Look Out, The "Lump" Is Getting Bigger!!

That's right! Stephanie "Stephalump" Balerna is officially a big girl, having turned 3 years old yesterday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY STEPHALUMP!!!

It's On. It's So On.

It is now 1:37 AM EST on Sunday, September 24th. Mark it in your calendar, because it was at this moment that the Fightin' Phils took over sole possession of the National League Wildcard lead following the Dodgers loss to Arizona. You know, it's theoretically possible that they could wind up with a better record than the second-best division winner, meaning -- and correct me if I'm wrong Mike -- they could open up the playoffs at home. Color me giddy.

Dream Fulfilled

I wasn't like every other kid, you know, who dreams about being an astronaut. I was always more interested in what bark was made out of on a tree.

I know…I know…I stole that line from Zoolander. But chiseled good looks and an appreciation for Richard Gere aren’t the only things Hansel and I have in common: I didn’t grow up dreaming of becoming an astronaut either.

That’s not to say I wasn’t a dreamer. It’s just that my dreams of the future were ever-changing; a reflection of whatever unhealthy obsession consumed me at the time.

While in grade school, I figured I’d spend my adult years driving a Jalopy and solving mysteries, the end result of learning to read courtesy of the Hardy Boys.

Sadly, by the time I turned nine, my burgeoning maturity allowed me to pick up on the collections' rampant homosexual undertones. While curious, I decided upon a different path.

In high school, all that mattered was soccer. I couldn’t imagine a future that didn’t involve playing professionally. That dream ended abruptly on the morning of August 24, 1993 -- my first day at pre-season camp at Trenton State College -- when 15 upperclassmen rudely introduced me to the realization that I wasn’t particularly good.

With private investigation and professional athletics no longer viable options, I needed a new escape. I found that escape in skiing. For the better part of the next five years, when I wasn’t trekking up to Vermont for weekend getaways, I was killing time in class committing to memory a dog-eared copy of Ski Magazine’s annual Resort Guide. Detailing the ins and outs of North America’s 50 most popular ski areas, the words on the pages took me far away from Cost Accounting 101, transporting me to distant locales that looked and sounded too serene and beautiful to be real.

I can’t explain why, but I knew then that I wanted to one day call one of those pages home, even if just for a while. It all sounded so appealing: to live in a town where crime is an afterthought and community is more than just the middle name of the local pool, where horse-drawn sleighs replace horn-pounding motorists, where an impending snowstorm is met not with anger over the impact on the morning commute, but rather with an electric anticipation towards the morning on the mountain.

As I said, I can’t explain why this became my dream, nor do I expect anyone else to share or even understand it. But just the same, it did.

This afternoon, I stopped by my office to pick up some client files. Greeting me upon my arrival, lying on the floor where it had landed after its trip through the mail slot, was the 2006 edition of the Resort Guide.

As I looked at the cover, it was 1995 all over again. And I was left with just one thought…

I’m here.

OK...Even I Think This Is a Bit Early

Lauren and I awoke to a bit of a snowstorm this AM...there's about an inch on the ground with the weather report calling for 2-4 more before it's all said and done. With opening day on the hill still two months away, the snow may be pretty to look at, but it isn't particularly useful. Sort of like cheerleaders, when you think about it.

I Think You Hear Me Knocking, And I Think I'm Coming In, And I'm Bringing My Genetic Freak of A First Baseman With Me

By "me" I mean my beloved Philadelphia Phillies of course. I realize this post has zero to do with life in Aspen, but today's events are just too darned important to ignore. As of 1:13 AM this morning the Phillies, led by a rejuvenated pitching staff and Mr. Howard's ridiculous run at the single-season home-run record amongst players not ingesting copious amounts of horse testosterone, are now TIED for the Wild Card lead with the quickly-sinking Dodgers.

With four games remaining at home (3 Fla, 1 Hou) and six on the road (3 Wash, 3 Fla), the Fightin's don't play another team with a winning record. Could we be watching the Phillies in October for the first time since 1993?

Reach Out and Touch Someone

Somebody had Back-To-School night tonight!! Here's a hint: it wasn't me. You may want to call that special someone and see how things went.

Worth A Thousand Words

I'm going to do my best not to prattle on about this weekend's big hike, as the pictures really do a fantastic job of telling the story.

Sunday saw us up at 6 AM, as the guidebook said we could expect the 11 mile trip to take close to seven hours. Incredibly, the picture above is not the end result of our hard work, but simply the view from the parking lot. Yup, it's true...that is Maroon Lake, and you can drive right up to it.

