Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow...

They say you can dream of a white Christmas. Well they never stood at the edge of the precipice, ski tips trembling in anticipation, poised for an instantaneous eternity over the near-vertical sheet of powder clinging tenuously to the defiant teeth of the Rockies.  They never felt the icy wind tear at the helmet straps, they never saw the snowflakes explode into the blur of a hyperspace jump. Let them go on dreaming, snuggled up in their cozy beds, trinkets and baubles patiently waiting under manicured Christmas trees. And while they dream, a select few will tighten their boots, snap down their goggles, exchange a nervous fist bump. And then they'll drop into the void.
 

Oh but first they'll put on dumb reindeer ears. And then they'll drop into the void.


Actually that drop will have to wait, there are more important voids right now. Like the one in the stomach that requires urgent filling with some festive Doritos.



Christmas day dawns crisp and clear with four inches of pristine powder blanketing the rustic town of Steamboat. Ski boots may outnumber cowboy boots these days but at her heart she's never forgotten her roots, unlike the ritzy resorts along the I-70 corridor.



Getting dragged out of bed at 7am so you can spend the day with aching muscles in below freezing temperatures. Can there be any better way to celebrate your birthday?



This is it boys! Red Leader this is Gold Leader. I copy Gold Leader, we're starting for the target shaft!



Fresh pow pow as far as the eye can see. Santa sure did deliver the big one today.



Best save the celebrations until the bottom chief. I foresee a double cartwheel wipeout in your near future.


Mei's favorite run is the one to the chowder bowl at Rendezvous Saddle Lodge.



Raise a toast to an epic Christmas day on some of the gnarliest runs you'll find this side of the continental divide.


Dodge really needs to deploy his game theory to uncover the optimal strategy for Secret Santa. Otherwise he's stuck with a selfie stick that doesn't do much for you when your phone was designed before the word was even invented.


Another day, another fresh dusting of powder. Is this a great mountain or what?


It's half past one. That means darting through the trees between One O'clock and Two O'clock.


Jared so badly wanted to be Rudolph he imbibed half a can of Coors Light to obtain the perfect glow for the part.


Bear with me Simon, I'll master the art of onion browning just as soon as I master the double black diamonds.



Saddle up boys, it's time for the grand finale. Day three starts with another dump of powder, but then the clouds roll back around noon for a legendary blue bird finish.



The question is whether boarders spend more of their time on their edge or on their ass. The answer is neither, Rocky Mountain Remedies wins hands down.


Now here's an elegant weapon for a more civilized age. Stay strong Deer Valley, stay strong.



Get ready for the home run boys, there's almost 4,000 vertical feet of powder separating you from the first beer.



With scenery like this, that first beer can wait a little longer. After all it's frost brewed in the Rockies and it's not like they're running out of frost any time soon.



Darth Powder is wondering how it's possible that an entire legion of his elite Snowtroopers were wiped out by a walking carpet, an archeologist, and a farm boy preoccupied with smooching his sister.




Who said skiers can't be cool too?


Let the race to the bottom begin. Ahem, quite.



T-Bar isn't just ski-in/ski-out, it's ski-right-up-to-your-table-and-pitcher. It might just be the greatest après-ski bar on the planet.



If you brought your skinny ski pants you're allowed to grab a Pabst Blue Ribbon out of the snow drift.


What a way to finish three powder-packed day on the mountain. The Boat delivered, big time.



Rock's driving on ice is just like his skiing, a disaster waiting to happen.


No wonder those burgers went so well with that frost brewed Coors Light.


Back to civilization and the bright lights of downtown Denver. The streets are empty because patron saint Peyton is working a few more miracles over at Mile High.



 

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