Fun day in the Sun and Snow

Hi Guys! It's Lauren! I finally had some time tonight to sit down and fill you in on the rest of our weekend. Sunday was a beautiful day so Tony and I decided to explore Buttermilk Mountain's trails. This mountain is the closest to our house so it was just a short drive away (5 minutes). When we got to the base we decided to explore a road that led us to the west side. We ended up hitting the jackpot and landing at the base of a lift with some great snow. So...on the snowshoes went.




Here is a quick video of me snowshoeing!!!! It is really a lot of fun. I don't always use Tony's poles but they help a lot!!!


This next picture is a photo of the resturant at the top of the mountain and the peak in the distance is called Pyramid Peak (another local 14er)
Here I am resting on the ski lift at the top of the mountain. Soon enough I will be akwardly riding the lift with my skis as I get ready to slide off and ski down!


Here is Tony! My ever so patient husband who puts up with my fussiness as I figure out my body temperature and decide just how many jackets to wear or not to wear as we climb.


Here is the fun part!!! It is so much fun and a whole lot easier to run down the slopes in the snowshoes.


Check out these turns! I was quite impressed as I watch Tony ski for the first time! I love the sound the skis make as they move through the powder snow. Looks like a lot of fun huh?

Well here is my first appearance on the blog in a long time but stay tuned because I would really like to share some of the scary Halloween costumes from yesterday on the blog very soon. Miss and love you guys a whole lot!

Never Ceases to Amaze Me

My apologies for the posting drought, but I thought it best to show my newest niece (I'm on a six-neice streak, by the way) her due respect by alloting her plenty of time at the head of the blog. Plus, I know how the ladies like baby pictures. And at the end of they day, it's all for the ladies, isn't it?

Of course, all that was once new becomes old, and sadly baby Megan is no exception. From what I'm told, she's already begging to get her ears pierced, sneaking cigarettes behind the local library, and defiantly informing her mother that "she didn't ask to be born." Circle of life, I guess.

That being the case, it's probably high time I get back to some blogging. Lauren and I were plenty active this weekend, and we've got the pictures to prove it.

Saturday morn, I picked up my buddy Jay under the cover of the last darkness 6 AM will provide for quite a while in these parts. (Thank you very much, Daylight Savings Time.) Our goal was to once again hike to the top of Ajax Mountian, only rather than taking the circituitous route I ascended the previous Sunday, this time we would head straight up Spar Gulch. What we gained in ascending speed we would lose in comfort: the climb up the gulch is steep and unforgiving, particularly with 15-20 pounds on your back.

We got started before seven, and by nine, we were still in the gulch and still yet to see the sun. The gulch, as you can see in the picture above, sits squarely in the shadows cast by the surrounding peaks, and with a swirling wind also commonplace, it can be a cold, dark place.

The hike was too damn steep for a lot of picture taking, so there's nothing else until we reached the top. Total climbing time was a shade under 2:45, meaning the straight shot up the gulch saved us about 30 minutes over Summer Road. The trade off, of course, is tired, tired legs. By the time we reached the summit, the sun was high in the sky, and Jay and I were slowly roasting under all that gear.

The picture above is the view from the summit, and the object of my desire is Highlands Bowl -- the home of the most epic in-bounds riding Aspen has to offer. It's super steep, it holds incredible snow, and it's made with bits of real panther, so you know that it's good.

The bowl should open sometime in mid-December, and with the ridiculous early season base our "October Surprise" storms have left, it should be great riding from the get-go. The red lines you see mark some of the more famous chutes found on the Bowl, and I must say, I'm giddy at the prospect of exploring each and every one of them. Lauren? Not so much.

The skiing on the descent was good, though not great. Of couse, it is only October, so perhaps I may be guilty of losing some perspective. After all, ANY skiing this time of year is good skiing, isn't it??

I Shall Call Her, Mini-Me

I'm comfortable enough with my manhood to say this: I love my brother-in-law Rob. Always have. Ten years ago, my sister brought her new boyfriend to the Bottom Half in Lawrenceville, where Dean Gray and I, immersed in a state of drunkeness that only the night before Thanksgiving can provide, gave him the once over and agreed that he seemed alright. Ever since that day, Rob has been a whole lot more brother than he has in-law.

