hello again.

We took a day off today. For some reason, only four guests checked in to Seymour lodging today, and only two of those were back-to-backs, meaning they had to be cleaned this morning before they could be checked into. That translated into a very small day for me, small enough to be covered by the rest of the office staff. And Bobby, although unable to stop worrying about what was falling apart in his absence, also decided it was time. Even though it stops his running count of days since his last day off (his last one was in October), he was willing to accept that.

A bit to my chagrin, wasting a day snowboarding is not Bobby's idea of what needs to be done on a day off. He has finally become secure enough to just be able to admit that he does not enjoy snowboarding as much as everyone thinks he aught. He thinks he has hit a plateau that he cannot advance beyond, and furthermore, he does not wish to push himself hard enough to force himself off it. He doesn't want everyone to wait on him (everyone being me), so if I wish to snowboard, i shall be doing it by myself, or with someone who is not him. I know where he is coming from, even though I haven't hit that point myself. I am almost bored with the same old piste. The same crowds. I am never there for the corduroy first thing in the morning, and seldom have the time to hike the bowls for some powder. Down in eight minutes, wait in a lift line ten minutes, up in twelve minutes, down in another eight. I loiter in the trees, seek out the unknown lines, carve through the bumps just to procrastinate another twelve minutes on the chair, when my breathing slows, I cool off, and the breeze no longer feels refreshingly cool, but bitingly cold. I love snowboarding, but I want a change of scenery, and epic conditions every time, or I am easily convinced to go home early.

But B. was more than willing to spend a day off snowmobiling, and we both agreed that if we were to take a simultaneous day off, putting twice the stress on the remaining office staff, we had better spend it together. Otherwise, one of us should go back to work. So I whispered to my snowboard not to take it personally, and we hooked up the double snowmobile trailer to the pickup.

Now for a tangent. Ya see, there is a vast difference in the recreational interests of Bobby D and me. One of us loves speed, horsepower, two-stroke fumes. Rooster tails of snow, spit out from two inch treads. Tires on rock. Low gears. Precision steering. Trails with two tracks. Wildlife long gone, warned off by the screaming whine of an engine. A belief that the world has been here, damaged but not destroyed by it's human inhabitants, for this long, and it will probably still be here, much the same, long after we are gone, barring an apocalyptic destruction of it. ...And the other is passionate about human powered sports. Silence broken only by the crunch of pine needles under fat tires, and the click of a chain slipping from gear to gear. The swish of a snowboard cutting through weightless fluff. The slap of shoes on a loamy wilderness trail. Wildlife startled by the sudden sight of a human in their world. A belief that the world has been here, damaged but not destroyed by it's human inhabitants, for this long, only because it's human inhabitants have not had such resources to destroy it as we and our posterity will have, if an apocalyptic destruction of it does not do it for us.

I leave it to my blog-readers to discern which of us is right. Arguing a point is not the point of this blog. I have spent the day in a toxic cloud of burnt fossil fuel, throwing up rooster tails. It was fun. We spent some time in open meadows, exploding through snowdrifts, catching air over frozen stream beds, practicing turns by throwing our weight around (the only way to turn in deep powder), opening up the throttle and hanging on for dear life. Just playing around. My brain is overloaded with the beauty of winter in the mountains, such a clean, muted expanse of white. Silent stands of bare aspens, striped sunlight across the trail, pine boughs groaning under the impossible weight of snow on them. Softness everywhere one looks, any edge, any variation in the landscape hidden by piles of cold, deep softness. It would have been impossible to see so much beauty without the snowmobiles. We used up almost a tank of gas each, and put fifty-some miles on each sled.

