When we lived in California (specifically North California, which is an entirely different state and state of mind than South California) my wife, who grew up in New Jersey, would always lament the the lack of seasons. Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring are all very nebulous concepts in San Francisco. The summers are cold and foggy, the falls are warm and dry, the winters are wet and short. On any given day of the year just about all you need to ride is a vest and arm warmers.
Part of what she missed was the resplendent glory of Northeast autumn leaves and long underwear mornings during harsh February snowstorms. But mostly, I think she longed for the reminder of time's passage that the change in the seasons bring. Out there, years ebbed and flowed quickly without any sense that they had passed.
Life was uncomplicated; every weekend was a different adventure: Skiing, camping, riding bikes. It was awesome. We felt like we could have lived that lifestyle forever and without any indication of the passage of time we probably would have. But we had fears of being 50 years old living pretty much the same existence we were at 25. Like a 50 year old--baggy pants, hat on backwards, snowboard in hand--at some point one needs to start dressing one's age or you begin to look a little ridiculous.
So we moved East, bought Sansabelt slacks, a minivan, a house in the suburbs, had a couple kids and embraced the idea that change is constant and good. And I learned what it was about Autumn on the East Coast that people love so much. And I learned that kids will remind you of who you were and who you are and that the two are the same. And I learned that you are only really lost if you aren't moving forward.
BTW, The Bard asked me about buying a winter fender bike. I think he's going to get a Mr. Pink.
