I have accomplished my goal of skiing after the retirement age of 65 (without getting hurt), having just put away my equipment after 5 days in Colorado. I had threatened to do this over the past year or so with Mt. Hood just an hour away, but could never find anyone to join me. This recent invitation to join friends at Steamboat Springs was just too good to pass up, with free lodging, friendship, and fun. Yes, it cost me a couple of reciprocal dinners, but the deluxe accommodations included the Christie Club with a ski valet, ski-in-ski-out access, Jacuzzi, heated pool, and gym. I went out every day with heated boots and returned to a soothing hot tub. Regardless, it is still a sport for “Kings” (See Post #426) when you consider all the costs to ship my skis & boots, plus buy lift & airline tickets. The question is will I do it again someday, with a standing invitation to return anytime, or will my skis gather cob webs in the garage, as they did for the last few years?

One of my skiing companions graciously described my downhill style as “careful,” as I slowly navigated my way behind them every day. They would wait patiently at the lift for me to join them, and picked me up after a few stumbles on the first day. My retired friends back in Portland are even more careful than I am, preferring to stay home where it’s safe. I prefer exercising extreme caution with the combination of age, gravity, steep inclines, and waxed boards strapped to your feet. Age and gravity alone are the primary enemy of old age, plus add alcohol, and I feel like a boastful, drunken, redneck declaring, “Hey, Watch This.” (See Post #363). My skills are a sharp contrast to the athletes performing at the Olympic Games. This provided some evening background entertainment for this re-tired-ee, as I overindulged in champagne, whiskey, edibles, and loud tunes in the “music room” of their spectacular home. 

One of the highlights of this past week was the Winter Carnival activities, some dating back as long as 105 years. Horses pulled skiers down Main Street and prominent citizens rode on snow shovels. The rodeo-like atmosphere was enhanced by a “miracle snowfall” that covered the bare ground after a season of below-average accumulation. We started the day at an old-fashioned pancake breakfast, and ended with dinner at The Laundry, following an hour-long fireworks spectacular. The “Electric Cowboy” fired Roman Candles as it maneuvered down the mountain, and other skiers pulled custom sleds designed to launch explosive missiles into the night sky, making it the largest mountainside fireworks show in the world. One of the challenges that I face in planning a trip to the slopes is the fact that my wife doesn’t ski. We both hate spending time apart, so she was able to at least fly in for her weekend. This allowed us to enjoy these carnival festivities together, even though the temperatures dropped to one-below overnight.

Flight delays this morning enabled us to have a farewell breakfast at Little House Biscuits, right next to the “Big House,” the town’s jail. “The Boat” definitely has a unique small-town personality, and I’ve enjoying going there for years. Our friend’s new retirement home made it that much better this year. I will let time determine my fate in returning for another encore. In the meantime, “Happy Ski Trails to All,” as I temporarily retire my ski bag to a corner of the garage, wondering if it will be a sport that I will continue doing “carefully” into my seventies.