I
J U S T B C K F R M :
A
O
124 AMERICANWAY
NOVEMBER 15 2009
It’s bEEN
raining all weekend, but on Sun-
day morning at eight, the clouds over Vail,
Colorado, break. This is not unusual: Vail gets
more than 300 days of sunshine a year. But
thisday, thebright blue skies areunexpected,
given thenighttime thunder, the forecast, and
the general sense of failure looming overme.
I’m standing at the Eagle Bahn Gondola
near Vail Square at Lionshead Village, in the
center of this popular Colorado ski-resort
town, waiting formy guide, BobFox. He’s go-
ing to takeme up themountainbehindme so
we can explore the seven Back Bowls, more
than 3,000 acres of choose-your-own-path
terrain that faces Blue Sky Basin, the enor-
mous swath of wilderness that gives expert
skiers and snowboarders the feeling of glid-
ing through the wilderness. And I’m scared
todeath.
“Hey there!” Bob says. I smile, trying to
hide my fear. Bob doesn’t know my secret,
and I’m determined to keep from him the
thing thatmakesme feel like this tripwill be
adisaster: I don’t ski.
I’m not sure how this activity has escaped
me my whole life. I’ve never even put on a
pair of skis. I have no excuse for this. I grew
up in Colorado in the late 1970s near Red
RocksParkandAmphitheatre, in the foothills
not more than an hour from great skiing op-
portunities. I had an unobstructed view of
the mountains from my bedroom window.
Somehow, I resisted their siren song.
I blame my sweet, overprotective father.
We were always told to be careful and not
to undertake dangerous activities. And after
all, if cartoons are to be believed, skiing al-
ways leads to smashing into a tree or tum-
blingdown a cliff. Themostwewere allowed
to do was go sledding as a family. One time.
That led to my father sledding off a ridge
and cracking a rib. You can guess that skiing
never followed.
I’ve picked Vail to aid me in overcoming
my fear of skiing for several reasons. One, it’s
a great mix of the traditional and the luxu-
rious. Two, it’s home to Olympic competitor
and incredibly beautiful skier Lindsey Vonn,
and who knows whom you might bump into
on themountain?
“What are those?” I ask.
It’s a new line of snow-making machines,
Bob explains.
“Looks like the guns in the forest moon of
Endor from
Return of the Jedi
,” I say.
Bob stares straight ahead. I suspect he
is beginning to realize I’m a fraud. Bob is an
outdoorsman who fishes in Alaska, a work-
manwhowears beat-up leatherwork gloves,
anathletewhoactually skis at ski resorts. He
has rough hands and a steely gaze. I hidemy
iPhone.
Aswe get to the top of themountain, Bob
is talking all sorts of ski lingo— the powder
hounds, high-speed quads versus the triple
chairs, bump runs and groomed runs, and
half-pipes and snowcats.
Me, I’m standing at the top of one of the
BackBowl runs, looking out over the vast ex-
panse of beauty, a line of aspens, pines, and
spruces.
Then, I look down. Bob says it’s not as
steepwhen covered in snow.My legs actually
feelwobbly. I picturemy father andme, tum-
blingdown themountain together.
“Of course,” I say nonchalantly. “And, um,
you say there are folks who just come here
to eat and drink at the lodge? I mean, that’s
cool, too, right?”
And three, there are tons of setups for be-
ginnersbecause it’s sucha family-friendly ski-
resort town. In fact, almost one in five trails
is classified “beginner,” while more than 50
percent of the trails are marked “expert” or
“advanced.”
Oh, I should mention one more thing for
full disclosure: There is no snowon themoun-
tain this day. It’s fall, when Vail celebrates
Oktoberfest. People are here to hike, bike,
hunt, drink beer, and eat brats. That’s right.
I’m such an incredible baby, I’ve come toVail
to see the mountains prepowder, to plot my
possible attempt to perhaps try to strap on
those death planks and hurl myself down a
mountain in a screaming fit of panic. I want
to see the lion sleepingbefore I hunt it on the
safari.
Bob is convinced thatmeans I need to see
the Blue Sky Basin, the popular advanced
trails. “The question we’re asked the most
during the season is, ‘How do I get to Blue
Sky?’”Bob says. “That’s just aheadof the one
peopleaskwhen Iask if they’re lost. They say,
‘No…butwheream I?’”Bob is not onlymore
man than I am, he’s funnier.
Everything is fine while we’re heading up
the mountain. Then, I make the mistake of
openingmymouth.
ByEricCeleste
Vail,Colorado
