Giterdun! (Denver -> Monarch Pass -> Silverton -> Denver)

[Yossarian]

Day 1 - Thursday

Work dragged on, as it is prone to doing when you'd rather be _____ing (which is pretty much most of the time, I should add). Like a centipede stuck in molasses, my brain Floundered through the zenith of its day, struggling to maintain a semblance of productivity under the blistering glare of software compliance testing high noon – turn and draw mutherfucker! – instead frequently slithering into the cool cozy concept of the coming weekend of road trip goodness and goo-gobley delight. (Better than having your brain Sea Bassing or Ahi Tuna-ing, I suppose, but not that much really.) Finally, after breaking our next beta release of CheaperFasterBetterWidgets v6.9 for the umpteenth time, I snapped (Snappered?). Using moist towelettes and complimentary peanut packages as anchors, I rappelled down the back of the building to the 4th floor pool and made my escape through the sewage pipes under the building that led to the garage, where I Hot-Pocketed a car and headed for freedom.

Needing to cover my tracks, I drove to Boulder to dump my vehicle and procure another. Some 30 minutes later, having done so with the help of a strange balding man who called himself "Mike" and repeatedly attempted to hug me despite my protests that I was already spoken for, I turned south to gather my traveling companion, stopping only to pick up this Wayward Cowboy who’s alpaca had run aground on a sandbar and sprung a leek in the main bulkhead. (Better than springing a parsley I suppose, but not much really.)



Soon thereafter, accouterments assembled and arranged, Steamy Eyeware now settled in the car along with the Wayward Cornboy, the three of us rolled westward, stopping only once or twice to step out and pee on the chrome Dubs to keep them from seizing in the unseasonable (not even parsely?) temperatures. Sometime around 10pm, we cruised into what we hoped was Las Vegas, hoping to catch a quick burlesque show before finding a good snipe fight and settling in for a night of "hookahs and Joe." (Aint Vegas great?) Having landed in Salida instead, we proceeded to walk in on a hippy poetry reading while trying to meet up with a friend of Misty Glasses at a bluegrass show. Having clearly taken a wrong turn back at the Horsehead Nebula, we took the only reasonable course of action we could and poured a bunch of patouli oil on the next family we saw, then ran for the getaway vehicle. A short while later and we were settling in at the local commune for a well deserved spot of nighty-nighty, weird paintings in the background (and the dreams that came with them) notwithstanding.

[Yossarian]

Day 2 – Friday

By Friday morning, the haze had lifted, and my brain had gone from refrigerated goo to hot, liquid, magma. I stumbled out the door to see where we’d landed. Salida, it turns out, is quite pretty in a bumblefuck middle of nowhere sort of way.



Driven back inside to the warmth of the henhouse, I rousted (Roostered?) the others. We proceeded to get ready for the day as Public Defender Dan – whose thatched-roof hut we’d ended up at in the Listerene-induced coma of the previous night – regaled us with stories of triple pesticide cases he’d successfully argued, while his wife – Public Magistrate Maggie – cooked up some otherworldly oatmeal.

Stuffed like the goats they didn’t own but Dan wanted to get and Maggie didn’t, we hit the road for the Pass of Passes, upon High in the Collegiate Peaks of central Colorado. The Junkshow arrived at the Monarch turn-off within the hour, and per its nature, immediately shambled up the nearest snow-covered hill to get the lay of the lamb. Baaaaaaaaaa!





Having successfully whitemailed Defender Dan away from his job keeping Chaffee County llama rapists out of jail, we promptly lost our local tour guide and subsequently ended up on Hoth before finding him again.



Reunited, we took off our skins, and, holding our entrails in, slid around the ridgeline to a north-facing bowl nearby (you can only go so far when you’ve got one hand on your spleen and the other double-fisting your liver and your lower intestine). Bowl to the left, trees to the right, bowl the next guy, trees still to the right, bowl to the next guy, hey! 7-10 split – tough pickup – we thought it would be hilarious to dig around in the snow for a while, and leave an inexplicable arrangement of columns and patterns for the next group to find, like some kind of modern-day stonedhenge.



It didn’t take long to receive illumination from the hidden Gods.

[Yossarian]

Clean Shearers and Badly Bonded Beckhams fortold a bad result for Man U in the 88th, so we opted to head for the pub to grab a Theakston’s by way of the lowest angle regulation pitch we could find. That didn't suck.



Recharged by a quick bit of Pea Nut Butter and Jello, we then climbed back in the saddle again, yeah BAACK in the saddle again, with visions of Liv Tyler screaming WHOOMPH at us every time we got too close to her sensationally exposed nipples. Nevertheless, in spite of the siren’s song (and ta-tas), we soon found ourselves safely on top. We immediately went bowling again - dammit, missed the head pin! - and set off descending through the forest, blissfully frolicking alongside the elusive wood nymphs and the elven little people that resided therein.





Tired and happy, we skinned back to the Jeep Big Indian, bade our fare-thee-wells and godspeeds to Knee-Dropping Dan, and climbed into the gut our trusty Ton-ton, headed west once more, for the fields of Silver. Hours later we passed the Red gate as night was just beginning to fall on its sword. Yearning for the fuzzy warmth of out-of-season Christmas lights, we pulled into the Silverton Hostel and confided our innermost fears and secrets to the shared loo.



