Prematurely gray

What a difference a day—and a big-ass explosion—make. With fresh snow on the ground, the trails were in perfect condition for a ride with Jules and Maura on Saturday. The trails were clean, fresh and smooth. Everything a fat-bike owner could hope for at the end of March.

Saturday's trails were as clean as a Mormon's language,
but as fun as free pass to Porn World.

But then Mount Redoubt erupted again, and this time the wind was blowing our way. By the time I finished my post-ride shower, the neighborhood looked foggy and my white, snow-covered yard was turning gray as a fine ash fell. As eruptions continued, my hopes for another ride on Sunday faded.

My wife tagged our back deck with graffiti Saturday night.
This is why I don't let her have spray paint.

Fortunately, the wind shifted and Redoubt took a break. By Sunday afternoon, the air quality was good and so were the trails, which were largely abandoned. The grit ruined conditions for skiers, but seemed to improve traction for bike riders. There were only a few signs of fresh tire tracks, so most people seemed to be laying low. Too bad for them.

I knew it. My ash looks big.

I cruised solo and did a bit of walking when my singletrack explorations didn't work out the way I'd planned. But I saw some pockets of FNBP that I usually miss, and found an oddity or two.

A charming fixer-upper, if you can still get a mortgage
and never want a date.

At this rate, I don't mind clinging to winter a bit longer. Not that I have a choice. Because tonight's forecast calls for snow.

And this week's forecast calls for more Pugsley.