Hello Fall, Goodbye Summer

When I woke up early yesterday morning to a slight frost on my window and my roommate's advice to "not wear shorts", I knew. It's here. Autumn is unquestionably upon us. Sure, the leaves had long since been changing, the sun had been setting earlier and earlier. I'd caught the dusky smell of a wood fire burning on more than one occasion. But a chilly morning is the only surefire sign that Fall is here.

The Summer is dead, or at least it's dying. My calves are only one muscle group now, instead of two like they were so many months ago in Iowa. All the hardships of living in a group of thirty, strong minded, hungry, tired individuals have been completely swallowed up by fond memories and nostalgia. And I was reminded again, today, that a thirty mile bike ride is suddenly a long ride again, when it would have been laughable before. Time's no longer my own like it used to be. Maybe it won't ever be again. I'll just have to get by on the days off and the weekends and the spare moments that I can find them. And that's okay.

I rode up Reddish Knob over the weekend. It's a great little mountain, twelve miles of climbing from the foot to the summit. Paved all the way up. I hadn't done it since the end of last year; while the descent was exhilarating, I distinctly recall the climb being...unfun. I took it with a group of five, all triathlon kids. I wanted to see how I stacked up. Not just against them, but against the mountain. All of us finished the climb within two or so minutes of one another. The mountain was still difficult. Still, there's nothing better to help you climb than the prior knowledge that you have it in you to climb even higher.

We started climbing around six o clock in the evening. Two miles from the top we were all greeted with the most beautiful view of a sunset I've seen in a long while. Golden gossamer clouds sitting atop lapis mountains, and the beginnings of a dark, star filled horrizon beyond that pink sun. But for the desire to climb the whole thing without stopping, I would have taken a picture. Maybe I should have. I was, however, able to take an artistically blurry victory shot of the five of us, grinning in the night. We descended in complete darkness. Sometimes our poor decisions are the best ones. But we didn't die.

I was able to talk to Ducky and Nick, who I carpooled, about my cross country trip. Both of them had been to various places we stayed throughout the country. Ducky had herself hiked in the Tetons, which we only had the pleasure of biking past. Nick had spent a summer in Jackson Hole, working and skiing with some friends. Somehow, afterwards, I felt akin to both of them despite having only met them hours before. We'd breathed the same air, walked beneath the same sky. And we had all seen, with our own eyes, the same world.

I've always favored experiences over objects. Material things get worse, degrade with the passage of time. Our memories only get better, develop and are enriched as the years pass over them. I realize now that I had not seen my experience for all that it was. I realize that I'll always be realizing it, as I re-examine and re-evaluate all those days and nights in unfamiliar towns and unfamiliar roads. We were in Heaven and we didn't even know it. So I guess, as much as I bemoan getting farther and farther from my trip, it's a good thing. I'll carry it in its perfection, forever.