Durango - February 20-24, 2003

The Town
Durango is a terrific little town. You can find it on a map in the southwest corner of Colorado, miles from nowhere, residing next to a bend in the Animas River. It is an out-of-the-way gem with little but nature to recommend it and as with many towns in the mountain west, it is fast becoming a place for the wealthy to retire, property values are increasing dramatically. I'm not sure how the town ever came into being, but I believe mining is the reason people settled the area, because there isn't much else around aside from natural mineral baths and the Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde. Today it is home to Fort Lewis College, a healthy retired community, and dozens of back country outfitters. It's a quaint little town with overpriced art galleries, a half-dozen fabulous restaurants, water shortages, and a vibrant tourist economy.

Itinerary
We skied Durango Mountain on our first day. Nothing much to say except I skied like ----. On the second day we made the eighty mile drive to Wolf Creek, which is located due East of Durango at Wolf Creek Pass on the Continental Divide. We had been to Wolf Creek two years earlier on a snowy day. The ski area, it is not a resort, is known for the highest average yearly snowfall in the lower 48 and this trip was no exception. We are batting a thousand for snow days at Wolf Creek. It snowed about two, maybe three, inches while we were there. It was a fun, miserably cold and windy day. We skied Durango Mountain our last day, Sunday. The sky was as blue as the ocean and the sun was bright enough to warrant sun block. A perfect cold day.

Food
I am astonished by how much food I ate on this trip. I spent more money on food than I did on lift tickets, and let me tell you... my tummy thanked me for my generosity.

Gazpachos - A terrific little mexican restaurant was our first dinner stop of the trip. Chips and salsa and guac, a few margaritas, rice, beans, and three delicious shrimp tacos.

The Red Snapper - This steak and seafood establishment has the coldest salad plates in town. I was famished after our first day of skiing. A couple mixed drinks, escargot, a mixed-green salad, and for the main course; a glass of wine, a 7oz cut of prime rib, lobster tail, baked potato, and veges.

Ken and Sue's - This trendy and cozy restaurant is one of my favorites. A couple beers and bread led to a fabulous mixed-green salad. The entree was a plate of lobster and crab stuffed ravioli. I finished off the meal with a glass of port and a heavenly cream brulee.

East Meets Southwest - A chic sushi and noodle bowl restaurant won the Holiday Inn Key Card toss. Edamame, calamari with dynamite sauce (which wasn't particularly explosive to the palette), and a glass of merlot were the appetizers. The main course of Vietnamese Pho Noodles was a delicious mix of beef and veges and stuff. For desert, a cheese cake with raspberry glaze and strawberries.

Hungry yet? Toss in breakfasts and good-sized lunch portions and you get the picture. Good eatin'!

Hottubbin'
After our first day of skiing, our only goal was a long pre-dinner stop in the motel hot tub. With a glass of Bailey's Irish Cream on the rocks in hand, we settled in for a relaxing soak. Soon after we got comfortable, a group of about eleven teens walked into the pool house and began poking around. Within minutes, more teens arrived and not long after, a few more walked in. Looking around I didn't have a good feeling about this situation... I noticed one teen turn and, like flies to poop, one mass of teens circled around the hot tub and climbed in. It was an orchestrated movement of homogenous thought. No individualism to speak of. All of the sudden, twelve people were packed into a tub designed for eight, which wouldn't have been so bad if they weren't all guys. This was the hot tub fantasy from hell. There was so much sausage packed in that tub it would have been easy to overlook the two girls that emerged from the center of the teen mass. Needless to say, I cut my soak short and went back to the room to take a shower.

The teen hive was from Tucson and were up for the weekend skiing. Apparently, they were out of school for a couple days because of a big rodeo in Tucson that weekend. Can you imagine having school cancelled for a rodeo?

Place
There are a number of constants in my life; optimism, confidence, perpetual hunger, curiosity, and feeling of place. Ever since I was a kid, I have been drawn to the mountains.The look of awe and comfort I wear on my face is as visible today as it was the first day I saw a snow-capped peak. Each year, I travel west. And, each year, the moment the terrain begins to build upward, I can feel a change in myself. Something snaps into place and I begin to feel as whole as I can feel while being alone. I feel right with the world.

Small Aircraft
I've always gotten a kick out of walking out to an airplane, by which I mean, out onto the tarmac. Something about seeing the entire aircraft sitting there on the tarmac against the expansive backdrop of the Rocky Mountains is really thrilling. Marlboro Man meets the Wright Brothers-ish. You feel the chill on the wind and breathe deep to inhale the crisp air as you climb the six stairs into the cabin. These planes are cozy, seating approximately forty passengers. Just don't forget to duck your head.

