When we lived in the Front Range foothills, the similar chinooks were both blessing and curse. As you found out, wet neoprene only needed an afternoon to dry out. That’s IF the hung clothing didn’t get flown away by 70 mph blasts! Fire hazard to an extreme, at least when forests and brush were already too dry.
If the chinooks were predicted for winter, sometimes they provided a delightful break from cold and snow. The snow would actually sublimate, something I never saw back east. Things could get very strange, like the times I began shoveling snow after a chinook had passed, and the soil under the snow was dusty. Not muddy, icy, or even slightly damp. The cover went from porous snow straight to dust.
When I had figured out our typical sequence of fronts, the fun started, Between a superwindy chinook blasting through and the ensuing frigid cold and snow of the cold front likely to come, there was anywhere between a half day and two days of still-warm air and little wind. The trick lay in predicting just how long that glorious window of paddling weather would last. That’s when friends and I would say, “Let’s grab a good day at Pueblo Reservoir!” which was the only one that we could almost always count on to be mostly open water.
We don’t get chinooks in this corner of CO. There are mountains, for sure. They just don’t form the long, long line of nearly continuous high elevation that is like an obstacle wall for inbound winds from the PNW. The weather created by the Front Range will always fascinate me.