Crested Butte '16: The Video

Goodbye, and Thanks!

So, cross off the only item on my bucket list.  Sounds like I need a new list. ;)

What an amazing, life-affirming weekend. I'll never forget it, and I can now start dreaming of repeating it, someday. 

Thank yous are in order. More than I can say. This never happens without some extreme generosity.

Thank you to:

Johnny Seale for being our fabulous host, pulling strings and calling in favors to get us reservations on the busiest weekend of the year, showing us all the cool (and hot) spots.

Carly Seale, for loaning us Johnny!

My infinitely cool, smart, patient, brave, trooper of a brother, Geoff, for taking the time and expense to make this all possible. I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather share this experience with. #Buffalo90  #WatcherOfTheSkies

Tiffany Taylor, for loaning us Geoff and conspiring with Krista in the very earliest stages of this plan.  None of this happens without your initial push.

Corey and M.E. Harbold, for loaning three degenerate men the "Lincoln Lodge" for the weekend. What a delightful home in an absolutely perfect location. We could walk to anything except the resort, and who needs that after 4 pm? Thanks so much!

Jerry Brady and Kristen Bickel - my Cincinnati skiing crew - for the loan of a fair bit of gear (helmets, goggles, knee braces, etc), Kristen for helping give me exercise goals and for escorting and even filming me at Perfect North,  and Jerry for being my number one hype man - "Let's talk about makin' some turns!"

Mike Miles, for giving me the opportunity to get my legs under me at Perfect North before my trip.

Mike at the Sea Level Spa in Crested Butte, for nursing this flat lander through both altitude and self-induced struggles, thanks to the miracle of OXYGEN!!

The Gypsy Wagon girls, especially the formidable Amber, for briefly tolerating us old guys (and buying us shots) on Friday night.

Megan at Crested Butte social media.

Parker at BCC.

All of our servers, lift attendants, kind rental people, and friendly people, in general.

And, of course, Krista, who gifted a glutton with a fantasy-grade feast of pleasures. I know you would have hated being on the mountain on skis, but I would have loved to hold your hand walking down Elk avenue under the stars. I even wished the kids could have been there. It truly is more beautiful than you could possibly imagine. Apparently, it's even better in the summer. Just sayin'...

And so...... Goodbye, sweet prince.......

May flights of elk sing thee to thy rest.

Out of the Frying Pan, into the Moguls AKA "We're F**ked!!!!!"

"YOU did this to us!!!" -  Geoff

The day started normally, enough. We began, as normal, with breakfast sandwiches from the Gasser, then a #DamnedCivilized breakfast by the fire pit in the mountain village. Turns out, we'd need the sustenance. And look at these things:



Then right to the frikkin' top of the mountain, to Paradise Bowl.







...which was lovely, and spectacular, and everything it should be. A few runs later, we camped out on the Paradise Deck and had a fun 21st Century experience while Krista and the kids went to the live Paradise webcam. We waved and hammed it up for the deck camera and pantomimed Happy Valentine's messages.

Crested Butte Webcams

Before we get to the day's main adventure, a bit of context. Yesterday, a very friendly dude offered a bunch of advice on which runs to try, two of three were gorgeous runs that we took yesterday, but we didn't get to the third until today. "Try the Double Top Glades and Gully Glades! It's so beautiful. It's like skiing through a park. You gotta do it!"  So, today, before our legs got tired, I thought we'd give it a whirl...particularly since I thought it would be a great opportunity for glamour shots, which it was. #Vanity





As pretty as it was, it was really mogul-ly and icy, so we needed to get out to one of the adjacent blue runs. (This was a black diamond, but seemed innocuous enough, for now.) But at this point, we were in the thick of the woods, with no adjacent slopes in sight, so we kept heading through this lovely little "park." Suddenly, things got real REALLY fast. The slope got a LOT steeper, and the trees got thicker, and the moguls got icier and bigger. And in the back of my mind, the voice of Crested Butte wisdom was ringing in my mind: "NEVER ski where you don't know exactly where you're going at Crested Butte. You can get in SERIOUS trouble, quickly."





We picked our way down, and I saw a clearing up ahead. Except it wasn't a clearing. It was a frikkin CLIFF! At this point, Geoff is yelling at me: "We're FUCKED! We're SO FUCKED! YOU DID THIS TO US!!!"

We had a choice: bushwhack with our skis on  in the general direction of an adjacent slope, or die on the cliff to nowhere. We did our best semi-horizontal skiing through the trees (I bet it was really bucolic, though we were scared shitless) and, lo and behold, there was light up ahead. A REAL slope! We're saved!

Except when we emerged from the woods, it was on the "steep and nastily moguled" slope, Resurrection. LOL, Crested Butte. The slope that would be our death was supposed to be our rebirth. Screw you.