So it's with the utmost respect that I pose the following question: How does a guy who bears such a striking resemblence to Dr. Evil produce such undeniably beautiful offspring?

Come on...you know you've noticed it before. You've hung out with Rob, kept it all inside, then as soon as you left the room, turned to your sibling/spouse/imaginary friend, put your pinky finger to your mouth, and joked, "It's fricking freezing in here Mr. Bigglesworth." And then you all had a big laugh.

Well guess who's having the last laugh? That's right, Big Shot Bob. Because not only did he incredibly outkick his coverage by marrying my smart, beautiful, caring sister, and not only has he developed into a damn fine triathlete, but he has now managed to not once, not twice, but THREE times defy the laws of genetics.

It is with overwhelming pride that I introduce to you Megan Elizabeth Balerna. Born today during the fourth quarter of the 1:00 games (that's how we Nitti's keep time on Sundays), Megan came into the world at 8 pounds and 2 ounces, meaning she's already one-quarter the size of her treadmill-obsessed father. She's beautiful, she's healthy, and she's lucky to have two big sisters to look after her. Oh yeah, and like all babies born in the last month, she's never seen a Philadelphia Eagles victory. We can only wonder if she ever will.

My sister is doing wonderful. She's the toughest person I know, and she proved it once again by delivering despite a nasty, lingering cold. I would have loved to have been able to include a picture of the proud mother with her baby, but all the images I've been privy to would require this blog to adopt a PG-13 rating.

Pregnancy and childbirth are wildly unpredictable. It seems as though every 16-year old girl with more estrogen than common sense can get pregnant despite taking every precaution, while at the same time, so many ready, willing, and deserving women who are just begging to take that step into motherhood can't seem to make the miracle happen.

As you may or may not know, this process has not been easy for my sister. Karen has endured a lot of tough times, and we've all hurt with her. But she never quit, never took no for an answer, never accepted the heartless advice of apathetic doctors. And look at her now. Blessed with three angels and enough memories of adversity to ensure that she will never take one moment with them for granted.

So Karen, from all of us who love you, from all of us who've suffered to watch you suffer, from all of us who are in awe of your strength, this is for those doctors who said, "some women just aren't meant to have children."
As I'm sure you know, Lauren and I wish we could be there. We love and miss you, Rob, Leah, and Steph, and we look forward to making the acquaintance of Megan Elizabeth.

Finally, I'd like to close by saying to Dean and Erica, you're officially out of the on-deck circle. Step into the batters box.

Blizzard: The Day After

Yup, the blizzard you all heard about on the news has come and gone, blanketing our little town in over a foot of snow. Normally, this is where I would wax poetic about the surreal scene the storm left behind, how beautiful and untainted and serene Aspen looks, and how living here is akin to inhabiting one of those sovenier-shop snowglobes. But let's be honest: it's just friggin snow. If I write 4,000 words every time it so much as flurries, this is going to get a bit redundant after a while. This is the Rockies, after all. So instead, let's all watch this gratuitous video and have a good chuckle at something undeniably funny: man's unquenchable desire to blow stuff up.

Baton Down The Hatches

National Weather Service Zone - COZ010

URGENT - WINTER WEATHER MESSAGE

NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE GRAND JUNCTION CO130 PM MDT WED OCT 25 2006

WINTRY WEATHER HAS RETURNED TO THE REGION...
.A COLD PACIFIC STORM SYSTEM WILL DROP SOUTHEAST ACROSS EASTERN UTAH AND NORTHWEST COLORADO TODAY...THEN WILL CONTINUE ACROSS SOUTHWEST COLORADO TONIGHT. RAIN AND SNOW WILL SPREAD ACROSS THE AREA...WITH THE SNOW LEVEL GRADUALLY LOWERING T0 MANY HIGH VALLEYS TONIGHT. GUSTY WINDS WILL CREATE AREAS OF BLOWING AND DRIFTINGSNOW WITH SNOWFALL AMOUNTS APPROACHING OR EXCEEDING ONE FOOT IN A NUMBER OF MOUNTAIN LOCATIONS.

