With the continuation of our springlike weather, Greg and Skippy didn't have to lobby very long to get me back out onto the rock. Felt like March or April out there, which was fine until you paused to think about the scorching dustbowl this world will be if we don't get a heap of moisture some time real soon.
And then that thought fell like so much dandruff as our eyes and tires locked onto the textures created by mid-winter light on sandstone.
Greg talked himself into getting after a few of the more creative lines. Jibber!
Skippy wasn't feeling his usual self, but still managed to smooth several of the funnerer lines.
What I love about riding this time of year is that no one's in a hurry. We can ride a casual pace, chat a bit (or not) and keep our heads up and eyes turned outward. Come April most rides will have morphed into races (to the top, to the bottom, back to work, no time to look around, etc...) so I'm savoring these mellow days.
Though the shadows were never short, as they lengthened we grudgingly turned for home, taking permagrins and tanned cheeks with us.
Praying for snow,