“I’ve got some words for you,” my good friend Tedford said. He was in the middle of helping Peter and Sasha (his kids) and Dade and Roan click out of their bindings and hug the mountainside so they could scramble across and down the 15-foot-high cliff I had led them right to. “But I don’t think they’d be appropriate for your fucking blog!”
Fair enough.
Psych. We don’t have one.
I guess if we had absolutely nothing else going on in our lives, we could plan to go to X resort this weekend, Y hill next Saturday, and Z in a couple weeks. But even then, what if by next Saturday, Y’s snow sucks and Z just got dumped on? Plus, there are certain places where we’re hoping to ski with certain people. We’ll do our best to accommodate that because it’s all part of the story, and mixing in friends along the way will make the stories better. So, our strategy is to stay as fluid as possible, and just keep checking them off the list.
Which brings me to … the list.
On Wednesday, November 25, 2015, we started our all-Colorado ski trek at Keystone. The original plan was to hit Breckenridge (and stock up on Mary’s Mountain Cookies for the holiday weekend), but Keystone had more terrain open — and, most importantly, more terrain that we actually wanted to ski open. We’ll get to that. First, we need to discuss a significant philosophical moment that took place before we even buckled our boots.
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