Steamboat: I want to go to there

Before I can tell you that part of the story, I have to tell you this part first:

• The opposite of Progress is Congress, as in the US House of Representatives.
• No TV show will ever be as funny as 30ROCK, and I speak for every woman when I say, “I love you Tina Fey. Thank God life gives you Lemons sometimes.”
• Just because someone LOOKS like they’re tweaking out on meth… doesn’t mean they are, so don’t judge a book by its cover.

With that, once again – my travel karma was… par for the course. Half of our party couldn’t go; we flew in during a white-out; we flew back the day that Sequestration was scheduled to take effect; and - as usual, my face got so wind and sun burnt that it swelled, freckled and peeled. No, you read that right. My skin was actually flaking off.  

Seriously, if the journey of a hundred trillion cells begins with a single nibble, Hannibal Lector or someone on bath salts would have looked at me like a Tootsie-Roll pop and pondered exactly how many licks it would take to get to the center of me. Also…

I had to explain to someone that I was not on meth.

And, as there’s no polite or tactful way to explain what happened, I’m just going to say it. On the way home from Denver, I was at the airport, in the bathroom, near the sink area, BY MYSELF, when my cheeks and chin honestly felt like they were on fire. And I don’t mean a little itch. I mean the kind of itch that you should only scratch at home. Armed with nothing more than Chapstick, brown paper-towels and the sleeve of my Polar Fleece, I began a rub-fest that would send a Labrador Retriever to Nirvana. 

It went something like this:

• I rinsed my face with cold water.
• Dried it with the sleeve of my silky, soft Burton ski shell.
• Put Chapstick on a brown paper towel and proceeded to wax myself like a car.

Now, when you’re in said moment, you don’t pay attention to your surroundings. In fact, I would argue you’re so lost in total and complete bliss that you have absolutely no idea people are watching you. 

Turns out, one man’s heaven can be another man’s hell. Who knew?

Between the vigorous buffing I was doing and the low moan sounds I was making, the women who, unbeknownst to me, began flooding the bathroom, seemed to have one-of-two reactions:

• Don’t make eye contact with the Junkie at sink two, or
• I’ll have what she’s having.

Now, because I hate awkward and I always feel the need to explain myself, I turned to the person staring at me and said, “I swear I’m not scratching my face off because I’m on meth. I have a really bad sunburn and my DNA has been flaking off everywhere all day. You would NOT want to see this sink under a black light.” Sometimes I wish I would actually listen to the little voice in my head that says, “Please stop talking.” 

The GOOD news is that Steamboat was amazing. It was awesome spring skiing at its best. And, though I usually love doing different resorts every year, I may have lost my heart to Steamboat. To quote Tina Fey in 30ROCK, “I want to go to there.” Talk to you later.

Powder to the People

I once read that if more people skied, there’d be less war. And, as crazy as that sounds, I believe it. In fact, just last week alone, we went to Steamboat and broke into someone’s condo, and no one was even mad about it let alone hostile. However… before I can tell you that part of the story, I have to tell you this part first.

You see, even though I lived out West and have been fortunate enough to ski most of the major resorts in North America, I’d never done Steamboat, which was definitely a mistake on my part. Now, I love it - and not just for the elevation or the powder, but because of the culture. Sure, Aspen gets the X Games, but Steamboat is becoming the new Mecca for winter biathletes, people who participate in a sport that combines cross-country skiing with target shooting. To quote the guy in the gear shop, “folks trudge through the snow, stop, shoot a gun, and keep going.” It’s like Chicago… with mountains. 

That said, please don’t get me wrong. I do NOT cross country ski. I wouldn’t even do it if I lived in a smaller country. I downhill, period… but I also digress. The point is that the locals there love their mountains, and I cannot blame them. I would move tomorrow if the stars aligned. As for breaking and entering, this time it wasn’t my fault. 

Unlike previous years, DB and I took the kids and met his mom, his sister, and her family at the resort. And, because they aren’t cheap, the four of them flew directly into Hayden and arrived at 3:00 PM as scheduled. However, because I am, we flew into Denver, got into the rental car, and hit a blizzard on the way to Steamboat. After a six hour drive… through the mountains… in a white out... we made it to the main lodging office, checked in, got the keys, and headed to the condo. Sadly, it wasn’t ours. No really. They gave us the keys to someone else’s condominium. 

Luckily, they weren’t home. We know because we walked through each and every room trying to figure out why we were given a dirty condo that was filled with Jesus art… until finally, after fifteen minutes, I called the concierge who profusely apologized and told me, “Whoa, you’re not in unit 32. You’re in unit 23. Sorry man, my bad.” 

You know, ever since that night, I’ve caught myself wondering what those poor people thought when they got back to their condo. Did they think that someone gently broke in and took something, and did they spend the rest of their vacation trying to figure out what it was? Honestly, I almost took a six pack of beer just to give them some peace of mind. That way it wouldn’t have been so… random. That way they could’ve opened their fridge and screamed, “What asshole steals someone’s beer?” And it would have been over for them. But I didn’t give them that closure, and now they just have to wonder… forever. On the up note, I didn’t break in and leave anything on the counter just to fuck with them either, so they should thank me! 

At any rate, after all of that, we went back to the front desk, got new keys, went to our own condo, then met up with DB’s family. I’m pleased to announce that a fabulous time was had by all. The white out was worth it because the powder was to die for, and trust me about Steamboat. It’s amazing.