It snows in Seattle a couple of days a year. The snow only sticks around for about 8 hours - but those are a magical 8 hours. Everything official in the city shuts down. The parks turn into off-leash areas where typically pent-up pups get to run free, kids are sporting their best marshmallow-puff-esque outerwear, and no one can make it to work (but we can all miraculously make it to coffee shops, boutique cafes, and generally to fun things - we just can’t get into the office).
Seattle has some serious hills and the city only has a single snow plow (ok, this might not be true, but I’ve only ever seen one so I’m going with it) so this isn’t totally unreasonable. But the reality is, the city gets snow so infrequently, and this white stuff holds a serious power over the pace of life, so we all chill out for a day or two while we hunker down inside… or look for other options.
I love to ski. I’ve skied since I could walk and I really do love the sport. But a few years ago I discovered a new gravity option that has stolen my heart. So, when the weather in the mountains doesn’t seem deep and blower (which, let’s be frank, is most days in the PNW), and my main option is to be relegated to lift lines and hoards of people, or dust on crust and debris, I’m happy to pull out the winter-weight gloves, decrease the air pressure in my tires, and hit the trails.
For our first city snow day of the year, Pete and I had a stunning ride on Tiger that left me wondering, “Why is there snow one else out here!?” When I posed that question to Pete, he was left in stitches for the next 10 minutes while we shared a hot cup of tea and transitioned at the top of the mountain, reveling in the quiet stillness that comes with the snow, soaking up those seconds of calm before we dropped in.