When I was just a little bear cub in the mountains of Colorado, I had no idea that I’d someday grow up to live in one of the year-round-awesomest and yet life-givingly-dismal-and-mold-farming-during-the-winter cities in the country. But here I am—Portland. And around about February, escape becomes advisable—nay, ESSENTIAL, to mental survival.
So … after gambling all my remaining frequent flyer miles, I was in Aspen at the home of one T. Byrnes putting on my snowboard boots after almost way too long. We rode Ajax through cold and ice, and then aprés-ed at Little Nell. Too much fun to elaborate.
Gondy laps with Trish—they’re good for one’s spirit.
Ricky’s room. You know yr ballin when you have your own cider-making station.
For those who don’t know, the term “aprés” is a French euphemism for “drinking after riding.” It’s a nice way to end up in your snowboard clothes past dark.
This ain’t vintage—the spirit of the poma lift is alive and well at Snowmass.
A 22-foot vert ramp made out of snow. Scccarrry.
One of those moons that makes you shoot a blurry pic with your cell phone while driving 80 on the freeway.