You are here:

I’ve heard of traffic hazards, but this is ridiculous. The three, whitetail deer before me are thoroughly blocking the way, and not interested in ceding possession of the asphalt. They stare me down like teenagers at a mall.

Welcome to Sunriver, Oregon, the destination resort where deer have the right of way.

I’m on my bike, just finishing a 15-mile ride along Sunriver’s 35-mile off-street recreational trail complex. Hazy autumn sun laces the ground through lodgepole pine and aspen; though the forest is original and untouched (Sunriver protects its 3,800-acre environment zealously), there’s plenty of room between the trees for me to get off the bike and walk it through the woods back to the trail. The deer watch as I detour around them, and I swear they have bemused expressions.

As do I, no doubt.

This is about the hundredth time I’ve had what I call a Sunriver experience—an utterly unexpected interlude or episode that wholly contradicts my Seattle-granola presumption about what it’s like at such a resort. This is not Club Med. Yes, there are swimming pools, golf courses, pizza parlors, a shopping mall and enough realtors to form a line out the back at the local Rotary club. You do see the occasional SUV big enough for transcontinental emigration. But they are far outnumbered by deer strolling across the streets and trails as if they own them.

Those trails are the main draw for me at Sunriver. Twice a year my wife and I rent a home from the dozens on offer along the resort’s quiet tree-lined streets. We ride out into the woods near the home; sunbathe on the deck behind; drift a canoe down the Deschutes River; soak in the hot tub beneath the infinitude of Central Oregon’s High Desert starscape. Cell phones work, but we don’t use them. There’s a TV, but no time for it amid all the relaxation. The houses are invariably large and comfortable and impeccably outfitted; and in the off-season, which is everything but July and August and winter holidays, every other night is free.
Thing is, this is historic.

Sunriver is celebrating its 40th anniversary this year, and this milestone offers an opportunity to recognize that this unique vacation niche was pretty much invented here. Carved from the woods surrounding an old Army camp south of Bend, Sunriver set out four decades ago to do what’s only now become commonplace: create a user-friendly, activity-oriented, environmentally respectful vacation town.

Houses at Sunriver are tucked amid native pines like cottages. Championship golf courses (three) wind across the landscape inconspicuously. Lawns are exceedingly rare. The street speed limit is 25 or less, and roundabouts, utilized here decades before anywhere else in America, slow and distribute traffic. Trails loop through greenbelts so bike riders see a car once every 10 minutes. Squirrels plunk pine cones on the deck out back of most every rental home, and kingfishers patrol the Deschutes shoreline like musical helicopters. On one ride into the woods, just minutes from our rental house, my wife and I stopped in awe to admire a huge snowy owl perched in a pine 50 feet away. On another ride, a rare blue butterfly poised on Leslie’s matching blue Teva as we rested by the riverbank. It stayed put as long as we did.

On yet another ride (we hop on our bikes every day here) we came around a corner to encounter two Sunriver Resort bicycle patrol “officers,” actually, two young college women with splendid summer jobs. “Where’s the mall?” We asked. They pointed. “Where’s the riverfront?” They pointed the other way.

Guess which way we went. They laughed as we rolled away.