In New Mexico, a 30% chance of rain means there is a 30% chance that water will fall from the sky, in any quantity on that day. In Tacoma, it means that it will rain 30% of the the day, guaranteed. I’m learning the difference.
It rolls, the clouds. I run; riding, into, not like, the wind. Five, sometimes six and a half mph up the canyon to crest the Divide. I roll, into and away from the grey and then into the black, the nexus of the energy, and back into the white– calm. Changing directions; downwind, downhill, down canyon rolling toward a small blue sky space at the center of the black and white universe. Raindrops fall, finally, only minutes before camp. Sixty miles in the saddle since breakfast, running from clouds. Weeks of strategizing ultralight systems are erased as I sigh, exhaling with the full security of a well-staked double-wall tent, dry clothing, and a warm bag. A thick cup of coffee for dessert, satisfies, and does nothing to keep me from an exact twelve hours of sleep. One benefit of winter touring is good long sleep, necessarily.