The reason I was so enthusiastic about buying the sleds in the first place (other than that it was something that B really wanted) was that Bobby D described the endless powder riding possibilities available in the backcountry. Unfortunately, that is where I have successfully made a point with him. There will be no hill-climbing, high-marking, sidecutting, hiking, snowshoeing, snowboarding, skiing, or anything else taking place on an untreed 30 to 45 degree slope with a snow load large enough to allow any such activities, or on any surface directly below described terrain, until we each have a pack on our backs containing a shovel and probe, a working avalanche beacon strapped to our bodies, and enough practice to know how to use above mentioned items. I say unfortunately because i have shot myself in the foot (admittedly a better situation than buried myself in an avalanche) by forbidding such use of the backcountry before realizing just how expensive avalanche preparedness can be. So let's see... the cheapest beacon on the market, $289... a 300cm extendable probe, $59... a sturdy aluminum shovel with removable, collapsible handle, $70...and a backpack to hold these items, along with other emergency gear such as a space blanket, colorful ribbon to mark a trail, maps and compass, food and water, $97...that's give or take, not including shipping... times two, because ya cant just give the pack to the one who isn't going to get buried when you leave in the morning, with a cheerful, "here, use this to dig me out at 2:15 this afternoon when I get caught in a slide on the west side of a ridge- and oh, I'll be three feet under, about fifteen feet from the top, and twelve feet from the north edge of the slide." Nope, everyone going out has to have one, just in case. So we're talking a thousand dollars, just for a bit of insurance. Sketchy insurance, considering one-third of avalanche victims die from the trauma of being tossed about like a rag doll, in snow that can reach ninety degrees Fahrenheit from the friction created in the slide, and half of the ones that survive the slide itself die from asphyxiation in the cement-hard snow that refreezes when it comes to a stop, as their expelled breath forms an ice shield around their face, which fills with carbon dioxide as they breathe...and many who get dug out in time die from exposure or blood loss as their friends go for help and leave them with broken bones in hastily constructed shelters.

I know, this is a morbid topic, but a necessary one if one plans to spend time in the backcountry. We did take a crash course on avalanche awareness, which, surprisingly, puts us in a higher safety statistic than those who are avy-1 certified. We know we are still just dumb enough about avy's that it reduces our willingness to even try to take risks- we look at any slope with suspicion.

So today, we stayed on the trail. We only rode powder that was on the flats. We rode from Vail Pass to Camp Hale, and back again, with side trips to various vantage points and windswept hilltops. We were considering riding to Red Cliff, a small town accessible from back trails, but turned around after we were told that the road had been closed due to a slide. My eyes are red, my face is chapped from the wind, and my hair smells like it has been in close proximity to an idling two-stroke all day. I feel like i have taken a beating, even though i am not as exhausted as after a day of human-powered sports. Perhaps B is right. There is no harm in a day spent using natural resources, to renew a resource of your own- your sanity.

Check back in a day or two- just as soon as i locate the camera cord, i will post some pictures so you can enjoy a few of the vistas that we did this afternoon.



....next day. Ok, so now you have a few pictures.

I am thinking, (to head off any worried responses I may get to this post) I hope I have put everyone's mind at ease as to the risks we are not taking. I know that my dear ones worry a bit when we are out where it is deep and steep. We know the snowpack has deep unstable layers this year. The usual compression tests back country skiers and snowboarders are taught only test the instability of snow to about four feet deep, under the assumption that one person is not heavy enough to disturb snow deeper than four feet. But day before yesterday, in the backcountry over by Vail, two men were buried when a weak layer a centimeter thick, seven feet under the surface gave away. One survived, the other did not. In the first photo on this post, the massive, jagged cornice of Machine Gun Ridge that the lone skier is standing over gave away one year and dumped several snowmobilers over the edge, in weather nearly impossible to do a rescue mission in. The back country, winter or summer, is an unforgiving place. We know these facts, and we do not plan to take unnecessary risks, with or without the proper emergency gear. We go somewhat prepared for a night out in the cold. We take extra water and food. We stay away from slide paths, and do not go close to edges. So worry not, dear blog-readers. We may not be entirely prepared for every possibility, but we do understand cause and effect, and take precautions accordingly.

You thought she was a goner, but the blogger came back...

