Behind a cladding of Midwest nice, St. Louis’ reputation for walling off newcomers is stubborn.
Many a transplant has maneuvered for months, even years, through an obstacle course of local pronunciations, place names that resist even official changes and a puzzling loyalty test related to a specific brand of pizza cheese. And still they emerge confused by their inability to make friends.
“The much vaunted Midwestern friendliness is, in my experience, more evident not among people you know, but among those you don’t,” novelist Curtis Sittenfeld wrote in the New York Times of her struggle to crack St. Louis’ social life. “It may take a year and a half to be invited to a dinner party, but the checkout clerk at the grocery store greets you as warmly as your grandmother.”
Sittenfeld eventually solved the problem by following the familiar path of befriending the parents of her young kids’ classmates and friends, but there is a shortcut: the outdoors.
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St. Louis is loaded with running clubs, group bike rides, communal hikes, paddling organizations and climbing buddies. For even the mildly adventurous, they offer an easy first step toward the barbecue invitations and weekend plans that can feel so elusive to new arrivals.
“People like to see themselves as part of a community, or at least part of an ecosystem,” said Ian VanDam, founder of Field Theory, an outdoor lifestyle shop in Webster Groves.
Saturdays at his store have become an informal mixer for the spectrum of Field Theory’s customer base — climbers, fans of Japanese outdoor fashion brands and more. Often, the store is the meeting spot for the day’s run, ride or other excursion as much as it is a retail destination. That’s fine with VanDam, who said he takes a special interest in introducing the various enthusiasts who walk through the doors to each other, particularly those who are new to town.
“There are these moments where you can get people together, and that’s when it gets exciting,” he said.
A similar dynamic plays out across St. Louis’ constellation of running stores, bike shops and outdoor retailers. Jarrid Snyder of the Alpine Shop said the region’s stores offer physical locations for people to meet up. Most have a ride or run, whether that’s a Monday night social ride from one of Upshot Coffee’s locations, Girls Night Out on Thursdays from South Side Cyclery or Saturday mornings from the Hub Bicycle Company in Webster Groves.
An informal group of cyclists leaves from the Alpine Shop’s Kirkwood parking lot on Tuesdays, and Snyder said making friends is one of the primary aims.
“When we’re done, we’re grilling food, having a beer,” he said. It builds a community that carries over into broader social connections. And if biking isn’t your thing, he pointed to the shop’s regular slate of events, including talks with a retired park ranger, film screenings and introductory kayaking and first-aid classes.
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For diversity of landscapes, Missouri is a quiet standout among states. Ancient volcanic eruptions formed the low, rugged mountains of the Ozarks. The country’s two longest rivers converge north of St. Louis and cut across the state, fed by a scenic web of float-friendly tributaries. Surviving swaths of tallgrass prairie offer a hint of what life was like in the days of roaming bison herds.
The ability to travel easily from landscape to landscape leads to a wealth of options for those who like to spend their out-of-office hours in the fresh air. That also creates lots of opportunities to connect.
Debbie Njai founded Black People Who Hike in 2019 to make it easier and more comfortable for Black people to experience the benefits of being outside. It started with hiking, but she sees those walks in the woods as a “gateway” to more adventure.
“We introduce them into hiking, and then they come out kayaking,” Njai said. “Now it’s their first time kayaking.”
Add camping and travel, and a new world begins to form. An average of 50 and as many as 100 people show up for Black People Who Hike events, Njai said. Many are transplants.
“Some people had been here for years in the St. Louis area and never felt like they had a like-minded community,” she said.
She recalled one woman who didn’t know anyone in the group but soon built a full social circle that went beyond the trail. “She’s bestied up all over the city.”
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It’s that first entry point that is important, according to outdoors enthusiasts. Sittenfeld noticed this more broadly in St. Louis, describing the encounters she began to have once her family had made a few friends: “What I like best of all is that the size of St. Louis means we now run into people we know at the playground and the post office and the farmers market.”
What she discovered gradually in everyday life happens quickly among local adventurers. Somebody in the cycling group is also into rock climbing, and maybe they fish in the summer. Or the couple you met on a canoe trip runs in your neighborhood park.
Mark Fingerhut of Dogtown pulled together fellow members of a running group and friends from his paddling exploits in 2021 when he created the 24 Hours From Home Challenge in St. Louis to stave off pandemic boredom. Participants chose their own routes and traveled as far as they could by foot in a day’s time. It was more quirky than competitive and included an after-event meetup where those who took up the challenge shared stories of wildlife encounters, roadside curiosities and ill-conceived choices from their journeys. For many, it was their first time meeting one another in person.
“I know people from different parts of my world who it’s brought together,” Fingerhut said. “Running friends have done it, paddling friends, co-workers.”
The challenge is heading into its sixth running and now includes people from all over the world.
There is something about sharing an experience with people outdoors that makes bonds form naturally, Njai said.
“The kind of conversations you’re having are magical,” she said. “I don’t know what it is. They’re different. They’re more organic.”
When Beth Little retired from the Navy and moved with her husband to rural Carter County in southern Missouri, no one asked her where she went to high school; people already knew she wasn’t from there.
“Being in the country with families that have been here forever, they kind of look at you,” Little said. But she soon found friends through the Ozark Trail Association, a volunteer group that helps maintain and promote the scenic hiking and biking trail.
“I got to go out and meet people,” she said.
That led to joining other women from the group for recreational hikes. They have since walked the more than 400-mile system and traveled around the country for hikes in different states, such as Vermont and New Hampshire.
Any of them could have gone on these hikes alone, but Little said some might have been nervous about it — and they wouldn’t have had the benefit of making so many friends. Together, they’re adventurers.