Framing the lake, and spectacularly reflected in its pristine water, are the Maroon Bells, the most photographed mountains in the United States. I can now independently verify this claim, as even with our 7 AM arrival, we were greeted by dozens of tripods already dotting the lakeside, all hoping for that one breaktaking shot.
With the lingering effects of a cold front hanging about, we were bundled up for the start of our hike. Here's Lauren and I wondering how cold it would be at 12,500 feet when it was only 20 degrees at 9,000.
About a mile into the hike, we emerged from a tree shrouded switchback to find this vista awaiting us. What's truly amazing is that, as Lauren pointed out, all four seasons are represented at once.
A little over two miles in, we had to cross a stream to continue on towards our goal, Buckskin Pass. Earlier in the summer, this would have meant getting rather wet, but with the water levels at their customary autumn low, we could cruise right through. Here's Lauren and Natalie during one of their happier moments of the climb.
Not to pat myself on the back, but I actually snapped this photo. Around 3.5 miles in, and at roughly 11,700 feet, we left the greens and yellows and moved on to the whites. As the snow on the ground steadily deepened, we came upon this half-flowing, half-frozen stream.
Three hours and 2500 feet of climbing into our hike, this was what we had left. Buckskin Pass is the patch of white in the upper right hand corner of the photo. If you look closely, you can see the meandering switchbacks traverse the face of the mountain until they reach the top. At this point, the snow was 6-10 inches deep, but the weather had turned beautiful. With a cloudless sky and at that elevation, it feels like you can reach out and touch the sun. As bundled as we were at the beginning of the day, we had all stripped down to merely long sleeve shirts by this time.
Here they are, getting ready for the final push. These last nine switchbacks would climb 750 feet in less than a mile, and coupled with the new fallen snow, would prove to be an exhausting aerobic test.
Proof that we made it. From here, you could see clear to Kansas. Halfway up the climb, I began feeling weak, and was forced to eat my right glove for quick energy.
This is the view staight down the gulch from which we emerged. Yes, it was that steep.

The happy couple celebrating their greatest accomplishment to date. Lauren climbed over 3300 feet in 11 miles, while basically breaking trail through 10 inches of new fallen snow for the final mile to the summit. She is really, really amazing.

Talk to you soon.

MMM...Sacrilicious

Everyone had that one buddy in junior high who just couldn't bring himself to go along with the status quo. While you and your friends were free-styling the latest Fresh Prince album, he was alone in his room jamming to the Dead Milkmen. While you were watching 90210, he was taping Mystery Science Theater. And while you were working on your jump shot or mastering the finer points of the curve ball, he was eschewing the "traditional" sports in favor of skateboarding and ultimate frisbee.

Well, I've got news for you. Shortly after college, that guy decided to give rugby a go. And finally, he was free. For all his life, that guy had been looking for all the things that make rugby unique: the free-flowing, unstructured play, the unbridled violence, the excessive drinking, the until-we-die comraderie, and oh...did I mention the excessive drinking?

This weekend brought Ruggerfest 39 to Aspen, and with it, roughly 200 of these uncoventional, anti-institutional sorts. To give you an idea of just what kind of guy is still playing competitive rugby well into his 30's, here are just three of the many great stories I heard this weekend while enjoying a couple of pints.

3. On Saturday night, I met Mike, from Kansas City. He was drinking a Jack-and-Coke, and though it was only 9 o'clock, he had that glazed over look that usually means you've had one-too-many. Being a rugger, I assumed that was the case. That is, until he reached out to shake my hand and I noticed a hospital bracelet around his wrist. Turns out, earlier that day he had suffered his 14th concussion, and the vision still hadn't fully retuned to his left eye. He had spent the better part of the day in the hospital, and when they wouldn't give him any Vicodin for the pain, he figured whiskey was the next best thing.

2. On Friday, I met up with Mike McCarron, a buddy of mine who plays for the Denver Barbarians, one of the elite amateur rugby sides in the country. While having the obligatory "How's life in Aspen?" conversation, I was lamenting the fact that neither Lauren nor I had seen any cool wildlife since we arrived. It was at that point that Mike recounted the time, in 2003, when he walked out of the the bar at last call to find the entire Air Force Academy Rugby team, sufficently soused, circled around some helpless victim, yelling insults and threats of imminent violence. Normally, this wouldn't be unique, as the mob-mentality runs rampant in the sport.

