I’m staring down at my feet, watching them move one in front of the other, willing them to gain distance and elevation with each step. Every time I look up, the crest of the hill isn’t any closer and the storm is engulfing the summits of the surrounding peaks. It’s Seattle-Rain right now—I’m getting wet but I barely notice.
Kaytlyn is about 20 feet in front of me and I’m wondering, “Is she having this hard of a time as well? Where’s my groove?”
Jul 15
20130
commentsclose friends, whiskey stones, pitchers of IPAs, cajun mac’n’cheese, margaritas, chips, habanero sauce, red mill burgers, new friends, apricot IPAs, climbing, bayou sandwiches, spicy taffy, badgers, terrible jugglers, fast runs, errands, perfect weather, sours, ciders, deviled eggs, trail mix, old friends, Belgian ales, good senses of humor, evening breezes, lack of worrying, ignoring time.
If I have to spend a weekend in the city, this is how I’d like to do it every time.
The dust was finally settling on an abandoned trip plan, and from that cloud emerged a free, high pressure weekend in the mountains. As crowds rushed to Fred Meyer to pick up last minute Ameri-brews, Hot Dawgz, and all the ABC’s of BBQ’s, Brad, Katy, and myself rushed to make a decision on what to do during the weekend after America Day.
After spending Friday recovering from Fourth of July shenanigans and finishing up tasks for work, we packed snowboards, crampons, ice axes, bits and bobs, and some delicious wraps into our car and began the slog down to Mount Hood.
I’m not sure if nostalgia is the right word. It wasn’t quite the feeling that “I’d been there before”, but more of “This is familiar. This feels right.”
As the view sank in, the breeze picked up: the fresh alpine air that feels like the antithesis to every city breath.