Last Day 0f the Year

Well, here we are, the last ski day the year. Dez and I ran up to Keystone this morning to squeeze in one last day on the slopes.

Wow!!

No traffic on a Saturday morning?! No backups at Idaho Springs!! Dry roads with no ice or packed snow!! Speedometer pegged at 65 most of the way!! So far so good!

At the top of Loveland pass, the snow walls the snowplows had left behind are getting pretty small. Patches of bare earth showed through where only a month ago four feet of snow covered the ground. Winter was fast becoming spring as the high country began it's transformation to new life and the revitalization of the new season. Small rivulets were appearing on the tundra as the snow melted under the early spring sun.Some would feed the Snake river and end up in the Colorado and eventually the Pacific, while others would feed Clear Creek and the Platte drainage.

It's easy to get a little introspective this time of year. There is a juxtaposition between the end of the winter ski season and the beginning of Spring. At once, one fades and will end, giving into the other as it is beginning to bloom. Each season has its time and place and each is truly wonderful. Yet, it's hard not to be sad as another ski season fades and Spring begins to bloom, heralding summer and the anticipation of the beauty that high country summers bring.

More often than not, I find myself gauging and measuring my life by the passing of ski seasons. There were those great years in the 1990’s when the boys were young and we skied together. We would load their friends up and head to Eldora for the day, turn them loose and agree to meet again at 3:30 by the first aid station where we would load up in a cacophony of skis, boots, gloves, and wars tories of the day for the ride home. Most times, they were so tired they slept all the way down, too tired, in fact, for the rough housing and horseplay that pre-teen boys are known to engage in. Then there were the years in the early 2000’s with Steve Mallard, my favorite Texan, who loved to Ski backwards and believed that Breckenridge was heaven on earth. Steve loved being in Colorado and he especially loved being on skis. And who could forget Dan and Mary Strizek and our beautiful days together at Keystone. Dan was disabled and skied on one ski slalom style using outrigger poles to keep his balance. We would race down the Diamondback run (very steep and, most times, icy ) and he would beat me to the bottom every time, standing there grinning like the Cheshire Cat and asking what took me so long.. My breathless response was always a very large eye roll and a dimissive wave of my hand. Next time he would chuckle. He was very good!

There were the Alan English condo days in the late 2000’s. Alan was a transplanted Brit with dual citizenship who loved to be outdoors doing anything possible, running, soccer, biking. But the best was skiing. And the best skiing to Alan was moguls. I could have gotten very angry at him for some of the situations he got us into. Anyway, a bunch of friends would go to Alan’s condo in Breckenridge. Some would ski, some would shop, some would do neither, choosing to hang at the condo and wait for the othrs to return. I think there was wine and other distractions involved. But one thing I know. We always ate well, skied well, played very competitive games, and, of course, enjoyed each others company while laughing a lot.

Nowadays it’s mostly me and Dez. Mallard went back to Texas to be around family. Dan's disability progressed and got too bad for him to ski any longer. The boys grew up and moved on to jobs, families, and other good things. Alan and Katherine moved back to England, leaving Colorado and the condo behind. I miss them all and think of them and our days together fondly and often when the snow begins to fly in the fall. There's a special place in my heart for all of them and a big hole that their leaving has left that can't be filled. However, when I miss them the most is at the end of the season, when, like them, the season fades and becomes another marker on the road of my life.

So we drove to Keystone, drinking coffee and reminiscing about the ski seasons of the past.

“Remember the snow that year.” “Yeah, that was a good year. Lots of powder.”

“ Wow that was 20 years ago.” “Time flies”

“ I wonder what happened to that kid.” “He was a good kid. He’d be about 30 now”

“ We should call Dan and Mary.” “Yeah, maybe next week.”

As we ruminate on winters and seasons past, I am reminded of one of the sad facts of life; that nothing lasts forever. People will move on, circumstances will change, children will grow up and what was once very real lives now only in memories and picture books. The lesson? Life has to be lived and appreciated while it happens. It needs to be enjoyed in the present. This day is, for all of us, all we have. Tomorrow, this day will be the past and will join all its friends in the long string of wonderful days that make up my life. In the words of someone much wiser than me, To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Down we go, off the pass to the parking lot where it's about ¼ full and, not surprisingly, quite muddy. Not many here today. The slopes look good in the distance, no brown showing through. We park, get out the bag and begin to don our outfits. This, in itself, is a ritual. First the ski pants over the jeans, then the neck gator, fleece, and helmet. Check the goggles, grab the skis out of the back. Keys and phone and wallet in pockets and zipped up so they stay nice and secure. Boots on, final check that all is good. We look at each other, nod, and head to the slopes. It's a short walk across the lot, through the village, past the condos, stores and restaurants. It's a walk we've done many times before. Today, we make it in silence.There is comfort and familiarity in the ritual. We blend into the crowd of pilgrims making what is possibly the last walk of this year, all believing in the promise of one last good day.

As we head to the lift, we check out the pure white outline of the slopes against the crystal blue of the cloudless sky and we smile, knowing what's in store. Last sunscreen application to our faces, passes scanned, chair hits us in the but and off we go.

I don’t know how many seasons I have left. Maybe like Dan, my days are numbered. But I don’t care really, because I have learned from many years on the mountains that life is lived today and today it is good. This season will ultimately and appropriately blend into the long line of seasons past, take its rightful place in the order, to be used as another mark on the yardstick of my life.

We jump off the lift bathed in the kind of crisp light you can only get at 11,000 feet on a perfect day, adjust the helmets and goggles, strap on the poles, click the bindings to the bottom of the boots, drop into Mozart headed for the Outback and the last runs of this year. Today,I carry with me Dan, Mary, Alan, Steve and my kids as I ski alongside Dez, cutting the same paths down the familiar slopes.We are lost in the thrill of the wind in our faces, celebrating past seasons and joyful in the promise of the day to come. So it is and always will be until it is no more.

‘Til next year………………………..

Sage