Only as Mike got closer to the circle, he realized that in its middle was not some unfortunate local quivering in his goose-down North Face jacket, but rather a fully grown, adult Black bear. Sadly, Mike didn't stick around to find out how the confrontation ended.

1. This picture pretty much captures the spirit of Ruggerfest: twenty grown men dressed as nuns getting hammered off a drink they invented earlier that night, a whiskey-coke-whipped cream concoction known only as the "Hamnose." Apparently, during the formal dinner provided by the Rugby association earlier that night, one member of the team had become unruly and started chucking cabbage about with reckless abandon. Finally, someone stood up to the bully, and whipped a piece of ham across the table, smacking the instigator square in the schnozz and sticking there, adding insult to injury.

Infuriated, the instigator demanded a drink as restitution. Instead he got the "Hamnose:" three parts whiskey, one part Coke, and then a pile of whipped cream on top, purely for asthetics. Good times.

What Has Two Thumbs and Hiked All The Way To Cathedral Lake???

THIS GUY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

There's really no acceptable excuse for our lack of posts lately, other than to say we've been a bit busy. Monday was Labor Day, so Lauren took advantage of her day off by scoring a free ticket to the Snowmass Jazz Fest. While I was hard at work, my wife spent the night enjoying a contact high and grooving to the vocal stylings of Matisyahu, who most critics will tell you, is amongst the handful of top Hasidic Jew rappers America has to offer.

Tuesday brought a short hike after work, Wednesday night I worked late, and Thursday we celebrated the start of the 2006 NFL campaign with home-made buffalo wings.

Friday, as tradition dictates, Lauren met me downtown at the J-Bar for happy hour. More wings were consumed, Fat Tires were imbibed, and my old friend Tequila even made a brief, unexpected appearance. I'd like to think this lethal mix was to blame for my later being dealt an embarrassing shut-out defeat in shuffleboard, at the hands of some less-than-merciful Aspen locals. Now let us never speak of it again.

Finally, we get to Saturday... We woke to rain, marking the first time that's happened since we arrived over a month ago. Luckily, by the time we had finished our 8 AM yoga, the sun had reappeared, and clear skies and brisk, high-60's temps provided all the motivation we needed to head to the mountains for a hike.

Our goal this Saturday was Cathedral Lake, our first "big boy" hike. I say this because while we had done steeper (this would be a 2000 foot climb) and longer (this would be 6 miles round trip) , no hike had taken us higher (topping out at 12,000 ft) or more removed from civilization. These two characteristics combine to make adequate preparation key: at 12,000 feet, you are very exposed, and weather changes can be dramatic and dangerous (of course, you already know this if you've read my Pikes Peak post.)

Our goal was to reach Cathedral Lake, rumored by locals to be unparalleled in its beauty, but confirmed by our map to be a long way from anywhere

Above is the road to the trailhead. As you can see, there's really nowhere to pull over and grab a roast beef sandwich. In fact, the only structures that dotted the roadside were the remains of the old Ashcroft mining town, which has been uninhabited for a good 120 years now.

The start of the hike. If you look closely in the upper-middle-right corner of the photo, you can pick out a lone snow-covered peak amongst the rest of the landscape. That would be Cathedral Peak. It was at its base where we hoped to find the creatively named Cathedral Lake.

An absolutely amazing picture taken by Lauren. As we were nearing the end of our first climb, the pine treats abruptly gave way to endless fields of aspens, resulting in this dramatic shift in the surrounding hue from green to a brilliant gold. (Helpful Hint: click on the pictures and they'll enlarge) Again, fall colors worthy of a coffee table book. Take note of the relatively cloudless, mostly clear skies. This information will be relevant later.
Midway through our hike, we stumbled upon these two feral dogs fighting over the femur of a recently felled elk. Ignore the fancy collars and the impeccable grooming -- and the fact that the elk femur really, really looks like a stick -- I assure you those dogs were ferocious. It was only with some some quick thinking and my wife's ever-present supply of emergency bacon that we were able to escape with our lives.
After an hour and a half of hiking, the lake was nowhere in sight. The guidebook had said the last climb up to the lake would be "extremely steep and scenic," but we had experienced nothing but rolling flats through endless boulder fields for a good half-mile. Just as morale reached its nadir, we spotted our inspiration off in the distance: people. Little people. No, not the kind of little people that used to join forces and wrestle Andre the Giant, much to the delight of Freddie Fares. I mean little people as in the way people look from a plane little.