Good evening to you, those faithful few who drop by to see what's up in the lives of us. I trust your reasoning capabilities tell you why you have not seen very many updates lately. We wake up when the phone or the alarm rings in the morning, whichever comes first, and we go to bed when the phone stops ringing at night. In between those two points in our day, the circles under the eyes get darker, voices take on a more desperate quality, tempers flare, and we work our way one day closer to that cold or flu that eventually forces us to have to take an ill-afforded day off. Illness borne of exhaustion is inevitably the thing that brings us to a halt this time of year. Actually, I am feeling good about this year, because every year in near memory, I have been so sick I have not been awake to watch the new year arrive, and if I have been, I have been in bed, in a fetal position, with little balls of Kleenex stuffed into my nose so it will not run all over my pillow, unable to sleep. And this year, not a sniffle threatened. Of course, a day later, the Cold that Will Take Us Down arrived and Bobby brought it home.

This year has seemed busier than other years. Of course we only have last year to compare it to, from a management position. Other years, we have had very busy days, interspersed with slow days to allow us time to recover. This year, every day is just big enough to stretch us to the limit, but just small enough to keep us from hiring more people. A crisis a day, seems to be the way it works out. Most of the crises come from being so booked we do not have anywhere to move someone, should their unit become impossible to stay in. Which, since we have just come through a bitterly cold snap, has happened more often than we care to remember. Sewage in a basement, a heater on the blink, several frozen water pipes, and a house with a well shallow enough that, now that the ground is frozen, is not refilling with ground water. Bobby has spent three days on that one, hauling the guests bottled water and disposable dishes, going to Denver to buy a giant water tank so he can haul them water in the back on his pickup, buying them passes to the local gym so they can shower. Not only do crises happen more often when it is -10 degrees, our guests seem to lose their zen over them much more quickly than they do when it is a pleasant, sunny thirty degrees and they can send the kids out to make snowballs. And of course, every year, something happens that prevents our highest paying guests from making it into the county to enjoy their snowflakes and firelight, and since we offer no refunds for weather delays, they must look for other ways to get their refunds. This year, the interstate was closed due to blowing snow, and later, avalanche mitigation, on new year's eve. And what crisis would be complete without a computer crash and loss of critical data? Oh yes, the main office computer, containing all of our homeowner billing and invoicing suddenly rolled over and died right in the middle of it all. For the last week, Bobby has been trying to reconstruct the files that could not be recovered.

But exhaustion aside, we are all surviving. It has been a year for company. We were so glad we got to see everyone again, even though it has only been for a fraction of the time they actually spent in our house. Besides Bobby and me, Marci, and Danny, we have Jay and Wendy here to work for a few weeks, Donny for the last month, Amber and Scarlett on occasion, we also had Lance and Crystal, Wendell and Michelle, and Laci for a few days, Kayla for a day, and Clark, Caleb, Mandy and Terra for several days.

Today was the first slightly slower day in the last month, so after work, I strapped on my snowboard and hit the mountain with Donny. Later we met three of his friends from Mississippi, and spent the evening shredding. it felt really good to feel the snow, albeit icy snow, under my board. I even hit the tabletops again. I had one spectacular crash. I must tell it from my spectator's point of view, as told to the rest of the group a few minutes later, (he was standing on the top of the jump, beside the launch) since my point of view consisted of flashes of light and dark, snow crunching under my head with every cartwheel, and wondering when I was ever going to stop tumbling and flailing. "You shoulda seen her crash, man... I didn't realize it was her, I thought she had taken the other way down, so she comes flying past me, and lands it, and her board goes out from under her, and I'm thinking, man, that girl's having a hard time of it down there, and then I realize, that's Susan! Hey, you know what she did right after she crashed? She like sits up right away and goes, 'WHOOOOO!!'." (As a side note, yes, a rebel yell is necessary after a particularly ugly crash to spare those watching you from thinking for one awful second that you have seriously injured yourself. If I may offer a bit of advice to anyone out there, pain is temporary. Unless your insides are on the outside, swallow your pain and be cool. Cavalier. Make it a story you can tell later. there's a reason blooper reals are popular, and there's also a reason they always cut before the writhing and groaning can begin. Your homies will love you for cutting your live blooper reel short. You will gain hero status, and you can always duck into the bathroom after the next run to check for swelling and bruising.)

