A rest day from the bikes that week had us hiking through Arches National Park. Perfect day. This picture is looking across a canyon, looking into a bowl carved out into the side of a cliff, from a trail heading up to the Delicate Arch:
. . and the Delicate Arch:
A year or so later, another trip to Moab found different weather. Snow. Cold snow. Just two days into the trip, we headed south to Flagstaff, Arizona. To where the weather followed us every step of the way. Much like a four-cylinder Winnebago finds chance to draft a rolling Taco Stand:
We woke up with the vehicles covered in snow, in late March, in Flagstaff. And went down, down, 2500 feet or so, to nearby Sedona. And found perfect temperatures and trail conditions.
We survived, and thrived, and took the spaced-out town dwellers in stride. Before the long drive back to Salida. (Overheard at an excellent Sedona Chinese restaraunt: "yeah my avedic, umm, arved-ah-ahryervedic (ayurvedic?) teacher asked: no, what do you usually eat? I said cheeseburgers and fries mostly").Then my parents came to visit last fall. They took a few hikes in the hills way up behind our house. Here's one of my dad. They're from central New York, and the weather insisted on making them feel at home.
A few months later, in those same foothills, more sunshine, and a little bit of snow.
This is the kind of footprint a 125 pound dog leaves all around the house:
We've got our springtime winds blowing through, with blue skies, and melting snow. The prevailing winds from the west mean I'm in a low gear while heading downhill - and more often than not big-ringing it while loaded with groceries, heading back up the hill. Go figure. I'll take it.