There were two of them, nearly three hundred feet above us on an obscenely narrow, ridiculously steep chute of dirt of grass lined on one side by trees, and on the other by a sheer rock wall. If you're looking at the picture above, you can see this last climb to the lake yourself, in the upper-middle portion of photo.

We took the climb very slowly, which, to be honest, is really the only way one CAN take it. After nearly two hours and 2,000 feet of climbing, this last ascent was a killer, burning our quads as it gained nearly 350 feet in a mere seven turns. The footing was a touch on the perilous side, but with a deliberate, determined approach, we made it to the top unscathed.
After the climb, only a quarter of a mile of gentle descending separated us from our goal. At this point, we had settled in a valley framed by 13,000 foot peaks and dramatic rock spires. Again, take notice of the nice weather we were enjoying.
Finally. It was a long time coming, but we made it to the lake. As you can see, it was worth the wait. To be fair, there isn't a lens wide enough to capture everything necessary to adequately represent the breath-taking panorama this spot provided, but we did our best. Our only regret was at a brisk 50 degrees or so of ambient temperature, the bathing suits we had been told to bring along for an impromptu dip in the lake would never emerge from our backpacks. Yeah, this will probably be adorning the Nitti family's Christmas Card this winter. It pretty much has it all...a brilliant blue sky, a snow capped peak, a tranquil lake, and to top it all off, me and my girl wrapped in an ebrace, cherishing the effort it took to get there.

About that brilliant blue sky...

As were sitting at the lake's edge, fueling up on PB&Js for the long hike home, I looked out at Cathedral Peak and noticed something ominous: clouds. Dark clouds. Dark, fast moving, low-lying clouds. Just as I said to Lauren and Chelsea, "I don't like the looks of this weather," the skies opened up. Only it wasn't rain. It was snow, and lots of it. Within 3 minutes, our clear skies had turned into a driving blizzard, at one point reducing visibility to maybe 50 yards. Luckily, we had come prepared as far as clothing, but the simple fact was, we were now caught in a storm at 12,000 feet, which is rarely a good place to be.

Eager to get below tree level, where hopefully warmer temps awaited, we hiked with a "controlled fury," meaning a sense of urgency with a committment to safety. The perilous descent down the steep switchbacks was of course my biggest concern. We took it one by one, making sure to avoid planting our feet on rocks that would now be slick with snow. At this point, the snow was coming in sideways, and the temperature had dropped over 20 degrees.

Once down to the flatter boulder fields, we moved as quickly as we could, and just as we resigned ourselves to a long, wet, cold trip back to the car, the sun re-emerged.

We slowly thawed, and within minutes, it was hard to believe we had really experienced what had just transpired. The weather shift was so abrubt, so without warning, it taught us each a lesson about complacency at high altitude. It's one we won't soon forget.

Talk to you soon.

Weekend In Review: Legs So Tired

An absolutely exhausting 3-day weekend here in Aspen. The fun started promptly at 4:30 on Friday, when Lauren took the bus downtown and met me at the J-Bar for happy hour. Over the next few hours, our group (we were joined by three of Lauren's teaching friends as well as a friend of mine) three back a bevy of Fat Tires. Even my wife had three beers, which by all accounts tripled her previous post-college record.

While we were at the bar, the room inexplicably swelled from around 10 people to fifty in a matter of minutes. We couldn't figure out what was going on, as most of the newcomers weren't ordering drinks. Turns out, somebody had organized a game of Capture The Flag through the streets of Aspen, and the J-Bar was the meeting point. Try pulling THAT off at Perry's Clubhouse.

As attractive as a little beer-fueled chicanery sounded, our group opted instead to polish off a remarkable three orders of nachos from the Cantina before heading over to first Aspen High School home football game of the fall. While not quite as intimidating a venue as Trenton High, the field at the high school is beautiful, and to my surprise, fans were allowed to stand or sit right up against the back of the endzone. You would think this was a recipe for a disasterous fan injury, but then you've never seen the Aspen Skiers play football. For the second striaght week they were held scoreless, leaving the endzone and all spectators in pristine condition. While the loss dropped the Skiers to 0-2, the home team had the last laugh. After the game, the Aspen parents pooled the spare change they found in in their pockets, purchased the visiting school, and turned it into a community shoe closet.