Since the jump lines are right under the lift, and the lift was packed, cheers spread up and down the line of chairs above me. I am used to that, because some of Keystone's most challenging runs are located down the narrow, arrow-straight cuts cleared for the lift towers, but most of the time I hear things like "tear it up, baby!" or "nice turns, snowbunny!" (what can I say... men on vacation), not "how's your ass?" and "nice crash, eight-point-five!" After the inner ear fluid stopped sloshing and I regathered my thoughts and my equilibrium, as well as my hat and goggles, I hit it again, and only sat down at the end of it, and then, just to show the big pile of snow who was boss, hit it again. The crash that time was much less spectacular, but it cranked my arm behind my back, and turned my thumb black and blue. I made my way down to the chairlift thoroughly whipped, glaring at the mountain and hating it for beating me. There was a time I consistently landed the tabletops, but now, I am so convinced I am going to crash that I inevitably do, each time convincing me more, each landing a little more nervous and stiff and off balance.

Several days later- I have begun getting comments about the lack of blogging. I have a few minutes, sitting at the office computer, not wanting to drive home. In an hour, the snow has covered the jeep enough that it will need to be brushed off before I can drive. BUt it is nice here in the office. If I were at home, I would feel the need to be busy, but since I am here, not there, I can sit for just a while longer, listening to the radio, and browsing the internet.

I don't believe I have posted since we added Cat to our household. Actually to our garagehold, since our landlord does not appreciate feline family members. Cat spent the summer on the sunny deck of one of our properties, until she was let inside by one of our tenants. When our tenants moved out, they left her behind, sitting in an ever-deepening snowdrift, as fat and healthy and homeless as she could be. We finally took pity on her the night that it snowed three feet, and took her home, where she has been in command ever since. She maintains her queenly dignity at all times, and when it is removed by a disrespectful family member, forgiveness is hard to come by. She feels entitled to food from the fridge, and cuddles on warm laps, as long as they are initiated by her, and despises the garage we make her eat, sleep, and poop in. Several names have been given to her, but they do not seem to stick, so Cat she remains. I have a fear that she has a good home and her own people somewhere, but have to conclude from the fact that she was a stray all summer that either they disinherited her, or she them. At any rate, she is repulsed to the point of frantic by the thought of going to the bathroom in the house, so we forgive her queenly airs and tell her she is welcome to boss us around as long as she pleases. Too bad she doesn't feel the same way about drinking out of the royal blue toilet in the guest bath.

My days have consisted of keystone, and nothing else, for a month and a half. I am there from nine 0'clock am to 4 pm every day, following my housekeepers around, fluffing pillows and wiping up water glass rings, retrieving used soap bars, wiping nasties from behind toilets that the cleaners missed. I believe I have written in the past about Keystone food. I find myself with chronic gastric disturbances because of the fact that I am unwilling to drive back to Dillon just to eat, even if I did have the time. Too much information? I challenge you to an existence solely on Keystone food. You would start to think that such things were a part of everyday life as well, and nothing to be ashamed of. Oh, those big, foldable, charred slices, with their homemade sauce and toppings so stacked they tumble off and roll down your chin hit the spot about 3 o'clock, after the rush has slowed for both me and the four square feet and two employees that is Pizza 101. And we take care of each other. I over-tip them, and they undercharge me. It is a wonderful agreement that always leaves me with gas.

Earlier, writing about my crash the other day sparked a memory of Pizza 101. They are located directly across the driveway from The Goat, one of the bars in Keystone that caters to the unshaven, not the mahogany and moose head affair that the on-mountain bars who serve jager shots to short haired men tend to be. It features live music, and an affordable cover. The entrance dumps it's patrons out onto a sloped driveway, often icy. Since Pizza 101 is slow in the evenings, mostly deliveries, the employees sit behind the counter, just feet from the window, with nothing better to do but create giant cards with ratings on them, and, somber as judges at an athletic event, hold them up in the window as one by one, the inebriated ones tumble out, forgetting that footing in Keystone is not the same as the footing they are used to in Tampa. Somehow, I do not believe the ones who do the falling think it is quite as funny as the ones who watch the falling.