After unpacking and then re-packing yet again, we ventured out the door to find the rest of the maggot crew. A quick check at the Miner's revealed nothing of consequence, so we headed to the Dealer, to the apartment upstairs where we'd heard the infamous Broken Highman was holed up. A knock on the door was quickly answered by one formerly Very Messy Hair, and we were ushered into the den of theives and immediately put to work disposing of the various substances that were found within. Some eggcellent Pasta with Veggies was prepared by the Snowy Owl (to quote Damp Bifocals: "Eggplant, the Pork of the Vegetable World"), and various hilarities ensued.

Not long after, we stumbled back to the Hostel, where Condensing Lenses, Corn Whole, and I faded out to the sound of skin drying by the space heater.

[AltaPowderDaze]

nice to see some people digging pits and including it in the tr.

l'd like to see more pics of monarch when you can. this past summer i rode a motorcycle from florida to utah and passed thru there. i thought that would be an awesome place in the winter.

btw, gunnison has a great motel to stay at. 1st one from the west on the north side of the road. best sleep i'd had in a while.

[truth]

Eggsalant.

[Stu Gotz]

I am getting confused with FA Cup game results and visions of Liv Tyler and her nipples dancing in my head. What was this thread about?

[freshie247]

Very Funny & thought provoking thread ,A++++++++++++++++ Ralphie!

[Cornholio]

Y'ain't seen nothin' yet, boys.

Upcoming:
*"Junk Show" vs. "The Pacific Northwest" II: Eggplant Salsa
*a triple espresso backside soy vanilla 540
*Getting high
*"Yikes"
*A brief discussion on how to close down bars in small towns. (Or not...)
*A treatise on the Diagnosis of "Sudden Onset Suckitude" and it's cure, especially in the nomadic peoples of central southwestern Colorado.

Stay tuned, no doubt.

[Foggy_Goggles]

*A treatise on the Diagnosis of "Sudden Onset Suckitude" and it's cure,

Do you even know what your confidence is set on?

[natty dread]

Y'ain't seen nothin' yet, boys.

True dat. Pics to come as I figure out my new camera. Thanks for convincing me to tour telluride with the "man" Hev, it was unreal. Can anyone remember foggy's soup question that almost forced me to do the heimlech on cornholio?
Always awesome to hang with the crew.

[Dr. Gaper]

That was the strangest TR I've ever seen here. I like it!!!!!!

[Tyrone Shoelaces]

Clean Shearers and Badly Bonded Beckhams fortold a bad result for Man U in the 88th, so we opted to head for the pub to grab a Theakston’s by way of the lowest angle regulation pitch we could find.

heh....nice.

[Buster Highmen]

Eggplant, the pork of the vegetable world.

Rubbered itineraries wrapped with vinyl toothfish - a delicate idiocy soon slathered with the sauces of a thousand wet dreams.

Silverton - it's not for everyone. As for myself, it's a fine slice of the Big Turn. Real snow skiing with real kooks who revel in loony decents not available in most locales.

Powder was found and ripped, as were a variety of other snow types ranging from suncrust and windslab to that tinkly surface hoar. We got the panoply of runs: The ridge to powder rollover of Manditory to Two Smoke, great powder on Rope-Dee-Dope to Manditory garnished with weirdo exits through evil angled couloirs spilling onto aprons whose snow depended greatly on the exposure. The Hundred Acre Wood (where I suspect Christopher Robin has developed a powder fetish), the Stooges and some peculiar rolls, pitches or yaws around the shoulders of Cabin Chute. Three "client-first" decents of Tiger face where in one instance the Aaron was heard to emit "Yikes" shortly after dissappearing over the edge. Then of course, the creme de la creme of untracked, bottomless powder down some obscure backside thread in the woods.

I was pounded, thrashed, ground up, soaked, poked, wrung out and left to dry. Too tired to even finish a second beer by Friday night. And I just loved it.

Thanks to Joe, Pinner, Cletus, Goggy, Cornholio, Hev, Natty. Sorry Sara got sick and other members of our rocking teenage combo were unable to make the band reunion. Especial thanks to Aaron and Jen who are doing the amazing, working the dream and spreading the love.

[mr_gyptian]

nice TR.

I did the Monarch Ski Resort, Monarch Snow Cat double dip last weekend. pic's should be up this evening.


the Monarch Mountain Lodge is one of the true gems of NA skiing.

[Yossarian]

nice!

FYIs, my TR is still in progress, but I gotta get through the work day today before I can add the next chapter.

Sorry for the wait...

[wintermittent]

Bap bap bap with the skis and the Kerouac steeze.

[FreakofSnow]

Was this trip taken w/ Buster? I like them thar words, them sure are purty.

[Buster Highmen]

Our paths comangled in Silverton.

As for the soup remark, didn't it have something to do with "...she fingered the Pickle Barrel"? Or was that another incidence of some random snorting stoopidity?