Saturday started bright and early, as Lauren, her friends Chelsea and Natalie, and I headed to yoga at 8 AM. From there it was a quick shopping spree downtown, as Labor Day weekend brings the clearance prices on all the leftover ski equipment. After picking up some essentials, we regrouped for our first tough hike of the fall, a 2200 foot climb up Red Mountain via the Sunnyside trail.

I ran to the top, and then turned back to check on my wife, who's previous record climb had been roughly half of what faced her on Sunnyside. As you would expect, she was going strong, and summitted with little trouble in a just over an hour. Little did we know, however, that our real work was just beginning.

At the summit, our new friend Chris informed us that we could avoid the steep and dangerous descent down Sunnyside if we chose to continue along the trail down into Hunter Valley, where it would eventually reach downtown. He gave us our options: hike down Sunnyside in the heat, risk injury, and make it down in 1:15, or take the "gentler," shaded path to Hunter Valley and make it down in 1:40.

As a group, we opted for the more scenic, less perilous route, figuring an extra 25 minutes was certainly worth it. Bad decision. Our guide was slightly off on his estimate, missing the mark by a mere 2 hours and roughly 7 miles. That's right, it took us over three and a half hours to descend Red Mountain into Hunter Valley and reach downtown Aspen. As you can imagine, by the time we reached the city the girls were on the verge of a mutiny. They had never hiked longer than 45 minutes, yet had just been duped into five hours and 10 miles of nonstop movement. Chris may never, ever recover.

When we finally made it back to the car, the exectuive decision was made to grab bathing suits for a much needed hot tub. That brought some measure of life back to the group, but something was still missing: sustenance. From the hot tub it was straight to the Hickory House, where I watched three girls weighing a combined 330 pound put down a truly disgusting amount of barbecue ribs.

Lauren and I pretty much crashed right away, and my wife didn't stir until nearly 10 the next morning. After a re-energizing breakfast of pancackes, we decided to go for another hike. Lauren, Chelsea, Natalie, and I would hike the Ute Trail, which leads you 1000 feet up a mountain adjacent to the ski resort. From there you can continue on another 2000 feet to the top of Aspen Mountain, where the gondola awaits to whisk your tired legs back to the bottom. The girls would hike the first part, and then I would go it alone the rest of the way.

Here is the triumphant trio atop the Ute Trail. That's Chelsea in the front and Natalie in the back. They hail from New York and South Philly respectively, thus confirming my theory that 98% of this country was born in a 100 mile radius centered around Morristown, NJ.

What happened next was shocking, to say the least. My wife, who prior to moving to Aspen would grow weary hiking the steep driveway at her parents house, decided she didn't want to stop. She wanted to make a push for the top of Aspen Mountain. Her optimism seemed to rub off on Natalie, who decided to give it a go as well.

Not wanting to repeat Chris' mistake from Saturday, I gave the girls the hard truth: it was a tough, steep, relentless climb to the top, with little shade from the midday son. The views were beautiful along the way and truly inspiring from the top, but they wouldn't be easily earned. Above 10,000 feet the air would get thin, and the total climb they were attempting was a full 1000 feet longer than anything they had attempted.

Undeterred, the girls told me to lead the way.

Here's Lauren and Natalie at around 10,300 feet, or roughly 2,300 feet into the climb. These were the first smiles I had seen in around an hour, as the steepest part of the hike had finally led us over to the ski resort. They are standing on Summer Road, a service road that runs the full face of Aspen Mountain. We connected with the road about 3/5 of the way up the mountain, and as it is significantly less steep than the single-track that led us there, the girls were able to finally do some celebrating. This was the first of several moments were my wife stopped, turned around to take in what she had done, and said aloud, "I can't believe I did this!"

About 45 minutes later, we reached the top. The girls were exhausted, and deservedly so. Despite having zero climbing background, they had just completed a 28 hour stretch in which they had hiked over 5,400 vertical feet in 16 miles.

Once at the top, the weary warriors headed straight to the sundeck for food and water, only to stumble upon the remnants of a wedding reception. If you look at the picture above, you can see the tent in the background where the band was set up. Nothing like doing the Electric Slide at 11,000 feet.

Here is Lauren and Natalie, taking in their just rewards. I really can't express just how proud I am of my wife. With each success, it's clear she is redefining her perceived physical limits. Only two weeks ago, Lauren wanted to quit halfway up the Ute Trail. Today she cruised up the same trail, then threw in another 2 hours and 2000 feet of climbing for good measure. To watch Lauren at the top, swelling with pride as she looked out at what she had accomplished, was a moment I'll never forget.