I had a few friends who spent winters after college being ski bums at Breckinridge. One year, two college buddies and I, flush with Christmas cash, decided to visit them. But rather than just fly to Colorado, we chose to fly to San Francisco for a New Year’s Eve party first, then drive more than a third of the way across the country to ski.
The New Year’s party was an absolute shit-show. Actually, more of a puke-show.
It was held in a suite at the St. Francis on Union Square, one of my favorite hotels. But somebody or somebodies puked all over the huge bathroom. I mean all over. Including in the bathtub full of ice, where all the beer was. I think I’ll have a mixed drink, thank you very much.
We woke up on the floor the next day, wisely foregoing showers in the vomitorium,* and went to get our rental car. The clerk at the counter took our information, and then went to a rack of keys. I saw him examine all the keys and scratch his head. He came back and offered us a “special deal” on an upgrade. No thanks, we’ll just stick with the compact we reserved. So for the same price, he had to give us the Subaru wagon. We were about to set out through the mountains of Nevada, Utah and Colorado, and we received a free upgrade to all-wheel drive. Sweet.
There were three of us, so we came up with a plan: we stop only for gas, bathrooms/woods and food to-go. One person drives, one person is assigned to keep the driver awake, and the third person can sleep or play guitar in the back seat. Any speeding tickets for up to 75 MPH are split three ways; over 75, you’re on your own. We only got one ticket, and it was for 85 MPH. Remarkably, I wasn’t driving at the time.
Someone said, “Hey, we could stop in Reno on the way!” Yes! It was agreed that this would be our one stop. Two of us broke even, and one guy won big. We stopped for a drink before going back to the car, and the big winner was discussing what kind of guitar he was going to buy with his loot. Maybe a Gibson SG or a Les Paul.
Then, as we finished our drinks, he said, “Who wants to play some more blackjack?” Well, we all did, of course. And promptly lost all of those winnings plus our Christmas cash.
We made it to Breckinridge, where one of our friends worked at a ski shop named Psycopath something-or-other and got us a deal where, if one of us (who needed them) bought ski boots, we could borrow all the rental equipment we wanted for the week, free of charge.
Then the three of us from the East Coast promptly came down with altitude sickness** and couldn’t ski for the first couple of days. More puke everywhere.
We bought passes that allowed us to ski Breck, Vail and Keystone. We did the majority of our skiing at Keystone, because they had night skiing and getting up early wasn’t working out as planned. I did run into my brother on the slopes at Vail, though; neither of us even knew the other was out west. All the Coloradans were complaining about the terrible skiing conditions, which, as an East Coast skier, were the best I’d ever seen. Where’s all the ice?
Our hosts included two guys from college, and one chick from college who was heartbroken because her now-ex-boyfriend back east had cheated on her. With my own ex. Also, a house Akita who was just awesome and loved playing in the snow with us. There was also a ravine out back where extreme sledding was enjoyed with a remarkable paucity of broken limbs.
On the 1,200-mile drive back to San Francisco to catch our flight – again, fantastic logistical planning – we followed the same driving plan as on the way out. I woke up three separate times to see the car spinning out of control in the snow at highway speed. Same driver who got the ticket.
He was also the “winner” in Reno. He did buy himself a Gibson SG. About ten years later.
* I know that’s not what it means, but c’mon.
** This is apparently what they call acute alcohol poisoning in Colorado.
Image: Flickr
