Staring out the window at today’s rain does not dampen my spirits (no whiskey pun there, I promise). The melodrama of years past no longer exist. Touring season is no more. It’s not a goodbye, but a see you later.
This COVID season was not the best, but at least we had it. It made my crew search out new spots away from the hoards of newcomers to our wonderful sport; I wish them well, but I also want them to find their own *&^%ing powder… Regardless, we got some turns in, had some fun, and put our stress aside for a few hours here and there.
What more could you ask for from a sport? Besides the border opening so that I can get my monthly fill of Vermont, its beer, pizza and gosh darn friendly people (we Quebecers have so much to learn about polite conversation and general curtesy on the skin track, mountain bike trail, etc).
But back to that brown snow and why it sparks joy. The brown snow will turn into mud, which will turn into rutted roads, which will eventually turn into gravel rides. And I would dare say that a gravel ride is the ski touring of summer?!
And so with a stupid smile, I think about the hours of gravel, the bugs in my teeth, the muddy socks, and the beers in Helinox chairs by the roadside.
Cheers to the brown snow as we transition into a new season of bikes with friends.