From sun to snow to sun, from howling wind to misty mornings and afternoon heat in a valley deep and dry, we live in a changeable place where the mountains meet the deserts on both sides. High enough to catch more precipitation, cold enough for periodic snows, these mountains sometimes take a beating, and last weekend, a spring snow storm plowed through, giving us the best dump of the year. Oh happy day, it fell as the weekend began, so on Saturday morning, we suited up and headed into the ridges and forest behind our home as the snow continued to fall. Django took snow balls to the face and begged for more, rolled and hopped and enjoyed himself in ways the rest of us need to learn--or learn again. Grand indeed was our morning on the mountain, not another soul about, a regular fact that never ceases to amaze us. Why in the hell isn't everyone out? How can they be missing this?
A mere two days later, I pedaled from home on dark and dry roads, the snow mostly gone, and flew on fleet wheels into the valley. I took the long way, the best way, and fed my soul on the undulating delights of the Caliente-Bodfish Rd.--not to be missed in the spring!
Ride. Hike. Climb. Live.