Fools in the Ra ... What?!
Actual conversation between a running partner and me that took place in pitch darkness shortly after 5:30AM yesterday, on the first major climb of our weekly 12-mile trail run:
Me: Hey – does this rain seem strange to you?
Him: What do you mean?
Me: Well, I can tell that it’s hitting me, but it feels different than usual. It has a different impact when it lands or something.
Him: I hadn’t noticed.
Me: And I know we’re getting wet, but there’s kind of a delay to it. There’s definitely something weird about this.
Him: Hard to tell – it all looks the same in the headlamps.
The confusion was ultimately set aside - to my partner’s relief, I’m sure – and we soon found ourselves at the top of the climb.
About 45 minutes and 700 feet of descent later, daybreak arrived with an easily recognizable rainstorm, soaking and chilling us for the last few miles of our run. We hit the parking lot, and only paused for a quick fist bump before jumping into the shelter of our cars and heading off our respective ways.
It wasn’t until later in the day that I looked back towards the hills we had run on that morning – and this was the sight I saw:
That would be snow, on the slopes of Mount Toro, rising above Steinbeck’s Pastures of Heaven. Our run was on the opposite side of the valley, and at a lower elevation - but suddenly the oddity of the morning’s precipitation became clear: we had been running through a snow flurry! It wasn't quite cold enough to stick to the ground where we were - although at 30 degrees, it was plenty cold for me - but the flakes were definitely falling on us while the storm headed toward the top of the mountain.
Monterey County typically gets snow about once or twice per year, but sometimes several winters will pass without the necessary ingredients converging at the right time to create measurable snowfall. Last Monday night and Tuesday morning, all the conditions came together for one of the earliest snow storms that most people around here can ever recall.
And I can say that I was running in it. How awesome is that?
However, lest you get the wrong idea about any of this, let me be clear: running in the snow isn’t something I want make a habit of. Prior to yesterday, it’s been more than ten years since I’ve done it – and while the memories are vivid, I’m not exactly nostalgic for the ghost of cold, snowy winters past. So I’m hoping to chalk this up as a very cool fluke of circumstance, then return to the regular 65-degree December days that are the reason I live here.
In other words: Welcome, Winter. Please go away soon.
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Finally, since I’ve been musing about John Steinbeck lately, here’s another snow picture I took yesterday, featuring one of his favorite spots. In Travels with Charley in Search of America, he described Fremont Peak this way:
“This solitary stone peak overlooks the whole of my childhood and youth, the great Salinas Valley stretching south for nearly a hundred miles, the town of Salinas where I was born now spreading like a crab grass toward the foothills.”
And there you have it - Steinbeck Country under snow. Here's hoping this is the last time I have to write about this.
