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.