37° was the reading on the carmometer as we drove to Sleeping Giant just after noon. The jury is still out on how much longer we’ll be able to walk the trail before winter wins.
As predicted by Helaine and poo-pooed by me, there was ice under some of the dead leaves. It was a tiny fraction of the trip but a slippery harbinger of why this can’t be a year round activity. A few vertical rock faces even had small dripping icicles.
Fingerless gloves, earmuffs and shorts. Yeah–37° and I’m still dressing like the UPS man. I am a sight.
(this entry corrected for earlier typos)