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Indian summer has provided more sun than I saw all summer up in Alaska. After five months in the constant drizzle that is Southeast AK it's been a nice change to be here in Seattle with seemingly endless days of sunshine. Warmth would be an added bonus but blue skies and fall colors are enough — for now. There's something else in the air, a bit of a nip.

It blasts across my face as I walk past swirling leaves that dance across the park and plaster themselves against the fence like people in Velcro suits jumping against a fuzzy wall. It is this chill, the leaves, and perhaps the mere notion of people jumping that has my mind moving in what many would consider a downward spiral. I'm praying for rain.

I'm visualizing days on end of drizzle and gloom and I'm smiling. I'm grinning a grin that needs to be wiped off soon, before anyone catches me. It is not only sacrilegious to think of rain while it's sunny outside, it's even worse that I'm devising ways to skip work in the middle of the week.

If you, the reader, have no idea why someone would do this, I must give you a heartfelt thanks, because you're either too old to get it or you're too occupied by work, while I'm calling around for the best price on studded tires. Either way, I'm thankful that we won't be crossing tracks, at least not on a midweek morning after a cold, rainy night. Any other time and I'd be glad to meet you but as you probably don't know, there are no friends on a powder day.

"A month from now when you see a beater Saab driven by a guy with a maniacal grin heading north on I-5 with boards bungee-corded to an ancient Thule rack, you'll know the direction of my decision...."

Of course, many would say it's just the old "grass is greener" effect. You always want what you haven't got. Others would point out that having missed all of last year's lift-served season, I'm just jonesing a fix that I haven't had in way too long. I could counter that the one run I did get in last year — hiking up to Pan Dome at Baker on May 8th and having one glorious run with twenty inches of untouched perfect powder— was the perfect season. It was, at least, one that I will never forget.

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Regardless of who's right (some would say it's sick and wrong to pray for rain) there are tough choices to make as my Alaska summer money trickles down like the dregs of a lukewarm latte. Do I buy the Joseph Abboud suit at Nordstrom, get my shoes polished and go to a real job all week, or do I head out to the Helly Hansen outlet store to trade in the "waterproof" jacket I bought last year (tip! - laminate the receipts and safety pin them inside a pocket) and find a way to pay rent?

A month from now, when you see a beater Saab driven by a guy with a maniacal grin heading north on I-5 with boards bungee-corded to an ancient Thule rack, you'll know the direction of my decision. Praying for rain may be crazy but it's certainly not too much to ask for. Is this a great country or what?

— John Grinter, MountainZone.com Pubster