Where’d Spring Go?

As I sit here in my home office with all things cycling on paper and snowflakes swirling around outside, I can’t help but rather desperately wonder, where’d spring go?

I know, I know…it’s only the beginning of April. And we are in Western Pennsylvania, where the weather seems to be as consistent as a 5 year old’s food preferences. But this year I am just aching for those perfect mid-summer mountain bike rides; you know the ones I’m talking about: Just as the sun starts to get a little lower in the sky and temps get to a comfy 75-78 degrees, you and friends saddle up in a random parking lot and head out for a 2+ hour evening ride. No need for lights, no need for wool socks or trying to decide what glove to wear; just make sure the water bottle is full and said pals are in tow. The trails are perfect – fast, smooth, and if you hit a berm just right, you might be able to kick up a small plume of dust in the path of someone behind you. And it’s all good, because you know you’ll be on the receiving end of the next dust/dry leaf cloud on the next ridge. Not a care about what or how many layers you have on, or if a dry cold gust of wind will make your eyes tear up so badly on the next descent that you can’t see sh*t in front of your Jones XC.

I love snow. I love hot chai and cozying up in a down jacket or hiking long trails on snowshoes. Sometimes there’s nothing more peaceful than a solo early morning mountain bike ride on fresh fluff; there’s certainly nothing quieter. But, dear weather gods, from inside my 3 pane windows on this frigid flurrying Tuesday morning, I ask, “please bring back Spring”; I want my dust plume.


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