The Mid South That Wasn't: Wildfires and the Wild Ride of an Event that Never Happened
- Seth Newsome
- Mar 25
- 6 min read
I walked through District Bicycles in the shadow of my good friend, Keith Smith. I had been along for the ride most of the day under Keith’s volunteer leadership. We had just finished an abbreviated day at the first and last aid station for The Mid South’s relatively new off-road running event. Normally abuzz with excitement, District was noticeably subdued—almost as if someone had pulled the plug on the amplifier at a concert. Fifty or more people floated between merchandise displays, high-end bikes, and a beautifully hand-painted Salsa, destined for a raffle giveaway the week after The Mid South.
During the week leading up to the event, energy couldn’t be higher. People from across the country and the world anticipate gravel’s first major event of the year, and the atmosphere reflects that excitement. If you’ve never been, never participated, you’ll know you’ve arrived when the first two hours of your ride or run are fueled by pure adrenaline—there’s no other way to describe it.
But on Friday night, the eve of gravel’s maiden event of the season, things weren’t how they should be. Just hours before, wildfires fueled by tropical storm-force winds—with gusts nearing hurricane strength—had created a somber, listless atmosphere in downtown Stillwater. Around 2:00 PM on Friday, Keith got the call: all remaining runners on the course would be picked up. The wildfires and intensifying winds weren’t just creating a dangerous situation for The Mid South participants—they were now a direct threat to the residents of Stillwater, Oklahoma.
Just an hour before, the remaining volunteer crew at our aid station had been sitting in the open doorway of Keith’s cargo trailer, sheltering from the 60 MPH wind gusts, when we noticed low-level clouds drifting almost directly overhead. The day had started innocently enough—a calm breeze and overcast skies greeted runners, volunteers, and fans across the course. Many of us had even joked about where this "dreadful wind" was. In a matter of hours, that otherwise tranquil and vibrant start to The Mid South had turned into a fever dream that no one could have predicted. And those clouds? Smoke from a wildfire rapidly growing just to our south.
The Hazy Glow over Stillwater
As we walked through District Bicycles on Friday evening, you could see and feel the tension in the air—you could practically taste it. Stillwater was under a shelter-in-place order and would soon be declared in a state of emergency. Evacuations were ongoing northwest of town as a wildfire raged on, ultimately consuming between 75 and 100 structures and homes. But the faces and spirits inside District that evening told a story entirely different from last year, or even earlier that day. People looked anxious, confused, almost battered from enduring some of the worst air quality they’d ever experienced. Communication from Bobby Wintle, The Mid South’s race director, was notably limited. Not because he didn’t want to move forward, but because a catastrophic climate emergency was unfolding just outside his doors, and emergency officials were overwhelmed.
I spoke to a man and his wife who had stopped by District to check on packet pickup. Our conversation quickly shifted to how uncharacteristic this weather pattern was for our region. They had traveled from North Carolina for the husband to ride in what appeared to be his first-ever Mid South—and he certainly wasn’t alone. Last year’s event featured participants from all across the U.S. and even riders from outside the country.
In north-central Texas, we’re no strangers to dry, blustery fire weather. In fact, as our climate has become increasingly drier and Tornado Alley has shifted east, extreme leeward winds from strong storm systems often leave our area with intense gusts but little to no rain. Leading up to Mid South weekend, our region alone had experienced no fewer than three separate dust storms—fueled largely by unseasonably dry, warm, and windy weather. Stillwater, along with much of the central U.S., had become a victim of this new, unsettling climate pattern. While the folks from North Carolina weren’t unfamiliar with natural disasters—Hurricane Helene had ravaged their state in October 2024—they were certainly unaccustomed to this new era of fire weather in the Midwest.
I told them, frankly, that I didn’t see how the ride could proceed tomorrow—it would take a miracle.
Communication Confusion
Yet, as we sat around the dining table at Keith’s house later that night, he made an announcement. “They’re posting to Instagram right now,” he said. We grabbed our phones and frantically refreshed The Mid South’s Instagram page. Moments later, Wintle appeared in a Reel. In what, in hindsight, may have been a hasty announcement, Wintle proposed a plan to move forward with The Mid South—contingent on emergency support for the event. The reaction was swift and intensely negative. According to Logan Jones-Wilkins' post on Velo, professional riders directly reached out to Wintle to voice their frustrations and concerns about riding on Saturday.
Wintle’s announcement shocked nearly everyone in town or associated with The Mid South. How could the event proceed with so much destruction unfolding just outside District Bicycles' doorstep? The video seemed to push an all-systems-go button at a time when most expected a cancellation announcement. Instead, riders, runners, and onlookers were left with more questions than answers. Was this event really about to happen?
That question was answered a few hours later—long after many had gone to bed. In a separate, more prepared post around midnight, Wintle officially announced the cancellation of The Mid South. It wasn’t shocking to most. The event’s cancellation had become inevitable. For the second time in its 13-year history, The Mid South would not take place.
Sunday morning greeted us with a cool, crisp spring breeze. The haze had cleared, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like The Mid South should still happen—but it wouldn’t. Our group gathered at Keith’s house for breakfast and to make a game plan. Initially, we considered a bike ride. After all, we had traveled over four hours to ride The Mid South, only for it to be canceled under the shadow of a natural disaster. But we collectively agreed that riding could further burden the emergency responders who had spent their days and nights battling wildfires. Instead, we headed downtown, where Stillwater was set to reopen around 10 AM.
A fresh north breeze rolled down Husband Street, past Iron Monk Brewery, District Bicycles, the check-in tent, and through the streets in front of Stonecloud Brewery and Empire Pizza. The contrast was stark—just 24 hours earlier, it had felt unimaginable that we were even in north-central Oklahoma for a bike ride. It felt like waking from a fever dream, but the lingering scent of smoldering fires was a sobering reminder that it was all real.
Silver Linings and Heroes Emerge
Despite the chaos, silver linings emerged. Live music played impromptu at Stonecloud. UnTapped served complimentary maple cremees across the street. Empire Slice slung pizzas like it was a normal Saturday—though this was far from a normal Mid South Saturday. Meanwhile, Ted King and Chase Wark independently announced they would attempt the Mega Mid South course—a grueling 300-mile perimeter of all past Mid South routes—to set the fastest known time and raise funds for wildfire relief efforts. Wark, despite starting an hour behind King, ultimately shattered the record by five hours.
In the days that followed, The Mid South reported its fundraising efforts:
$40,000 donated to The Saville Center for children
$20,000 to the United Way of Payne County for wildfire relief
$10,000 combined from Chamois Butt’r and Stonecloud Brewery
A goal of $10,000 raised by Ted King and Chase Wark
Roughly $5,000 worth of aid station food and drinks donated to wildfire relief
Yet, as I reflect on that weekend, I can’t shake the unease. Our climate is changing. Our world is changing. And there’s no sign of it stopping. The winds that tore across Oklahoma that day carried a sinister message—one fiercer and more dangerous than any of us had imagined.
What will The Mid South look like a year from now? Will it even exist?
Only time will tell. But one thing is certain—the winds are changing.
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