Running out of time

There is a undercurrent of panic among my Mountain Biking friends. The clouds descended last week, covering Boulder in a film of dew, coating the trees in an erie layer of humidity. The temperature dropped and the wind blew in the smell of fresh, wintery air. It barely dipped into trousers weather, but the change from oppressive heat was felt. It was a signal.

A signal to go ride your bike. Go high, go far. Find the trails that need ticking off the list. Make the most of the window. The cold weather is your motivation to stop complaining, find a couple of extra layers and head out anyway.
We did just that on Saturday morning. Driving early and high, up towards the divide. We started pedalling with a view of Mt Audobon, then dove into the woods, into the trees.


Brushing the fresh rain from pine trees on either side the trail.


Creating our own private tremor of Aspen leaves as we passed silently through.


Finding the view, reveling that we’re the only ones looking at it.


When you have all the time in the world – all the sunshine, all the dusty trails, it’s hard to appreciate it. Living to the rhythm of the seasons means understanding what each new week will bring. The yellowish tinge to the trees this week means bright golden rides in the Aspens next week. Before long our trails of dirt in the woods will be lined by a soft cushion of leaves ripping under our tyres. A soft dusting of snow will dampen the leaves until they become part of the trail itself. Winter will turn that bed of leaves into the fresh dirt, only to be revealed next year, after the patient waiting for the snow to melt has finally ended.