[Yossarian]

First two days edited!
Day 3 coming later tonight.

[Yossarian]

Day 3 - Saturday

We awoke the next morning to clear skis [sic] and cold temps. The clouds of anoche had given way to the Soilent Blue of the present. And everyone likes presents, even unreligious Hebes like me, whose supposed biggest holiday of the year is in fact historically insignificant when compared with the whole Red Sea debacle; rather appropriate, I thought to myself at the time, having just come over the Red Mountain and being one to enjoy a good present or two when the occasion warranted.



Reminds me, I once had a warrant out for my arrest, actually. Happened when I ended up with a parking violation for not turning my wheels properly when parked on an incline, but didn't know about it for three years until attempting to get my new license on my 21st birthday. Go figure, right? Important, I thought, because it would let me drink publicly. The new license, I mean, not the turned wheels. Not that you should overlook the importance of turning your wheels on incline, if you get my drift. Anyway, back to drinking, and in particular, drinking in Silverton, where you can walk down the street with an open can in one hand (or coozie if you swing that way) and wave to the Sheriff with the other. Remember, elbow elbow, wrist wrist, wipe a tear, blow a kiss!

However, this AM we needed drinks of a different kind. So, after stumbling out of the hostel room which had mysteriously transformed from Pine-Sol clean to 2000 Flushes nasty over the course of the night, we Tilapia-ed into the Jeep, and drove the 20 feet to the Avalanche next door to grab some Joe, and have some coffee too. We made small talk with Damaged Vagina Protector and Powdery Bird who showed up shortly thereafter, and then headed for the mountain. Unlike Moist Panes, Complete Corn and I didn't have our dance cards filled for the day, so we were hoping to land a hot piece of ass by showing up early. Unfortunately, lady luck didn't want to fuck, so we went back to Plan A (for all your contraceptive needs!), and went to mine for silver-coated orgasms on our own.

Guided by the explorations of the year prior and the ghosts of Kwanzaa past (again with the religious stuff!), we headed up towards Minihahahahahahaha Basin (oh, those silly crazy little indians, such jokers!). The morning was pristine, and the caterpillars drowned in the sorrows of winter, much to our delight.



We climbed upward, stopping only every once in a while to marvel at the obscene gestures our shadows made at us in the snow.



Across the valley, we could see Storm Peak and the territory of the Brill's, where the rest of the contingent was getting dragged down through deep pow, technical lines, and client first descents. Ha! Poor fuckers, they didn't know what they were missing. Too bad for them, right? Right comrade? Eh? Eh?? This whole suffering for hours just to get one descent on either sketchy snow or low angle trees is WAY BETTER than any of that stuff, hands down the pants.





Nevertheless, we made the best of an otherwise unenviable situation, and, powered upward by the oddly odiferous side-effects of the inexplicable but now infamous San Juan Lassitude (Routefinder to Binder, Routefinder to Binder, please send more medicine to Camp 1), soon found ourselves poured on top like gravy on a pile of whipped potatoes. Orange Whip? Orange Whip? Two Orange Whips.



Needing to replenish the fuel source for our somewhat smelly jet-propulsion system, we cruised down to a saddle (hey Liv, how you doin? You know, I used to be Peter Brady) where a small cabin lay tucked in the folds of the peak, kind of like the belly lint I get in my innie. Outies are fucking weird, you know that? They really wig me out.

Sitting on the deck of Noah's Arc, we each took some personal time to reflect on the beauty of the scene around us, which is to say, Holistic Corn spent his time playing with the settings on my photographic imagery device, ZING! DING! BLING!, while I tried to stuff as much Pee Nut Butter and Jello into my mouth as I could at one time, with rather amusing results for the skins looking on, I might add.











Finally, as the clouds of the fading day moved in once more, we packed up and headed off to make our retreat. The descent was sublime, somewhere around 1500 vert of well pitched (a no-hitter, in fact) trees and a foot or more of absolutely smooth-as-waxed-tang snow. We had set out to pan for silver, which is usually reserved for the second place podium, but we struck gold instead, and gave the day the full 42 out of 42 possible Guides to the Galaxy.



After landing back on terra firma (Buck Rogers and the 21st Centuuuury!), we sauntered back to the hostel to clean off the afterbirth of the day, before we headed back up to the Area to gloat about how rad and how really, really, really good looking we were.





Next up, Saturday Night Live and Day 4 - Giterdunsunday!

[meatdrink9]

Those mountain shots are freaking beautiful.

[Dr. Gaper]

Now you're just trying too hard.

[Yossarian]

?

whatev

[Yossarian]

Stoke - the anti-anti-stoke.

Silverton Mountain, First Run of the Day


Colorado Basin in the Early Sun


Natty, Spatulating a Cool Feature


Foggy, Headed For Pillowy Bliss


Stu From Bozeman, Dropping In Parallel


Foggy, Following Next


The Fistful, Headed Towards The Light


Buster, In The Jaws of the Beast


Guide Nick, At the Mouth


Buster, Closing It Out In Style

[Cornholio]

That line (where you have pics of Nick and Buster) was pretty damn steep.

On with the anti-anti-stoke! Down with the haters!