Forget Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas. My favorite holiday in Colorado is the First Snow.
This year, First Snow came Oct. 9, the minute I decided to drive from Aspen to Alma last Sunday night to visit a friend. Of course I left just after 5 p.m. when the sun starts to set and my vision is even worse than it normally is, which means I can’t see squat.
I knew we were expecting the storm, but part of living in Colorado is knowing you can drive in any weather conditions at any time. This is half driving bravado (downshift instead of using your brakes, steer in the opposite direction of the slide, know that your top-heavy, four-wheel drive vehicle will get you into a ditch as easily as it’ll get you out of one) and half pride of ownership (that can apply to anything from a sweet new set of studded tires to a Porsche SUV).
Before I left, my friend Dan gave me the standard speech. “Don’t forget, four-wheel drive can mean four-wheel slide if you’re not careful,” he said. That had as much resonance as, “Be home by midnight, Dear!”
I headed up Independence Pass, out of the rain and into the snow. It was wet and heavy, sticking to the trees like white icing. My head filled with memories of early-season snowboarding on Independence in years past.
Car-accessed backcountry skiing from the passes is a Colorado pastime, from Berthoud and Loveland to Independence and Monarch, pickup trucks providing the only lift service, their beds filled with skiers and snowboarders piled in with all their gear, bracing against the cold of the open air with hopes for another run. Sure, it can be thin and rocky and require a hike out, but I find demented pride in the P-Tex scars that demarcate the fact that I was out there early enough to hit the rocks.
I did a mental inventory of my equipment. Even though I have several boards, I’ve been riding my old Rossignol Diva for five seasons, and she’s so sweet I can’t imagine I’ll ever find a way to replace her.
Living in Aspen, I take great pride in my “ski costume” as my old boyfriend Tim called it, and have arrived in that beautiful place in Snowboarder Chick World where fashion meets function with an adorable pale pink and black combo with matching accessories (black mittens with pink stitching, a pink, red and white beanie and pink rimmed Oakley goggles). Just do yourself a favor and avoid high-end ski shops where the only way to sign the credit-card slip is with your eyes squeezed shut.
Had I not been stuck in the car, I would have been in my living room observing First Snow the traditional way. I pull all my snowboard equipment out of storage and bring it into the house. I’m not just talking about the hard stuff. I grab it all: pants, jacket, mittens and goggles, and pop my favorite snowboard movie into the DVD or maybe cue up the winter playlist on my iPod to get me in the right mood.
I put on all my gear, strap in, and I am not afraid to use couches, beds and carpets to practice the tricks I’ve been dreaming about mastering. I love to rock back and forth from edge to edge and try different hat and goggle combinations, all in front of the mirror, of course. It’s my favorite at-home-alone-with-the-dog dance.
Like they say, be careful what you wish for. By the time I pulled onto U.S. 285, the snow fell so heavy and thick that driving through it felt more like flying through a cylindrical vortex of outer space, stars spinning on all sides of my ship so I couldn’t tell up from down. Cars were sliding off the road, spinning around backward, and crawling along so slowly that at one point I could have sworn we were going in reverse as the miles crept along at a torturous rate, like running on the treadmill at the gym.
When I arrived in Alma around 8 p.m., the roads hadn’t been plowed. Grateful to be safe from the dangers of the open road, I rallied around the dark neighborhoods, testing the limits of my new Jeep. I even managed to get stuck when I mistook the neighbor’s yard for my friend’s driveway, but I didn’t care.
I was happy just knowing it was my first official powder day.
Freelance columnist Alison Berkley can be reached at alison@berkleymedia.com.
