn’t see it then, but those days were not crawling, they were flying. Fast. Away.  Suddenly, or so it seemed, my boys were all grown up and I was left pining for my littles. And then in February, the longing was relieved as my oldest son and his wife brought us a granddaughter, Elodie.

Last week, I felt the most important part of my life come full circle. As Elodie and I ventured out onto the newly surfaced Round Valley Express on our first baby jogger tour, it was like being in a time machine that took me back a quarter century. The mountain views, sunshine and fresh, cool spring air were the same as back then. Elk and deer, hawks and sandhill cranes flying overhead, coyotes, badgers – all the same. Well, maybe a few more badgers.

Thanks to the work of local government, Park City’s visionary leaders of the late 20th century, and land trusts, Summit Land Conservancy and Utah Open Lands, little has changed in Round Valley in 25 years. Except for one thing – the addition of the many miles of trails that provide gentle access for humans, big and small, to the great outdoors. Rademan Ridge and Rambler, the oldest of trails in Round Valley, are accompanied these days by many others in delivering joy and wellbeing to the children and grown ups of this community.

Stepping out of the way-back machine, I find myself here, older, perhaps a little wiser, still with trail dirt on my legs and, today, with sublime fulfilment in my soul.

To every donor who supports the trails and open spaces that make this community what it is – now and for generations to come – please accept my heart felt thanks.

What a wild and wonderful circle of life this is.    

See you out there,

Lora Anthony, Executive Director