Any Publicity is Good Publicity, Or So They Say

Alanis Morrisette, long before her breakthrough acting performance as Almighty God in Kevin Smith's "Dogma," once wrote a song titled "Ironic," which while fairly popular, was just plain inaccurate. In it she laments such things as "10,000 spoons, when all you need is a knife," and "a death row pardon, a minute too late," neither of which, incidentally, are ironic, but rather ludicrously tragic, sort of like when a clown dies.

Or sort of like what happened to my man Terry Schaeffer -- the Aspen institution who is quickly becoming a staple in this here blog -- some 20-odd years ago.

Picture this...you're a young professional, desperately trying to make a name for yourself in a new town. One day, you're out enjoying some backcountry skiing, when a local photog snaps a few pics. You figure he's just another tourist taking in the scenery, until you wake up one morning to find a huge picture of yourself splashed across the front page of the biggest paper in town.

For a moment, you're elated.

And then you notice the headline.

Now obviously, Terry has never killed anyone, at least not that he remembers. The 70's were pretty hazy, from what he tells me. He just had the misfortune of making it into the news the day someone decided to unload a semi-automatic weapon on a party. But for all those people who didn't bother to read the article or the caption to Terry's picture...well, to them, his ass was guilty and he deserved to fry.

When Terry showed me the paper today, I just about lost it. In a desperate attempt to make him feel better, I assured him there were plenty of worse things you could find printed in 32-inch font directly above a picture of you, and only you. Eight hours later, though, the only things I can come up with are:

"Former Foley Page Prepared to Testify" or "Local Man Busted In Beastiality Probe"

If any of the more creative commentators out there would like to contribute their suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

This Is Some Story. Compelling and Rich.

I believe it was Socrates who said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Or maybe it was Spider-Man. I always get those two guys confused.

Either way, I can safely say my wife would have made both gentlemen proud. A quick story:

I'm over at the gym today, soaking in the hot tub, looking out over the snow capped mountains and enjoying a light snack of giant prawns. Being the affable fellow that I am, I started making small talk with the lifeguard. After discovering my wife was a kindergarden teacher at Aspen Elementary, the conversation went like this:

Lady: Did you move here from the Pennsylvania?
Me: We did.
Lady: Was your wife a special-ed teacher back at her old job?
Me: She was.
Lady: Well let me tell you, your wife has made quite a name for herself here in town. I've been here 30 years, and I know a lot of parents of kids that age, and I've never seen them so excited about a new teacher. Everyone says she's incredible at what she does.

That's my girl.

Ski Season. It Has Arrived.

That, my friends, is what happiness looks like. For those of you who aren't particularly "wintry," what you're seeing are big, sweeping turns left by a solitary skier on an unblemished mountain. Not just any turns, mind you, but the kind of knee-deep powder turns that cause kids to drop out of Ivy League universities and take a job spinning chairlifts for 7 bucks an hour. And they weren't left by just any skier, but by me. And I must say, for a kid from New Jersey, those ain't bad.

Lots to tell from the weekend, but before we begin, how about a quick break for some comedic relief?

Q: What do daylight and the Philadelphia Eagles have in common?
A: They both rapidly begin to fade as Halloween approaches.

Thank you, Thank you....make sure and tip your waitress.

This weekend was all about the snow, and there was plenty of it. Three feet of the white stuff between Monday night and early Saturday morning had dramatically changed the local landscape, so a group of five headed to Aspen Highlands to try out our new snowshoes and if conditions allowed, to do a bit of skiing.

That would be Chelsea, Natalie, and Lauren, enjoying a respite from the arduous task of breaking trail and posing for a photo-op. Lauren is looking resplendent in her new Tubbs Adventure snowshoes, and let me tell you, once she strapped those puppies on, she shot up Highlands like a mountain goat. The change in her aerobic capacity has been nothing short of remarkable; whereas she once wheezed and struggled on a short hike, on this day she cruised through the deepening snow at an altitude of 9,000 feet like it was a walk in the park.

