The downside of autumn

It’s that time of year again in the desert. It’s still warm enough to sleep without a blanket, but cool enough at night that my feet get cold. Despite several attempts over the past four years, I haven’t been able to train my feet to happily accept socks in bed. It’s like trying to leash train a cat. A feral one.

So I put the quilt just over my lower legs. Then, when I rouse to consciousness in the predawn hours, the van will have cooled down to the point the rest of my body thinks, “Hey, why should the feet get all that fluffy coziness? Gimme some of that!”

The trouble is, I wake up a couple of hours later all sweaty. Down does a really good job of trapping body heat.

I suppose I could spend some money and precious van space on a lighter weight blanket. (A small baby blanket, perhaps.) Or I could break out the wool socks once again and fight my feet into submission. Or I could move out of this in-between climate. Hmmmm, the overnight lows are about ten degrees lower near Zion National Park.