Training wound up on Sunday and on Monday a U-Haul van, filled with 38 ski bags, drove away from Avon bound for Australia (via a container ship). Thankfully, my ski bag was not in it, but rather with me on its way to Breckenridge. It was with some regret that I waved goodbye to the rest of the team, standing outside the house that was going to be home for the next few months. Regret that I wouldn't get the last few rays of summer fun back in Australia; that I wouldn't see family and friends for another few months at least; that I might have forgotten the code to get into the garage of the house and would be stuck outside until someone got home. But that all quickly washed away when I turned to look at the mountain looming above me and found the piece of paper with the code on it in my pocket.
So after three months of skiing Vail - albeit, mostly one small area - I thought I'd be ready to ski somewhere else. That's why it was odd that I found myself sliding skis into the back of the car and throwing boots over the back seat on Wednesday morning, preparing to head back to Vail. Maybe the car also thought this was slightly odd, because when I turned the ignition - nothing. Not a cough, whir or hum from the engine. Not even a light on the dash made itself known. After much frowning, trying, retrying, phone calling and bashing around the garage, a battery charger was found and my mechanic skills could be put to the test. (Yes, attaching a battery charger to a battery is counted as mechanic skills.) An hour of impatient foot tapping and prodding of the charger later, things were back on track and I was finally on my way to Vail.
The engine that sat between me and a day of fun.
Grilling, skiing and margaritas were the order of the day, so it was straight out to the Blue Sky Basin grilling deck. Hot dogs were already sizzling on the grill so it was just a matter of throwing one in a bun with some sauerkraut (we were with a Czech Republican) and mustard and kicking back to enjoy the view.
It ain't called Blue Sky Basin for nothing.
With ski patrol ushering us away from the grill and with bellies full, some achingly so, it was time to hit up the Minturn Mile for a few turns. The Minturn Mile is a popular backcountry route from the top of Vail to the nearby town of Minturn, home of the Turntable Diner and Minturn Saloon. Although it was late in the day and the snow was crusting up after copping a pounding from the sun all day, we could see the appeal of the route; a consistent, uninterupted fall line, wide open turns, trees if you want them and one hell of a ski out along a several mile long luge track disguised as a valley.
The luge track to Minturn.
Waiting for us in Minturn was a Saloon full of margaritas and a weird dude in a pick up truck offering lifts back to Vail for $7. I've already described the real American experience provided by the Turntable Diner in Minturn, so it will be of little surprise that the Minturn Saloon provides another one of those experiences. Locals fill the bar, with signed photographs and letters from the likes of John Wayne, Yogi Berra, Glen Plake and Joe DiMaggio filling every square inch of wall space not taken up by giant snake skins and buffalo heads.
Just don't look at anyone the wrong way.
The day was capped off when, with a bit of wheeling and dealing, we managed to escape the sting of the $25 parking fee at Vail.
And so with work done and still a few months left in the US of A, here's to hoping a fair majority of days end up similar to this one. But maybe without the flat battery, even though I wouldn't mind showing off my mechanic skills again.
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