Showing posts with label Arapahoe Basin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Arapahoe Basin. Show all posts

Monday, July 24, 2023

164;Uncle Albert's Mountain, (The Lure of the Mountain King) Chapter XXXI; The Senator Is Foiled

 


     “They’re in Meeting Room Three, but you can’t go in,” the secretary looked up at the young man. He ignored the last part of the warning, and ran down the hall.

     “Joe! Joe!, “Tom called hoping it wasn’t too late. There were no numbers on the doors, so he had to get their attention the hard way.

     “Joe! Dillon here!”

     “What’s going on?” The door to his left swung open and Joe’s lawyer stepped into the hallway and shut the door behind him.

     “We’re in the middle of an important meeting. You can’t barge in like this,” he looked at Tom. “Miss Buxly! Miss Buxly! Would you show this man the door?” He grabbed Tom by the arm to lead him out. Tom pulled away from his grasp, pushed him aside, reached for the door handle and entered the room.

     “Excuse me Gentleman. Can I see you in private, Mr. Jacobason. It’ll only be a moment.”

     “Pardon me,” Joe rose up from his seat. “ My accountant’s here.”

     They went out into the hall, and over to an empty room. Tom closed the door behind them and shuffled Joe into a chair. He slid the papers out of the envelope, and spread them across the table. Taking a pen out of his pocket, he slapped it down on top and stood back.

     “Sign on the dotted line,” he said with a broad grin.

     “What’s this?”

     Tom sat down in a big leather chair at the head of the table. He leaned back, crossed his fingers in front of him, and smiled a large radiant smile. “It’s a season’s pass,”

     “How on God’s green earth did you manage this,”Joe was occupied scrutinizing the policy.

     “You can thank the King of Insurance, David Randall.” Tom stood and walked around beside Joe. He bent over and pointed to the date on the policy.

     “Effective yesterday!” he let out a hearty guffaw, unable to control his elation.

     “Unbelievable!” Joe shook his head from side to side.

     “It was really very easy,” Tom strutted around the room. “I gave D.R. a call the day you told me about the cancellation. He knew what was going on. How the Senator had the Insurance Company in his pocket. The problems were not your fault and he would underwrite a new policy. He told me what he needed and I got him the information. I didn’t say anything because he wasn’t sure his company would go along with it, on such short notice….”

     “I’ll be damned,” Joe clicked the pen, and put his signature on his new lease on life.

     “We almost didn’t make it, but Mr.Randall came through.”

     Joe stood up and collected the documents. “Shall we give them the good news?” He motioned to the door.

     To say there was a celebration was an understatement. Everyone they could possibly get a hold of was at the Jaw. The party lasted well into the night. No one wanted the revelry to end. The joy this family felt was shared by all, it was just a battle. It was enough to end this season and hopefully keep them going for another year, and it was all that mattered to them.


Sierra-Boz Scaggs

Sunday, July 16, 2023

158;Uncle Albert's Mountain,( The Lure;) Chapter XXV; Tom's Reckoning

                     

 

      Tom stepped off the Greyhound out of Summit County and into Vail. He buttoned his black preacher coat against the stark evening cold. The thirteen thousand foot Gore Range and the spires of the Grand Traverse glowed fiery orange in the last light of the alpenglow. The turquoise tinged sky faded into darkness. Tugging at his Stetson and slipping into his backpack, he walked across the Vail Transportation Center and down the concrete stairs. The snow crisp, cold, crunched beneath his worn hiking boots. A thick blanket of it nestled on the roof of the Covered Bridge. It was the oldest structure in Vail Village. The crystals sparkled against the wooden shakes, illuminated by the lights of the Alpine Village. The noise of the tourists talking was replaced by the dull thud of his boots on the wooden planks. The rushing and bubbling of Gore Creek filled the evening air. Halfway across the bridge, Tom stopped and turned toward the rushing water. The flowing water tugged strongly at his heart. Silently, he stood and listened. He thought of his friend. He had always expected his greatest defeat would have come from the mountains. It had surprised him, coming this way. Sara had taken him to heights he had thought were impossible. He was just beginning to realize how great his loss really was.