This is me and my man Terry -- still fit and adventurous at the ripe old age of 62 -- finishing our descent after a long day. We hiked up for about 2 hours, and at around 9700 feet the snow depth allowed me to put my new boards to use, soI dropped in for some decent, boot-high turns.
Sunday morning, I decided to try something a bit more ambitious. I was curious if I could summit Aspen Mountain -- the 3000' foot climb Lauren and I had suffered through twice during the summer -- only this time do it through the considerable snowpack, carrying my skis on my back, and -- due to everyone's unwillingness to wake for a 6 AM start -- go it alone.

I decided to keep a photo diary, just in case I wasn't seen again until someone unearthed me frozen stiff from a snow drift come spring. I arrived downtown at 6:30, and after changing in my office and getting my headlamp working (and snapping the official "start" photo in the mirror of my office bathroom), I hopped on a mountain bike and pedaled the three blocks to the base of the mountain.
I started the climb shortly before 7. Between my pack, my skis, my snowshoes, and some essentials, I was lugging somewhere between 20-25 pounds on my back. Luckily, the snow was relatively thin at the start, but by the time I had ascended roughly 500 feet, it had noticeably deepend. The sky was still dark, and snow was falling lightly as I stopped to take this shot of a sleepy downtown.
This time, I chose to take Summer Road as my means to the top. While much longer than the route Lauren and I took, it is also much more gradual. I also assumed that since the road doubled as a service road for mountain workers feverishly preparing for a Thanksgiving opening, it would be slightly more tracked out and make for easier hiking. I was wrong. As you can see above, even the tire tracks had filled in by the time I was a quarter of the way up the mountain. This would make for a LONG day.
About halfway up, I got a bit concerned when I realized that I hadn't seen another human all morning, on what I assumed would be a busy day due to the potentially tremendous skiing up top. It was also at this time that it dawned on me that in my morning haste, I had forgotten to pack any food or water. With the sun finally emerging from the clouds in all its ultraviolet splendor, I was getting quite thirsty, quite fast. Luckily, you can eat snow. So I did, and lots of it.
After three and a half of the most grueling hours of my life -- at one point above 10,500 feet, I was reduced to doing intervals of twenty steps followed by rest -- I made it to the summit. And the picture above provides all the proof I need! That is the view off the backside of Aspen Mountain, focused squarely on Aspen Highlands, the neighboring mountain we had hiked the previous day. To give you a bit of perspective on our rapidly changing climate, follow this link to a picture we took of Lauren and Natalie from the same vantage point on Labor Day weekend.

Once I got to the top, I called my wife to let her know I was alive, and tried to rest my useless legs for twenty minutes or so. I also happily drank from some icicles that were beginnig to melt on the Sundeck. I was the only person on the summit, which is quite likely to never, ever happen again. It was just a freak combination of the early hour, the heavy snow, and the uncertain conditions that left me feeling as though I was miles away from the nearest human.

Adequately rested, I started skiing, and found the snow much deeper and lighter (meaning better!) than expected. The result was about 1000 yards worth of some the most memorable turns I've ever had the privilege to make. To have a trail to yourself on a power day is a rarity; to have an entire mountain is simply inconceivable. When I reached the bottom of the first powder field, I had to stop and shoot a couple of photos, lest it never happen again.

Halfway down, I was forced to swap the skis for the snowshoes, as the snow coverage thinned to a level that would be hazardous to my new toys. From there, it was still another hour or so to the bottom, but I made it down safe, albeit exhausted and starving.

From there, I unlocked my bike, and discovered something wonderful: from the base of the mountain, I can coast to my office without pedaling even once. I'm fairly certain this will come in handy again at some point.

This is where having the greatest wife imaginable pays tremendous dividends. By the time I arrived home, there was a warm plate of banana pancakes waiting for me. God bless her.

It's Not Dogs Playing Poker, But I'll Take It

You know, my office here in Aspen may not be the fanciest of places, but it does have something my old office sorely lacked: a sporting goods department. Skis, bike, bouldering shoes, chalk bag; the corner of my tiny little office is representative of the myriad of recreational choices this town has to offer. And while this corner may not be exciting as the other corner of my office -- where the Internal Revenue Code and related Regulations are stored, it is a necessary part of life nonetheless.