Small Aircraft and Beer
One of my singularly poignant observations is that beer tastes exceptionally good in a small plane. You are getting jostled to and fro as the plane reacts to the whims of the mountain air currents. Peering out and straight down you can follow the knife-edge ridge line of a peak down washes and gullies and slide zones, through the timberline and down further until the foothills merge with a wide open flood plain and cultivated farm land. Take a drink and toast the spectacular view at 12,000 feet, which is about the same height you would get pushed out of an aircraft if you were sky-diving. Commercial jet-liners are much faster, but at 35,000 feet, the view isn't nearly as interesting. Even the in-flight snack packet of trail mix tastes better.

Dryness
Dryness is the one thing you cannot escape in the arid climate and altitude of the mountain west. Within minutes of landing at the Durango - La Plata airport, I sneezed. Now, I'm not sure what happens physiologically, but I guess membranes thin as skin dries out, or something. I sneezed blood. Never fails. It only takes a few hours for skin to feel reptilian, so much so, no amount of Intensive Care lotion will rehydrate your face and hands. After a day of skiing, the sun and wind take there toll on your lips and you feel as if your talking through two pieces of rawhide. Dryness is inescapable.

Cold
Skiing is the greatest sport. Period... except for the cold. Sometimes the cold makes you wonder what in the world you are doing throwing yourself down a mountainside on a pair of boards. It can be cold enough to freeze the balls off a yak and there you are riding a chairlift with nothing more than a few layers of moisture-wicking fabric and a gortex shell between your skin and the frigid air. The wind can be howling, propelling tiny ice crystal-daggers at mach speeds which slam into your exposed skin. Millions of tiny pin pricks. Facial muscles become paralyzed by the cold making the act of forming words difficult. Your lips feel like frozen halibut, scaly and dead. Funny thing is, you only notice these things temporary and never all at once, forgetting them entirely as soon as you point your skis downhill.

The Zen of Skiing
Skiing isn't simply a matter of physics or sport. It's about being outdoors. Soaking in the sun. Marveling at the massive sky. Tracing the undulations of hundreds of peaks on the horizon. It's as much about the vistas, the snow, the smell of aspen, as it is about speed, excitement, and danger.

It's about motion, grace, and strength. It's about challenging yourself, overcoming fear, and pushing through fatigue. It's about comradery and shared experience. More than anything, skiing is freedom.

Short Ski Trips
Short ski trips always follow the same pattern:

Day One - A monumental struggle with clumsiness from the first wince of pain as you wrestle your boots on to the moment of relief when you pry your boots off your aching feet. It has been a year since the last time you snapped into your bindings and every turn is frustrating. You are so out-of-sync you feel as though you would have better luck finding your groove in a dance club. This is a humbling day.

Day Two - If you were lucky, you got to soak in a hot tub the night before, because today is the day of fatigue. Your muscles are screaming for oxygen. Your legs are rubbery and every turn is an exercise in determination... You are determined to make it to the end of the day for the apres ski beer.

Day Three - This is the breakthrough day. Your muscles are tired and sore, but energy is high. Technique actually becomes an automatic muscle response. You feel stronger as the day goes on. Turns begin carving effortlessly, bumps glide beneath your feet, and your mind turns off. You are on autopilot. You see everything in slow motion; trees, bumps, other skiers. You are in the groove and smiling like a madman.

The last run of the day is the best run.

The Little Budh-Doug
Soon after arriving at the airport in Durango, my brother, Derek, and myself were having a beer in the bar while we waited for our ride (Dad) to pick us up. I'm not sure what prompted my brother to show us his stomach... but he did. With evident pride he lifted his shirt and made his belly roll and dance a mesmerizing dance. I was transfixed. This was altogether amazing. My brother is a fatty, or a skinny fat man as it were. Doug and I are built the same. Skinny with long, graceful necks. How then did he manage to put on so much equatorial weight? "Marriage", he said. I thought about this all weekend, still amazed, and came to a startling question. My brother works five days a week in DC and travels home every weekend, he doesn't eat breakfast and rarely finishes a meal, yet has managed to pad his pockets on the two days he finds himself home each week! Astonishing! I eat like horse and can't gain a pound! It is possible for a Burton to gain weight! Anyway, after the semi-perpetual motion had stopped, I asked if I could rub his belly for luck. He declined.

Steeps
The steeper the hill, the more comfortable I feel. The pitch may be too steep to walk safely and there may be a crows nest of people looking down with apprehension. I never think about it, even though a year has passed since the last time I looked between my boots down a run, I just go for it. I rarely hesitate to point my skis straight and let them rip and I enjoy hard-pack conditions and ice, sounds crazy, but I love setting my edge and riding a rail across a slope. It's a strange thing, but it parallels the way I live my life. Believe in your own ability to take the unknown out of chance.