      He was finely tired. He was tired of the poverty, the loneliness, tired of the towns, ski towns, fed up with the hustlers. He was tired of ski town dreamers and ski town schemers. Tired of the Senator, his Corporation, and the Senator’s obsession to own all of Summit County, right up to the Continental Divide.

     The sound of footfalls across the planks of the Covered Bridge captured his attention. A young couple arm and arm walked toward him. Her hair hung loosely from beneath her white ski hat.  It was flaming red, reminding him of Sara. Why? Why did he put on an act to impress her? Fool her by being something other than who he was. Why had he been compelled to drive this warm wonderful woman from his life?

     He walked down the narrow noisy Bridge Street and toward the middle of the Village. In the lit window of a local shop, he stopped to look at a pair of expensive hand-tooled riding boots that sat among the cut woolen sweaters. Sara’s voice drifted through the evening air.

      “You may know everything there is to know about mountains, Thomas Dillon. When it comes to women, you’re such a big jerk! Every time the least little thing happens in your life, you run away to another mountain. When are you going to realize that you are just running away from yourself? You’ve got to quit drinking, you’ve got to stand for something in life, and you can’t just drift!”

     Tom flipped up his collar to the cold and dampness and continued on toward Gold Peak and his friend’s townhome. Tom was good at walking away, a walk away Joe. He stood quietly in front of the door. It was beginning to snow and it was late. He had nowhere else to go and no one else to see. He reached up and grasped the large brass ring around the lion’s head that rested against the plate, bringing it down hard three times, he listened. The sound of footsteps came to him from behind the door. It opened slightly.           

     “Who is it?” a soft feminine voice asked. 

     “Dawna, it’s me, Tom.”

     “Tom, Tom, come in!”

     The door opened widely and a slim graceful woman appeared. She had long blonde hair that spiraled into ringlets to her shoulders. She grasped him firmly by the hand and led him through the doorway.

     “How have you been? Where have you been? What exactly have you been up to? I want to know everything, let me wake John.” She disappeared around the corner.

     Tom collapsed into a chair. A large black box sat on an end table between a sofa and a chair. A purple neon light rose out of it, it soothed him. A crystal heart, along with a pyramid spire sat beside the light. It refracted through the crystal creating an eerie array of colors dancing on the wall. Across the room above a tan stone fireplace sat a hand hewn oak mantle. On the left of the mantle, a red and yellow clay pot held a large leafy elephant plant. A spider plant dangled over the edge to the right. A large wooden framed picture in the center caught Tom’s attention. He stood slowly, stretched, and walked to the picture. A blue suited skier was crouching extremely low, before a steep vertical among some jagged rocks. He examined it closely.

     “First Nordic Ski Descent, Grand Teton, Rick Wyatt.”

     Tom smiled to himself, leave it to John. John was the diehard of the crowd. He and Dawna were the last of the holdouts among their friends. John had been on the circuit longer than Tom. He had been to Big Sky and Bridger Bowl in Montana. John had even wintered in Alta, Utah. He had taken Tom to Honeycomb Canyon at Solitude and the Merry Chutes on Mount Millicent at Brighton in Big Cottonwood Canyon last year.

     “Tom, how the hell are you? You look great. You must be skiing a lot.”

     “Every day John, every day.”

     Tom faced his friend. John had a thick red beard, with a long light red and blond mustache. His hairline had receded since Tom had seen him last, leaving a tanned forehead and tell tale raccoon tanned eyes. John stood several inches taller than Tom.

     “I’m glad to hear you're skiing everyday.”

     “Yeah I wrangled a pass in exchange for some work in the Lodge at A-Basin, best ski season yet. I’m well over a hundred days this year.”

     “How have you really been?” Dawna asked.

     Tom shifted uncomfortably. “Things aren’t going well right now,” he stammered.

     “What’s up?”

     “I screwed up with Sara, you know me Dawna, every time things are going well. I seem to find a way to mess up badly.”

     “Are you drinking Tom?” Dawna looked concerned.

