In the before times weekday nights were a lot like this. We'd meet at the trailhead. Some of us would be coming from home and already geared up. Others would be in their work clothes and change awkwardly in the back of their cars. When we were all ready, we'd charge up the trail.
Tink and I rolled up to the trailhead. Cars came and went. Tink sat patiently. As soon as Matt's car entered the parking lot she started freaking out. Either Matt had a... special smell that Tink remembered and exuded from his car or Tink remembered the car itself. I'm not going to make a comment one way or the other, but I don't know that Tink had ever seen his car before.
The trail was wonderful as always. Stupid steep. Overgrown. Loose rocks. It got all better when we got on the snow. I mean, it was still stupid steep, but at least the brush and rocks were buried.
I'd hoped, as in times past, to stand on the summit above the clouds. But no. The clouds came and went, but mostly came. The sun tried valiantly to burn through. Good try.
One of the reasons to suffer the climb of Snoqualmie Mountain in late spring is you get to glissade through the basin... after you traverse some sketchy snow and rock. But with minimal injuries we sat down and slid down the mountain. And then the sun lit up the clouds all pretty like. All was good.
