R ain jacket forgotten, the Wyoming sky reminded me with showers.
We were at Vedauwoo, climbing chunky crystals in granite on Saturday. It rained in Cheyenne, on the way, but at Vedauwoo, the wind was the harsher element — temporarily. Then the gray skies dripped, then dripped more, then pattered in a steady pitter-patter. The sky’s message to slow down, be steady, let go of the summer madness of baking heat and popping storms.
No bolts in the sky. Just rain, steady, steady rain.
The change of season is a welcome one at my house. Fall is the one season that always feels entirely too short. Why can’t it pitter-patter along more slowly, like that rain at Vedauwoo?
The rain drove us off the rock. We’d only gotten a couple of pitches of climbing in (and one moose sighting, which made me glad to be perched up the rock for a better view of the big guy trotting along through the trees) before the rain started and kept going.
Not much of a day of climbing at the Voo. Entirely too short. But driven off the rock meant we were driven into a friend’s van, where he passed out beers and good cheer, and that’s tough to complain about.
Despite rain, fall is welcome. The rhythm of outdoor life changes; it cools and tempers. I’m packing puffy jackets into my backpack instead of icy drinks in a thermos, and my hands and feet stick to the rock again. Cyclists roll out with layers they didn’t need a month ago and relax now that their big rides and races are over — except, of course, for the cyclocross racers. Skiers and snowboarders itch and pine when snow brushes the high peaks and ski resorts show off pictures that barely hint at winter.
Skiing is a blast, but winter, you’re that season that makes fall entirely too short.
When the sun poked through the gray at Vedauwoo, it shone on shiny wet rock. No question, we were done climbing for the day. Our friends camped there that night, but we drove home, through more showers, to a warm, dry home. We spent more time driving than climbing, but the day didn’t feel like a bust when we tossed dozens of ingredients into a huge pot of chili and shared a stout. Fall is welcome at my house for the food, too, not just the glorious climbing temperatures.
Spring is supposed to be the season that feels new and fresh. But fall is the season that feels most renewing to me. And that’s not just the stout talking.
After our Saturday retreat from the rain, Sunday broke calm, clear and cool. I couldn’t imagine better weather for climbing, or a bike ride, or a hike or a run or pretty much anything you’d want to do outdoors.
Our gear now dry again, we packed it back up and headed out to climb. I remembered a rain jacket this time, not because the forecast called for it, but because the season did. And I cut this column a little shorter than I should’ve, because since fall is entirely too short, I have to get out and make the most of it while I can.