The snow continues to fall, so it looks like I'll get to put those skis to use this weekend. The mountain doesn't open until Thanksgiving, but pretty much all of town is skiable at this point, what with almost two feet of accumulation in the higher elevations.

Lauren, if she ever thaws out after working parking duty at the high school football game tonight, will be joining me on her snowshoes. We'll try and take lots of pictures.

The Clouds, They Are Ripe With Snow Babies!

Yeahh..we seemed to have skipped over autumn here in Aspen. The storm that started Monday night pretty much left our once-multihued landscape a blanket of white. If my skis are ready in time, I plan on venturing into the backcountry and making my first turns of the season this weekend. Hopefully, Lauren and I can put those new snowshoes to use as well.

Oh...that's the view from my office, by the way. Somehow, it never gets old.

Tell Me Why, I Don't Like Mondays?

The wine was flowing like, well, wine on Monday night, as Lauren and I joined Terry Schaeffer and his life-mate Amy (trust me, it's an Aspen concept) at the Little Nell to celebrate the end of Terry's October 15th busy season. Terry allows me to share his downtown Aspen office space rent-free, and as if that weren't enough, he wanted to treat Lauren and I to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in the country. As any good celebration tends to, this one included an abundance of spirits and all the finest meats and cheeses a guy could ever want.

Lauren and I savored every bite of our scallops and rib eye, fully aware that absent another benefactor like Terry, this will likely be our last meal at the Nell. Or at least until our parents come out to visit and open up those checkbooks (hint, hint).

The food was worth every penny, I must say, and the wine left Lauren in a gooood mood. Interesting story...the resident Sommelier at the Nell is a fellow named Richard Betts, who aside from being a fantastic runner and bearing a slight resemblance to Luke Wilson, is one of only 56 Master sommeliers in America and one of only nine in the world to pass his test on the first try. I bet that doesn't hurt with the ladies.

There's Lauren and Amy above, putting the finishing touches on our night. Below is me and my man Terry, a great guy and an Aspen icon. You can't walk 10 feet with Terry without someone shouting hello, shaking his hand, or threatening his life (not joking...trust me). You know, I've never seen a guy get so bombed off of a desert wine, but God bless him, it made for some great conversation.

As wonderful as the wine, food, and conversation was, it was what took place outside of the Nell that made the night most memorable. We had walked in around 7:30, and while there was a bit of a nip in the air, there was nothing to indicate what was to come. By the time the last of the wine was consumed it was 9:30, and as we exited the Nell, we found Aspen immersed in a good old fashioned snowstorm.
After snapping a couple of photos, Terry and Amy pulled away, leaving Lauren and I alone as we walked to our car. For reasons I can't adequately explain, I know I'll remember that moment for the rest of my life. There I was, holding the hand of the girl who means everything to me, her angelic face illuminated against a backdrop of falling snow and a distant street lamp. For just a few seconds, the streets were motionless in every direction, and as I watched the snow paint our postcard-perfect town a brilliant white, I was absolutely certain that life, even if for just that moment, was perfect.

Uhhh...now who saw that Bears game on Monday night? That was something else, huh?

Are You Ready for Some Football?

One thing about those Aspenties, they sure are passionate about their football. Here, local fanatics express their displeasure with dynamic New Orleans Saints rookie running back/receiver/kick returner Reggie Bush. It's hard to say exactly what Bush did to raise the ire of a population 2,000 miles away, as the Saints aren't even on the Broncos schedule this year.

I would imagine signs like this will quickly become commonplace in the City of Brotherly Love, as the multi-faceted Bush just helped lead the 5-1 Saints to a last-second victory over the fast-sinking Philadelphia Eagles. Then again, some cynics might suggest that the average Eagles fan lacks the opposable thumbs necessary to operate a spray-paint can. By some cynics, of course, I mean me.

Whatever Happened To "We're Going All The Way At States This Year?!"

Ahh.. Aspen High School. Where the offspring of the culturally elite come to develop their minds, lay the foundation for a lifetime of critical thought, and yeah, if there's enough time, bring sexy back.

