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I didn't wipe at the Butte

Contributed by: Brendan Leonard/YourHub.com   on 2/6/2007

The conditions were perfect for a road trip last weekend: Blowing snow, zero visibility, dangerous whiteout conditions along U.S. 285 all the way to Fairplay. So we decided to make a weekend of it.

We left Denver at 6 a.m. Saturday to head to Monarch Mountain ("Lose the crowds, not your friends.") Sometimes (most of the time for me), the ski traffic on I-70 from Morrison to Silverthorne is too much to deal with for a few hours on the slopes. So I was all for Monarch. It's a 3-hour drive from Denver, but hey, if you hit the bumper-to-bumper on I-70, it can sometimes be a 3-hour drive to Keystone, Breckenridge or Vail, anyway.

Conditions at Monarch were perfect -- 6 inches of new powder, sun and no lift lines. Apparently this is a pretty common thing at this semi-secret of a Colorado ski resort. The nearest big town is Salida, 20 minutes away.

Nothing gives a skier or snowboarder confidence like a half a foot of fluff on every run. Nick and LaTonya elected to spend most of their morning in the trees off the Panorama lift, and I decided to get some exercise and hike up the ridge in between Panorama and Breeze Way. I was pretty much by myself except the time I ate it and spent about 45 seconds floundering on my back, trying to get back up, but plunging my arms into the snow up to my armpits. Then, of course, there were people to watch me flailing about like a baby trying to get out of a bathtub full of mashed potatoes.

On my third trip up, I finally got a decent jump off the cornice. On my second turn, I stuck the nose of my board in too far and flipped, but recovered, doing a complete somersault right back onto my board. I think I managed to make it look pretty cool, but that's probably just wishful thinking.

You know what I like about Monarch? No pretension. They have signs all over the base lodge that say "NO SACK LUNCHES IN LODGE." This is because they know their clientele so well -- dirtbags like us who are there to ski, not to shop or enjoy fine (or even decent) dining. As if we have the money for warm food.

After a full day at Monarch, we headed west to Crested Butte (one of the only real ski towns left in Colorado, I hear). We had dinner with our superb hosts, Greg and April, at Lobar, the sushi bar that's the hippest spot in Crested Butte. I will vouch for its coolness -- I'm a vegetarian non-drinker and I still had a good time there. Although I wondered about all the nature channel fish footage rolling on the flat screens above the tables as everyone was pounding sushi.

Crested Butte hasn't had all that much snow this season, and they had nothing new last Sunday. This was okay with me because after a full day Saturday, I wasn't feeling too much like pushing myself.

I don't know if it was the lack of snow or what, but after a few runs, I got the impression that Crested Butte is the fastest ski hill in Colorado. The blues felt like blacks, and there seemed to be a "SLOW" sign at the top of every drop. I was sure Nick and LaTonya would be waiting for me at the bottom of the East River lift, and they'd see me flying 40 mph past them, SLOW sign wrapped around me, blindly flailing my arms trying to get it off my face so I could see. This, gladly, didn't happen.

If you're ever going to get killed skiing a blue run, I think Crested Butte is the place. Not to be overly morbid, but it really wouldn't be a bad place to have it end, either.
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