Matthew Botos

Aspen is actually four separate areas: Ajax (Aspen Mountain), Aspen Highlands, Buttermilk, and Snowmass. Ajax is the one that actually comes right to the edge of town; The Gant condos where we’re staying are close enough that you can hear the snowcats at night while walking through the parking lot. (The mountain is so high and close, that on our first cloudy night here, I mistook the snowcats for the moon.) Today we finally rode the gondola up to have a crack at it.

The gondola ride alone was worth it; they have new cabins this year with floor-to-ceiling windows that afford a great view of the town as you ascend and the upper expanse of the mountain as you clear the first pitch. At the top, the views continue with a panorama of high peaks and the Highland Bowl at Aspen Highlands. We also met Ajax the Rescue Dog, who is constantly training by finding and fetching his tennis ball.

The runs were a mixed bag: some nice snow and heavily powdered glades countered by scratchy, wind-swept slopes. We found other cultural experiences, though. Our de facto leader, Al, led us on a trail-and-error search for a “shrine” he remembered from past visit. In the trees, we finally found it, a collection of pictures and artifacts honoring Jerry Garcia and the Grateful Dead. Fast Eddie also discovered a bell, which he surmised is how you call the pot dealer high on the mountain…

After slogging through heavy powder on the requisite double-diamond tree run, I was exhausted. The rest of the gang was ready to move on to Snowmass and I was happy to rest on the bus for a bit. They finished a quicker lunch than I made of leftover pizza from the night before, so I was left with the dilemma of what to do with my remaining 3/4 cup of hot spiced apple cider. Taking a queue from Out Cold, I strapped on my board and rode with it in my hand down to the lift. Didn’t spill a drop!

Two more runs through the Powerline Glades and Garrett Gulch made it a day for me. That left some time to check out the shops at Snowmass, which had the exact same shirts as in Aspen, just printed with a different location. (The same trend can also be extrapolated to other resorts.)

Sometimes you really do find things when you’re not looking for them. After a great day of running glades and gullies at Snowmass, I stepped onto the patio at the Cirque Cafe to grab a beer while waiting for Mike and Al to finish their last run. Enjoying a slope-side apres-ski beer is a rare treat that I couldn’t pass up on a wonderfully warm, sunny day.

The patio was packed, so I joined two women at their table. We got to talking, and I learned that Colleen and Amber were both living in Aspen working as physical therapists and enjoying the slopes on their days off. Over a pitcher of beer and some nachos, I found out they had both moved around a bit and worked in a few ski towns since leaving the midwest. More importantly, Colleen wasted no time informing me that while she had a boyfriend, Amber was quite single.

I played dumb tourist and asked where to go in town, and after a round of well-liquored hot chocolates (Hot Travises in their vernacular), the girls offered to take me over to Sky Bar (aka 39 Degrees) in Aspen. All other motives aside, any plan to abandon the rapidly cooling apres-sunset patio was welcome.

The bus ride to Aspen featured a few extra loops and overshot stops, but ultimately landed us back at their place in town to dump various ski and snowboard gear. I then made the foolishly macho mistake of choosing to walk to the bar instead of taking the bus, which is not the best move when you’re a sea level wimp trying to keep up with two power-walking, high-altitude locals.

The bar was suitably swanky for Apsen, including a hot tub and pool for patrons of both the bar and adjoining hotel. Even in the lull between happy hour and nightlife, there was still plenty of people (and cougar) watching. After a round of martinis, some other local friends of theirs came and I got an interesting look into the life of “normal” people in Aspen. Nomadic health care workers, architects to the stars, and followers of the Aspen social scene were a few of the vignettes.

A few folks from my ski club group also trickled in, some obviously surprised to see me being so social. The other young boarder, Dan, did join us, but found more conversation with one of the waitresses. After a few more rounds, we called it a night and I happily stripped off my snowboard boots after a record 14 hour day.

Conquering a clogged toilet and equally clogged bus, we made it to Aspen Highlands for another day of boarding and skiing. The crowd from the bus dispersed, not to be seen again the whole day. In fact, on the first couple of lift rides, we were still seeing barely touched corduroy below.

Those groomed blues were fast and fun; nothing to do but lean from edge to edge and smile ear to ear. The diamonds were all bumped out, so I passed on those as well as the hike-to terrain in the Highland Bowl, where some more intrepid members of the group dropped in.

Being a narrow mountain made it easier to catch up with people throughout the day, and the lift crew on Cloud 9 treated us to some good tunes each run. Apres ski was at the J Bar in the Hotel Jerome, a wonderfully appointed hotel dating to the 1880’s. Back at the condo, we had a belated wine and cheese welcome party, which turned out to feature a nice spread of food and full bar!

I rang in the new year with the King of Prussia Ski Club at Stowe, Vermont. We swapped odd leftover Christmas gifts on the bus ride up, and I walked away with Dave’s excellent marshmellow blow gun. Our first day at Stowe was clear and perfect for pictures. The next morning we woke up to falling snow that lasted all day. The early birds got the worm as slippery conditions on the mountain road trapped many in a two-hour two-mile traffic jam. Hopefully the new lodging at the base of Spruce Peak will make things safer in the future.

There was also plenty of action off the mountain. We checked out some of the restaurants that are earning Stowe a “Vail east” appellation, with the crowd favorite being the obscenely expensive organic beet salad. The crew also sparred no effort preparing for the New Year’s bash at the Rusty Nail, with Rebecca even managing to borrow a pair of shoes from a woman she met on the shuttle bus.

View the Stowe photos

This Wall Street Journal article on ski resort deals includes some interesting facts on the changing face of the sport:

The average resort visitor last season was 35.1 years old, up from 33.2 in the 1997-98 season, according to the NSAA. About 30% were 45 or over.

Over the past two decades, competition has pushed hundreds of smaller resorts out of business because the areas couldn’t afford upgrades or snowmaking equipment to weather lean snow years. There were 478 ski areas in the U.S. last year, compared with 735 in 1984, according to the NSAA.

I Netflixed Warren Miller’s Cold Fusion and have to say it does feature some sick skiing and boarding. Their itinerary also read like a resume of some of my own trips: Whistler, Alaska, Telluride. Kenya and Iran will have to wait for another day, though.

Warren’s getting old though, and the film and audience seem to be going the same way. The narration is mellow and music, though modern, lacks the punch of the hard-charging alternapunk that fuels any snowboard DVD. It is a reflection on the population, though: skiers and boarders are increasingly an older crowd and it’s tough to get younger folks to join ski clubs. Shorter lift lines would be nice, but you still need some company on the ride up.