For the next exhausting 15-20 minutes, we awkwardly, slowly, and awkwardly picked our way down the mogul field. Knees and backs hurting, Scared, angry, and in WAY over our heads. ACLs to be shredded at any turn. I was terrified, in pain, and deeply sorry that my #Vanity got us in this mess.

Miraculously, we picked our way to the bottom, mere jellified shells of ourselves.



Geoff was finished, and barely speaking to me. I promised no more adventures, I was really sorry, and I promised lunch. But everywhere we went, there was a 30 plus minute wait, even at the new, out of the way Umbrella Bar.



(Did I mention that this mountain is massive, and labyrinthine? This picture is taken at the top of an entirely separate network of trails on an adjacent mountain, still part of the same resort. Behind where I'm standing are two more lifts leading to beautiful, wooded blue and green runs. Perhaps we should have come here in the first place.)

 We were in pain, and pissed off. Geoff decided to call it a day. It was starting to snow pretty hard, and he had no legs left. I really didn't, either, but I couldn't say goodbye to Crested Butte, quite yet. So I left Geoff alone, and headed up the mountain for a goodbye run on one of the delightful, aspen and pine speckled "green" runs off the Red Lady lift. And really, if I ever come back, I will keep my ambitions in check and spend more time in this knee-friendly winter wonderland.



But even these "knee-friendly" runs had 1000 feet of vertical drop, which is a lot given that my local ski hill has a vertical drop of 400 feet. There's a farm and a road where the chairlift drops you off. By the time I reached the bottom, I was just begging for one more good, sure turn without crashing or injury. Nice to finish both days with ill-advised skiing.  But this was a tender and bittersweet goodbye run, and it was time to be finished, before any damage was done. We returned our gear, called our host, the awesome Johnny Seale, to come pick us up, and bring us to some flat place to eat a late lunch.

But first, I needed to take my seat as the king and semi-conqueror of Crested Butte.



A quick but delicious calzone lunch at Brick Oven Pizza, then back to the house to rest up for the evening. We had dinner reservations at Elk Prime - an amazing, locally sourced steak house. I don't like Brussels sprouts, but these tasted like Krista's roasted kale - peeled and pan fried with balsamic vinegar, garlic, and Parmesan.  We wound up fighting over the dregs:



The star of the show was a 34 ounce Wagyu bone-in Ribeye from 7X Beef. We split it, of course. It was as impossibly good as it looks.



Ooh! And excellent house-selected wine from the vineyard of a regular Crested Butte visitor.


 Apparently this vineyard will be bottling the house wine for Elk Prime in the near future. So good.

Dessert was 3rd Bowl Ice Cream (ahem) ice cream. We ate it in the insistent early-evening snowfall on the way back to the house. Hmm. It's not even 10pm. Maybe I should shut my computer (Geoff is looking at Widespread Panic stuff, Johnny, fantasy baseball) and we should go out in the snow and have one more adventure....

Mountain Jam!

The alarm was mighty early this morning. But when the view streaming through your window looks like this, the day will compel you.


We dressed, strapped on knee braces, stopped by the Gasser for breakfast sandwiches and coffee. We drove the three miles to the mountain, and grabbed a bench by the bonfire to eat our wares. Damned civilized.



But the mountain...the mountain called us. We got our gear from the ski valets, and headed to the Silver Queen lift. We had intended to ease in with the green runs off of the Red Lady lift, but a highly intoxicated former snowboard instructor told us the night before that we wanted to start from the very top. Who were we to argue?


This was our only trip to the top of the lift-served mountain, all day, but what a spectacular treat:





Paradise Bowl, or bust, then down, down, down. Such incredible natural beauty.

However, we discovered very quickly that even though we are virile and manly in every way, after about 1.4 runs at this altitude, we were seeking comfort and relaxation. Luckily, the sun deck at the Paradise Warming Hut was grilling meat and serving bacon-jalapeno Bloody Marys and playing Srius XM "Deep Cuts." It made for a lovely place to chill and take in the surroundings. 

A few more beautiful runs, and we found ourselves back at the base lodge to bask in the 40 degree sun and try one of those Bloody Marys.

Here's the problem: we both were essentially finished by 11:30. But, at 1:00, when we were done with lunch, we headed back out. We were, however, smart enough to realize our physical limitations, and stick to easier runs. But the mountain was crowded by this time, and the lift lines were getting unpleasantly long on the main lifts, so even though the ski gods were sending a clear message to quit for the day, we instead went in search of a lift with lesser lines. We found one, and, BONUS! It had great views of my "favorite" mountain. 

But it also meant a steep, bumpy hill with heavy, soft, choppy snow. I fell once, and though I was fine, I spent the rest of the run thinking: "I'm tired. The conditions are deteriorating, and this hill is pretty challenging, to begin with. This is how people get hurt."

