When is a park no longer a park?

Perhaps a park ceases to be a real park when it is no longer a refuge from urban living, when it is unable to serve its purpose of providing relief from traffic, noise and the stress of daily life.

If we're going by that standard, then it's fair to ask if Kit Carson Park in Escondido is really much of a park during weekday mornings.

My colleague John Van Doorn has already written about the problem of visual pollution in Kit Carson Park in the form of graffiti.

But graffiti, it seems to me, is the least of that otherwise lovely park's problems.

Chief among them - at least for those who try to use the park as a park between the hours of 6 and 8 a.m. - is that it has become more of a thoroughfare for those seeking to avoid the morning rush-hour traffic on Bear Valley Parkway than it is a park.

Of course, avoiding rush hours is a good thing for one's blood pressure - those whom I see at Kit Carson in the mornings jogging, walking their dogs, feeding the ducks, riding their bikes, playing tennis or otherwise sensibly engaged in ignoring the craziness of modern life are to be admired.

They should be doubly admired for having to keep their eyes peeled for all their neighbors who insist on using the park as a shortcut on their commute.

Every morning, Kit Carson's 20 mph speed limit is roughly doubled by most of the vehicles racing from L.R. Green School through the park to the exit near the mall, bypassing the backed-up traffic on Bear Valley. Some of the drivers easily triple the speed limit. Nor do many seem troubled by the stop signs or the prospect of running over a pedestrian or two.

Myself, I'm guilty of using the park as a place to drop my kids off at San Pasqual High School, preferring to, first, make them walk a little and, second, avoid the lines to get into the traffic circle or parking lots at the high school itself.

But because I know that I am in a sense trespassing in the park, using it for a wholly inappropriate utilitarian end at odds with its true purpose, I try to make sure I obey the speed limit in the park. To actually come to a stop at the stop signs. To respect the space of the joggers and bicyclists, the dog walkers and duck feeders.

For those efforts, I'm often passed by those in a rush to get wherever they're going. (And as much as I love my job, I don't think I have ever been in that much of a hurry to get here.) Others flip the bird, tailgate or otherwise express their displeasure with my refusal to race through a park.

A few have even yelled threats of physical violence. Fortunately, they were apparently in too big a hurry to try to follow through.

Not that I'm any angel on the road - I've certainly had my share of road rage through the years, often feeling like Dennis the Menace's dad when I blow my top.

But in a park?

A park without a sense of safety and peace, a park that's no longer an escape - that's not really a park, is it? It's just a really narrow roadway with really wide grass shoulders.

- Contact columnist Jim Trageser at (760) 631-6628 or jtrageser@nctimes.com.