0 C-C-C-C-Colorado

Every January, we go to Colorado.  It is now tradition and it's one that I love.  I miss the concept of sun-on-snow and clear, cold days.  I miss ski resorts with so many high speed lifts, you don't even know where to start.  I miss skiing steep bowls that you can hit again and again and again.  It also doesn't hurt that Brian's parents treat us like royalty while we are there.

We always start with a few days in Estes Park, where the in-laws live.  Brian gets his kicks snow-blowing the driveway.  I sit inside, IN A SUNNY SPOT, and read my book.  Hazel takes a nap.  Fabulous.

After lots of coffee (because sleeping at 8200ft. when you live at sea level is rough), we go on a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park.  This year, it involved a little game we like to call "Make it back to the car before the baby melts down from cold".  Yeah, it was chilly out, and despite dressing Hazel to the nines, she could have used even more warm clothes.  Ironic, considering we probably own more snow clothes for one baby than an entire group of Eskimos.  We just so happened not to put it all on her at once.  Our bad.

And then, it was off to Breckenridge, where we had a slopeside condo.  Oh, excuse me, did I just say "slopeside condo"?  Indeed, I did.  Those are now my two favorite words.  In my skiing life, I have had lots of slopeside trucks and slopeside trailers, but NEVER a slopeside condo.  Literally, we walked out the door and put on our skis.  I cannot tell you how it felt to ski all morning, come in for lunch, and lay on the couch to read a book for the afternoon.  And I only had to walk about 5 feet.  The awesomeness cannot be understated.  Thanks, George and Adrienne, for making it possible.  It was just one of many incredible parts of our vacation.

So, while we were at this lovely condo, the ever-ingenious George devised a bobsled for The Hizz.  We promptly walked five feet out the door, threw her in it and shot her down the slope.  The girl loved every minute of it.  It turns out we have a little speed demon on our hands.

Yep, there it is.  Slopeside.  Ski-in, ski-out.  Call it what you will.

It didn't snow that much while we were at Breckenridge, but the thing is, in Colorado, it's COLD.  Really, really cold.  That means the snow doesn't go through a heinous melt-freeze cycle on a daily basis, creating ice and cascade crud.  It's still good DAYS after a storm.  

With that in mind, we made several trips to Horseshoe Bowl, where there was a light dusting of nice snow and good, steep skiing.  Barkernews said I skied like a rockstar.  I was like, it's the SNOW.  I just can't help it.  I probably lost two fingers and a toe or two to frostbite, but I was happy to sacrifice for the good of the skiing.

That night, we did something crazy.  And by crazy, I mean AWESOME.  We said goodbye to George, Adrienne, and The Hizz.  Yep, The Hizz.  For two whole nights, we were on our own in Winter Park and let's be honest.  I kind of missed her.  Sort of.  But it snowed A FOOT in Winter Park and we skied our asses off.  You gotta have priorities.

Something I didn't really research before we went to Winter Park was that it's one of the coldest places in the lower 48.  Lucky me.  I wore so many layers, it took me 30 minutes just to pee.  I had on gloves AND mittens, which I refused to take off anytime I was outside.  It was -5 at the highest lift at Mary Jane, without taking windchill in to account.

But I rallied, despite my propensity to be freezing in 40-degree weather.  You know why?  Because it snowed a foot and it was a foot of the lightest, driest powder I have skied since last winter in Colorado.  Oh, heaven.

Here was my plan: ski our butts off (check), go to the bar for apres-ski, go to the hot springs, go to dinner, drink champagne in the hotel room to celebrate the New Year.  Maybe stay awake for the New Year, maybe not.  That part didn't really matter.

The plan worked.  We celebrated a year well-played for Happy Hour.  We spent hours soaking in the multiple pools of Hot Sulphur Springs (amazing hot springs, probably my favorite in Colorado) and we treated ourselves to a succulent dinner at The Riverside Hotel, built in 1905. Halfway through the night, we decided this just might be our new Ouray, without the 7-hour drive.  While we love our Ouray tradition, damn, that's a long drive in a snowstorm.

Predictably, yes, we did drink champagne in our hotel room and I fell asleep before the ball dropped.  That was our New Year's.  It was spectacular.

In the morning, we did it again, except without the foot of freshies (only an inch this time), the Happy Hour, the hot springs or the fancy dinner.  No matter.  We managed to find pockets of powder and to bask in slightly warmer temperatures before heading back to Estes Park and The Hizz.

Our goal was to ski until we couldn't walk anymore.  We did.  Our other goal was to live it up for two nights without child.  We did.  In the end, we were were tired, but in that, "Oh my God, we had the best vacation" kind of way.

Going back to work on Monday was tough.  Really tough.  Visions of powder and hot springs and sun danced in my head.  I guess that's the sign of a fantastic vacation.