     “I acted foolishly, I-I wrote some terrible things to her.”

     “How bad?”

     “I can’t even remember John, I guess pretty bad,” Tom looked at the floor.    

     “Don’t worry a bit Tom, we'll fix you up with a ski bunny from Vail,” John said.

     “That’s just the thing John; We were really getting close. I’ve never felt this way before.”

     “’Have you tried telling her that Tom? Maybe she feels the same way about you? Dawna asked.

     “I remember John when we were first going out. He would go out of his way to do goofy things. I finally told him to grow up!”

     “It wasn’t like that, Dawna. I lost it. I wrote some dark things. There is nothing I can do to change things. I can’t undo what I’ve done.”

     “Maybe you can change the way you do things, Tom,” John said.

     “What do you mean, John?”

     “Tell you what Tom, I can get a four days pass. You can ski Vail. I’ll take you in the back bowls. It will get your energy flowing in the right direction. There’s nothing wrong with you that a few days skiing the deep won’t cure. Dawna enjoys telemark skiing, she’ll take you to Chicago Ridge at Ski Cooper, free your heel, free your mind,” he laughed loudly.

     “Ok, John, I’ll do it,” Tom said.

     “One more thing Tom, They have A.A. Meetings at the Vail Chapel. Dawna and I will go there with you. We think you need to talk to someone.”

     “I don’t know John.”

     “No hassle, the meetings are at noon. We’ll ski down at lunch and just pop in. No big deal. Tom it seems to me that every time you get your life in order, I mean when things are really going good, you get in big trouble and alcohol is usually involved.”

     “I know I would do anything not to have these problems.”

     “Sounds like a first step to me, it’s like committing to the mountain, Tom, and the first turn in a steep, gnarly chute is always the hardest. You know the rest of the saying.”

     “I know, I know, point em downhill and stand on them.”

    They all laughed heartily.


It's A Beautiful Day-Girl With No Eyes



Saturday, July 1, 2023

151-Uncle Albert's Mountain,(The Lure Of The Mountain King;) Chapter XVIII; The Betrayal

        “Yes Sir. I’ve already taken care of that.”

     General Matthew Dowe was sitting at attention behind his polished oak desk. There aren’t many men a General in the United States Army has to answer to, but he was talking to one now.

     “I sent you a memo the last time he called. There was no reason to bother you with it, then. He was hoping he could make this conversation as short as possible.

     “This time he wants action. Well what should I do? Yes, I already have someone on the inside.

     He covered the receiver and took a long deep breath. Thank God this is over the phone, he thought to himself. He wasn’t up to a confrontation with this man.

     “Yes Sir. I realize that. I won’t do anything then. Sorry to bother you.”

    

     The connection broke before he could get those last words out. He hung up the phone and clasped his hands on the desktop in front of him. Betraying a friend was not his style. He hated it, but he had no choice. Besides there were no friends in business or war, these days those concepts were interchangeable. You can’t have one without the other. The only difference is the battles are fought with pen and paper, not guns and soldiers.

 

     The General opened the bottom drawer, and took out a bottle of twelve-year old scotch. He poured himself a stiff glass half full. He sat back and took a big long drink, rolling the golden liquid around his tongue.

     “There’s no room in this world anymore for friends,” he said to no one. He finished the drink in one gulp, and refilled the glass.

     “Good Luck Joe!,” he raised his glass to his former friend. 

HARE KRISHNA MEDITATION

Sunday, June 4, 2023

140;Uncle Albert's Mountain, (The Lure of the Mountain King; )The Mountain Picnic; Chapter XI



     The perspiration formed a small line of beads across Tom’s forehead. The mid-day sun burned brightly through the azure blue sky as it rose to its zenith. Tom and Sara kicked off their skis. Sara carefully placed a large silver space blanket across a flat spot in the snow and spread out a thick grey woolen blanket for the picnic. Tom removed his backpack set it down and began laying out the lunch he had carefully prepared. Removing a bottle of Mountain Chablis from her pack, she placed it in the snow to chill.