Time to quit. So we did. Live to shuush another day. But our day was just getting started. We had foodie adventures afoot!

After resting at the house and my first viewing of The Pineapple Express, ahem, we headed to the Dogwood for cocktails. Mmmmm, fancy!



Then, on to the Sunflower for a special seating. During the day, The Sunflower is a nice lunch-brunch place, but on weekend nights, it is taken over by Chris and Natalie, who run a farm-to-table cooperative, they bring in a chef, and incredible food and wine.














NOM!!!

(There may or may not have been imbibing from the Parron)



Then, we finished up the evening out at the Princess wine bar, where they have an excellent assortment of bourbons, including green label Weller, thank you very much. Finally, back to the house to listen to music, and blog, etc. Another busy day ahead, after all!

So it Begins...and What a Beginning!

It's time.

The day began with a 3AM alarm, and a pitch black drive to CVG.

Even at 4 AM, I saw numerous people I knew at the airport. Cincinnati, eh? The flight was on time, but you get what you pay for with Frontier. Plastic molded seats with no padding, a reading light that didn't work, and no possibility of sleep. Oh well.

Denver, and Payless rent a car was surprisingly smooth. Luckily I had done my research on how they try to stick you with extra fees, which I think I avoided. I was a bit sleep deprived. So, me and my little Hyundai Elantra headed out of Denver into the mountains, despite warnings from the rental woman: "You'll really struggle in those mountain passes. Don't you want an upgrade to a six-cylinder?" Nope.







I was given an order to stop at the infamous Gunsmoke Truck Stop to buy mesh trucker hats. When in Rome, right? But even infamous truck stops have amazing views.




Which brings me to the part of the trip I had lost the most sleep about, believe it or not. The infamous Monarch Pass -  the Colorado pass with the highest occurrence of accidents. Luckily, I had a sunny day just above freezing, and it was a piece of cake.




Legend has it that people drive up to the pass, park, and ski off into the backcountry. I didn't believe it. I was wrong.



From Monarch, it was a fairly easy drive the rest of the way to Crested Butte, which didn't look like much, as you head up a lovely, but unremarkable valley...and then you round a bend, and are greeted with this:



I rolled into town, mouth agape, and head spinning. Everything looks like this, everywhere you turn.





My brother, Geoff, met me on the street. It was a beautiful thing. He and our host, Johnny Seale, already had a table secured at a favorite pub.



After lunch, we headed up to the mountain to get our lift tickets and equipment for tomorrow's main event. There's something both badass and beautiful about the base area of a great resort. And the views...



It had been a long day, and going from essentially sea level to 9200 feet above sea level in only a few hours, at age 45, does some pretty unpleasant things to your body. I felt crappy after running around the resort, trying on gear, etc. Luckily, a town like Crested Butte is well-prepared for this common issue, so Geoff and I both spent some time at the oxygen bar at the Sea Level Spa. Oxygen is a miracle. 20 minutes later, and I felt like an absolute champ for the rest of the evening.



... not good enough to want to take full advantage of Colorado's kindest...



...but plenty good enough to partake of possibly the best pizza I've ever had at Secret Stash, a Crested Butte legend.



We followed our guide, Johnny, to Kochevar's Gaming Saloon, an ancient miner bar, afterward, which seemed like a lot of fun, but I was too exhausted to enjoy it fully. I had a PBR, and three waters, and begged off, walking the dark, icy streets under an impossibly vivid starry sky to our log cabin just off the main drag.

Tomorrow is the main event, and the alarm goes off in less than eight hours. I'm ready. I'm nervous. I'm ready. I'll let you know how it goes. Wish me luck.

The Calm Before....

After weeks of giddy excitement and anxiety, in 48 hours, I'll be eating dinner at Secret Stash. Oddly, I feel a serenity that I haven't felt since I first got the news of this trip. I'm keeping myself busy with work, really busy, I'm packed, my exercise (if not weight) goals are met, I'm helping my daughter study for Chemistry, I'm playing ping pong with the boy....and I'm not obsessively looking at ski videos. This is partly due to the fact that most videos are powder vids, and it hasn't snowed in days and won't for days. In 31 hours, I'll be heading to the airport for a long day of travel before I see the Butte of my dreams. I've started my Diamox for altitude acclimatization, and I'm pretty much chiller than I have been in recent memory. Gonna go iron a shirt or two so I don't look like a slob at Elk Prime or the Sunflower. Maybe pack my toiletries, then get some sleep. Busy day at work tomorrow. My brother starts his drive from Dallas to Salida at 9 am tomorrow. Jealous. But I have a full day of work, tomorrow.....rest.....Ommmmmmmmm......

Excited Much??

I leave in four days. I'm already packed.