Crested Butte

After counting up a few weeks ago, I realized that I had a few more vacation days left over than I thought, and that they'd expire by May 29th! When I mentioned this to Ed, he suggested that I tag along for part of the ski trip he was taking to Crested Butte, Colorado, with his family and some friends. I was more than happy to oblige, having only gotten in a few days of skiing for the whole year in Utah in January.

Crested Butte is beautiful. The town is tiny, quaint, and charming, and the skiing is great. At least, I think it could be great. The cover was a little thin, and because it was so warm during the day, the snow would melt, then refreeze overnight, resulting in very icy morning runs until the sun softened everything up again. Still, the snow was good in the afternoons and I very much liked the layout. Ed said that when he was younger, Crested Butte was his "happiest place on Earth," and I could definitely see it in his face as he pointed out the sights.

I arrived on a Thursday evening in time to have dinner with Ed, then meet his brother, his brother's fiancee, and his mother for karaoke at a local restaurant. There, I realized I'd become quite spoiled by my talented friends in New York. The singers were terrible (at least by my standards). After about an hour, we headed back to the ski-in, ski-out condo Ed's mother had rented. (This is luxury at its utmost. There is nothing quite like just walking out the front door and finding yourself at the bottom of a chair lift.)

Cross country skiing

This was a trip of many firsts for me. To begin with, I'd never been skiing in Colorado, though many of my friends in high school seemed to be from Telluride and talked a lot about how great it was. The first skiing I did was on Friday morning, when I went on my first cross country skiing adventure. Ed and I rented skis and went off to explore some trails. We estimate that we put in about 5 miles, and I was sore for days afterward. It felt strange wearing such light skis and moving so differently from the way I do when I ski downhill. Still, I sort of got the hang of it (sort of) by the end of our mini-trip, and I loved seeing the countryside from quiet, pristine trails. 

On the peak!

 I also had my first sort-of back country ski experience when Ed talked me into climbing to the highest peak on the mountain so that we could ski off the top of it. We took the lift up as high as it would go, then balanced our skis on our shoulders and started climbing. The hike turned out to be quite a bit longer than I was expecting, and my skis felt awkward and heavy. The air was thin, and my boots were really tricky to climb in, particularly over the rocks that were poking up through the snow in large patches. We made it, however, and shared the tiny peak area with 5 other climbers who had brought up beer to celebrate. It was quite pretty up there, but I was too tired to notice. The ski down, however, was easy, and Ed felt so guilty about downplaying the hike (unintentionally, of course) that he treated me to a very nice lunch at the bottom of the mountain. None of this, of course, was necessary, but I didn't protest.

At the concert

It was also my first time watching Guster and Big Head Todd (bands, for those of you who aren't in the loop). Ed bought us tickets for a mini-concert series played on Saturday and Sunday from a stage at the base of the mountain. We wanted to see the Barenaked Ladies on Saturday, but the Vanderbilt basketball game turned out to be too much of a nail-biter to leave and so we missed the show. Sunday, though, we saw the last two bands. The weather was absurdly bad. It is a testament to the toughness of Crested Butte-ians that Ed and I were not the only ones there. We bobbed around in time to the music and squinted to see the bands through the driving snow. Though it wasn't bright out, sunglasses (Ed's brilliant idea) were indispensable, as they kept the flakes out of my eyes. We bought two coffees spiked with Jameson from a tent, but they got cold faster than we could finish them. I thought the music was great, but eventually, my feet were too freezing to stay any longer, so we headed back to the condo, where I had a long, hot bath.

Crested Butte was a great place to wrap up the ski season. I hope to visit it again, perhaps when there is more snow on the mountain and less on the musicians.