This evening, Lauren and I were invited to a "new teacher reception" at the home of the Skiers, where apparently the cafeteria has been decorated by the last remaining Justin Timberlake fan. Out of place as that sign was in a room filled with kindergarten teachers and rambunctious toddlers, it was quickly surpassed in the "awkward and uncomfortable" category by the sign below, which adorned the hallway outside of the gym.

I'm not quite sure what this sign means, but I do know this: With an attitude like that, it's going to be awfully hard to bring sexy back.

So This Is What It Feels Like, When Doves Cry

Sorry about the infrequent posting, but I've spent the better part of the last ten days curled up in the fetal position clutching a lukewarm bottle of Jack, enduring my annual post-Phillies-elimination-day mounring period. The hurt runs so deep, you know?

And the worst part is, as each World Series favorite gets knocked off (Yanks, Twins) or crippled with injuries (Mets, Cardinals), you can't help but let your mind wander and wonder what might have been, had the Fightin's just managed to hang on to a one game Wild Card lead with a week to go. Had they not walked the bases loaded and blown a seventh inning lead against the Astros on Monday afternoon. Had Charlie Manuel fought off senility just long enough to argue that Chase Utley's foul ball against the National's was really a home run, as it clearly was. Had...ah, forget it. That's what you get when you emotionally invest in the losingest franchise in the history of organized sports. (That's true by the way, you can look it up. But you won't. Because you're lazy. That's right, I'm talking about you.)

Anyhoo, life in Aspen has been delightful. I introduced Lauren to an interesting concept called "public transportation," which means we're no longer burning through 50 bucks a week in gas despite owning one car and working within 3 miles of our apartment.Here we are waiting for the bus one brisk October morn.

The hiking has slowed down, partly because the weather has turned colder, and partly because Lauren still hasn't forgiven me for our last trip: a ceremonial climb to the top of Aspen mountain on the last day the gondola was running until the start of ski season. It turned out to be a tad bit snowier above 9,000 feet than anticipated, and after 3 and a half long hours of trudging through knee deep snow, an ill-prepared Lauren wound up with wet, cold feet and a bitterness that just won't die.

In an effort to make amends, I surprised Lauren later that week with matching his-and-hers snowshoes. The next time it dumps, we'll be ready.

You know, sometimes I'm guilty of seeing Aspen through rose-colored glasses, and that skewed vision is passed on to you in the glorified propoganda machine that is this blog. In an effort to be a bit more fair and even-handed, I thought it was time I gave you a glimpse of Aspen's seemy underbelly: a part of the community that the locals won't acknowledge, and newcomers like my wife and I don't discover until it's already too late.

There it is, the Aspen you don't read about in magazines. Some local toughs thought it would be a laugh riot to take some chalk and deface the street outside our apartment. In this particular piece of grafiti, the author(or authors) is expressing his displeasure with Aspen's long time arch-nemesis, Vail Resort, by pointing out in 3 foot-tall letters that Vail does, in fact, suck. It's a war as old as man itself, really, and if history is any indication, the response from Vail will be swift and decisive. I can only pray that my beautiful wife and I don't become the latest in a long line of innocent casualties.

On Friday, I drove Lauren to Denver so she could fly to New Jersey and visit these friends and family she keeps talking about. We had time to stop by our favorite sushi restaruant, Fontana's, where a packed dining room indicated that those egregious health code violations we heard about on 9 news were nothing to be concerned about.

After three rounds of sushi, Lauren received a standing ovation from a neighboring table for essentially eating her body weight in raw fish. The thing is, you think I'm joking, but I'm not.

On Saturday, I was flying solo, so I headed back to Aspen (that's Independence Pass, by the way. It seperates Aspen from, well, the rest of the world, really.) and made my way to the Wheeler Opera House, where I eschewed any form of Opera, opting instead for four hours of ski movies. While watching teenage punks huck themselves off 100-foot cliffs in an endless loop is fun and all, I'm quite certain I left considerably dumber than when I arrived.

Hope everyone is doing well back East. I'll try to keep the updates coming.

Tony