The escape was well met. Even if the rain also took a Saint George vacation. The trails were damp and tight and fast. The sky was grey, the sage wet and fragrant, the rock polished and clean. Fleeing the Wasatch seems especially well met right now; with a snowpack that is more dangerous than enjoyable, crowded roads with inattentive soccer moms behind the wheels of massive trucks, and trails covered in mud or snow the normally awe-inspiring Wasatch Front is little more than a netherworld of recreational mediocrity. Oh, certainly there are remedies for that, and I am perhaps exaggerating for effect. But nonetheless, that perception, like the depth hoar from October, still persists and lingers.
And so, even a rain-laden trip to the desert was worth the time and energy. Even riding through soggy sand and puddles was enjoyable. In fact, the riding was rather excellent. And really, how can it not be when the rain and the storm hold off just long enough for a couple of days worth of multi-hour Dixie touring? As we pointed the car North, the sky opened up in earnest, drenching the desert in rain and water, leaving box and slot canyons running with flash floods and streams and puddles for small things to drink from.
I’d go back today if I could.
And while I am yet confident that the snows of winter will arrive properly, and that the stubborn weak snow will eventually stabilize under the weight of that proper accumulation, I am not, as they say, holding my breath. In other words: Bring on the heat and the sun and the dirt of spring and summer. Or at the very least, the red dirt of a clammy, saturated weekend in Dixie.