Just a Taste

The car is rented, as are a set of Atomic Snoop Daddy mid fats. There's snow in the forecast and snow in the recent past. The set up for this Christmas sojourn to the Rockies is ideal. So why am I beginning to question the wisdom of the whole thing?

In a way, I'm coming home, but to a home that was never really home, if that makes any sense. This is my first winter away from Colorado in 12 years (read the gory details in my season opening post). I've spent the last five weeks acclimatizing myself to Vermont skiing and riding, and, frankly, I'm proud of how well I've adapted.

The great December snow certainly eased the transition. After a few days scoping the lay of the land, getting experience on the groomers, bumps and in the trees, I had come to a good spot in terms of what to expect from the rolling, rocky Green Mountains and how to attack them.

Now I sit here at the base of 13,000-foot Peak 8 in Breckenridge, huge alpine bowls and wide-open steeps laying in wait, and I feel like I'm ready to relapse. It wasn't easy leaving the Colorado mountains. The snow, community and lifestyle combine in this rarified air to create a special way of life.

That said, I knew what I was giving up by leaving and, being a New Englander by birth, knew what I was getting into. I did it willingly and with great joy.

This Colorado trip was planned mostly as a holiday visit. Christmas with the inlaws, New Years with friends, that sort of thing. But with the mountains looming - you can see the peaks from nearly all vantage points in Denver - and the snow falling, I got a little crazy-eyed.

With (Eisenhower) tunnel vision, I rented a car and skis and secured a friend's couch in the high country. It will only be a day and a half on the slopes, I tell myself (not to mention my wife). Just a quick taste, then back to the flatland and eventually, back to Vermont.

If I were an alcoholic, this would be the time when I tried to convince myself I could just have a couple drinks, you know, socially, then go back to being sober. Not that skiing in Vermont is like being sober ... No, I didn't mean that at all ... Give me all the frozen granular and hardpack you can dish out ... bring on the January thaw.

Damn, I knew this was a bad idea.