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The Craigmeur trip to Vail was just one more in a series of successful adventures for those who like to brave the best in winter sports. One solid week of snow accumulation, low temperatures, and high winds added a new dimension to the word â€œskiingâ€ to us easterners. Whatever powder looks like in glossy magazines and on high definition screens is not what it feels like at Vail or Beaver Creek. Itâ€™s more akin to packed styrofoam than the fluffy cotton-like stuff I imagined. It took some strength to push through (hence the rubber leg syndrome after a couple of days) and made falling down a pleasure.
Our communication with each other (via radio) and home base (via cell) went uninterrupted. For this Roy gets the medal of honor for delivering our weekly health and welfare report to our Craigmeur President, Glenn, on Wednesday night during our regularly scheduled meeting back home at the Exchange: Debbie tore up her knee on her first run of the week and Bob tore an unmentionable muscle while entering the hot tub. The casualty sufferers made it through the remainder of the week unscathed thanks to the company of good friends. They abided the admonition to stay hydrated in order to fend off altitude sickness: rumors have it that it was this stoic dedication to staying hydrated that mended their battered bodies. We were, after all, at 8,150 feet above sea level.
To augment our adventures in skiing, many took it upon themselves to seek alternate activities for winter bliss. Nicole organized a snowmobiling excursion, which I hear fortuitously occurred during the one and only sunny morning we had. Rumors have it that that trip was a blast. As for myself, I took a car ride with Adele and Debbie to Glenbrook Springs and visited a spa with caves fed by natural hot springs. Our drive there through the canyon along Interstate 70 would have been beautiful had there not been a blizzard ensuing. Sean and Jerry found a gym nearby which they attended regularly (because they werenâ€™t getting enough exercise plowing through styrofoam and trees). They later organized a gift to Roy from the group to go to that same gym for a massage. Theyâ€™re still wondering whether Roy secretly had his radio tucked under his terry cloth towel.
The food and grog slopeside were outstanding. Some of us went to a spectacular restaurant at the top of Beaver Creek called Beanoâ€™s Cabin organized by Jim. Donâ€™t let the name â€œBeanoâ€ mislead you. Beans were hardly on the menuâ€¦it was more like wild boar and elk for entres. Most afternoons found Craigmeurites invading Pepiâ€™s or The Red Lion, the later of which treated us to a surprise performance by Gordon Lightfoot. Many times, however, we just cooked in and tried to impress each other with how much we could cook with as few ingredients possible. As for my condo, we made the best out of our speedshopping food excursion on the way in from the Denver airport: Ragu and beer.
Well, thatâ€™s it for my testament to a great vacation. Iâ€™m back to the daily grind at a job I fortunately love (Ryan you better be reading this). The only thing that could have made this trip more pleasurable was if everyone in the club who is reading this now and wasnâ€™t there was there.
Note: Photos by Tod Schreibman, MaryAnne Mecca, Christine Jost, Roy Spierer, and Nicole Serkes