It may be sunny still, but mornings and evenings have that crisp, fall-y feeling; winter slowly encroaches on both ends with a few more minutes of darkness every night. The migratory birds are on their way out, and this year, I’m following them south.
When I was growing up, summer meant Lake Tahoe. My grandparents have a cabin there, and the whole family in one form or another would make the 100-mile trek from Sacramento to the land of barefootness, lake-swimming, sunburns, sunsets, and what felt like utter freedom, the kind where you never know what time it is and it never matters. Since I moved to Oregon, I still try to go back to Tahoe at least every summer, but this year it just hasn’t happened.
BUT! As my work winds down for a few weeks, I find myself with enough time off to bike there. A late-summer hurrah; a welcome-to-fall bike trip south for a dip in good old Lake Tahoe after back-to-school but hopefully before it’s officially the end of summer. Tomorrow, I’m off.
And thus the migration begins. Keep Portland in good spirits for me–I’ll see you in a month! :)