Date: May 30
May Mileage: 472.1
Temperature upon departure: 58
... so I'm posting yet another Utah shot, with the Twin Peaks dominating the Wasatch Skyline. I travel so light now that the point-n-click regrettably must be left behind so I can make room in my seatpost bag for lesser things ... spare tube, patch kit, tire levers. These days, even the Power Bars stay home. To tell you the truth, I kinda miss wearing a winter coat.
While dodging the endless parade of RVs and the kite-wielding, roller-blading traffic around town, I thought there are a lot of reasons why I miss winter altogether. The white silence. The solitude. The sunsets. Of course, there's a rich beauty in all of this drenching green and a pleasant camaraderie in the sudden surge of energy - not to mention the fact that it's warm, and that should make any breathing human being happy. But as I pass the bleached tent city now sprawled across a mile of beach, foggy with campfire smoke and commotion, there's a part of me that feels strangely out of place. Strange because I'm a former hot-climate desert dweller and tourist from the 'burbs. But out of place because the Alaskan in me was baptized by lonliness and winter.
A few days ago, I had the interesting experience of watching twilight turn to dawn without any transition into night. I kept waiting for stars to come out as the clock clicked away the wee hours. But after a while, I realized that it was no longer becoming darker - it was becoming lighter. Within a few minutes of that observation, the orange glow of sunrise crept over the north-eastern horizon.
And as I marveled to myself about the earth's skewed axis and the way it creates an amazing juxtaposition of time and place, a larger voice in my head told me I really need to start getting more sleep.