It hit me like a heat wave. Or actually, it hit me like the opposite of a heat wave.
When the cold chill of September finally pushed out August’s sweltering, overbearing heat, I looked to the west and saw one of my favorite things ever: a light dusting of snow on the Indian Peaks.
Even from my lower perch in Boulder (hey, we’re not even mile-high here…to say I’m jealous of all of you living above 8,000 feet is an understatement), the quick approach of winter is exhilarating.
There are the usual signs, of course. Leaves turning yellow and red, dropping to the ground. The creek levels receding. The chill in the air, and the breezy weather.
But more than that, there’s the electrifying current all around. The blue sky seems, well, bluer. The mountains seem steeper. My skis seem like they have a life and personality of their own. If they were horses, they would be chomping at the bit.
I love autumn almost as much as I love winter.
There are the teasers for the ski films—and I plan to see all of them this year. Warren Miller. TGR. MSP.
There are the ski passes to be bought, and the email chains with all my friends coordinating which pass and which days are going to be our ski days and which house to rent as our ski house.
(Granted, it goes without saying that my pass is the Epic Pass—and, fingers crossed, maybe I’ll make it over the pond and ski Verbier’s 4 vallées. I’ve wanted to do that for years. Now Vail’s making it easier.)
But I’m digressing.
As much as I cannot wait for those first turns of the season, for lapping Vail’s back bowls, for riding the BreckConnect and Imperial Lift and then après-ing like a Breck local, I am savoring the cool chill of fall.
Unless you were hiding out under a rock this summer (or floating on a pond), you know that Colorado was pretty much an inferno. There were wildfires and record-breaking heat. It was tough to leave the house when the mercury climbed to 90 degrees before 8 a.m.
Lately, though, I can hardly remember that. Right now I am sleeping with my windows open and a down comforter, and when I wake up I need to put slippers on just to shuffle around on our wood floors without my feet turning to icicles.
For me, this is what seasons are all about.
I can forget the oppressive summer heat. I get stoked for winter when I have fall—a few months of blissful 70-degree weather under sapphire skies. And then it’s going to start snowing. Hopefully it won’t stop. And I will be first in line to ski the fresh.
In the meantime, I’m going to savor the dusted peaks and the turning leaves. Before I know it, ski season will be here.