They had chosen a small stand of pines along the side of Lover’s Leap to have their feast. Looking out at the Western slope of the Continental Divide and sitting on “the top of the world” was Tom’s first best destiny.

     “I’ve seen these sights a thousand times, the smell of the pines, the cool breeze, the endless vista’s, and their still awesome.

     “I’m glad you’re here with me Tom,” Sara slipped her arm around his waist. She stood on her toes and gently kissed his neck. The touch of his warm skin sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. She felt young again, her years slipping away, a school-girl in love for the first time. Her heart filling with a warmth and joy that she hadn’t known for several years, he gave her confidence in herself, in her future again. She had become unsure of herself, unsure of her destiny. Tom had his faults, he also had a rare wonderful qualities not found in many men today. He cared about the little people and the little things of life, the things that many overlook on their climb to the top.

     “Oh1 My camera won’t work,” she frowned

She kept playing with it, raising it repeatedly in an attempt to take a picture.

     “Tom! What am I going to do?” she slid her long red hair behind her ear and stamped her boot in the snow in little girl fashion.

He smiled at her issue, it was the little things that endeared her to him. Tom was in trouble as far as Sara was concerned. He had always gotten away before, the mountains came first. This time he sensed it wouldn’t be that easy.

     “It’s O.K. We will remember this day forever.”

Tom pulled Sara close to him and hugged her tightly. He adored everything about her. They sat down and poured the wine.

     “Cheers.”

     “Tom, what are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

     “That’s a hell lot of ground to cover.”

     “No, I mean don’t you want to settle down, raise a family. You can’t drift from mountain to mountain forever. What happened to your generation? You all became dropouts in one-way or another.  Its almost the eighties Tom, the roaring eighties! It is about time you seriously thought about a career! Don’t you want to accomplish something, sales maybe?

     Tom tilted his head back and let go a deep throaty laugh. Her attempt at humor amused him, it was quite charming, especially in the middle of an obviously serious question.

     “Listen! All I’ve ever wanted to do is ski the Rockies. While everyone else was watching movies and dreaming about beaches and Malibu surf, I was dreaming of deep powder chutes and open snowfields. I was never like all, “The Others.” I’ve always been different. I guess we all got messed up with the Vietnam War thing.”

     “Tom, the war has been over for years.”

     “I know it’s just that I’ve given up every job, left my engineering education, sold or traded away everything I have ever owned to go higher and higher into the mountains. Look closely at all of this. The whiteness, the vastness, the warm alpine sunshine, the crisp clean air, the smell of the pines, all the wealth in the world can’t buy this grandeur. If you climbed to the summit you can see Mount Evans the highest peak in Colorado. I will climb it. Then there is Mount Mc Kinnely in Washington State. I will stand on top of it. These are only in the mid-teens and twenties. What about the Alps? The Himalaya’s?”

     “I love you, but you have got to get your head out of the clouds. Get your head out Tom or you’ll never have anything. Not even me!”

     “How can I give all of this up?” he gestured at the jutting peaks. “And what should I give all of this up for? The security of surrounding myself with material possessions, there isn’t any security in those things. There pretty to look at, wonderful to touch and show people. Impress people with your worldly possessions. The winner is the one who dies with the most toys. We live in a society obsessed with symbols, status symbols. I mean even this mountain is a symbol. The highest lift serviced mountain in North America. Joe was a Patrolman here when he was our age. He went back to work in the sweat shops and car factories of Detroit, worked and built a fortune and sold his soul until he could buy it. He is the greatest symbol to the America’s.” Tom clenched his fist. “Now the multi-nationals are going to take this all away from him. They always get everything they want. When they don’t they change the rules, buy the politicians until they do. They control everybody and everything. Everyone conforms, like little lambs. They bow and prey to the great neon God’s run by men in suits and ties. I’ll never turn in to a “Corporate Whore”. I can’t sell out. I’ll find a way. I won’t be a good little silent automaton. You can’t come down on me.”

     He reached around to embrace her in case she took it the wrong way. They fell back in the blanket laughing and giggling as he kept the embrace, their bodies entwined passionately filled with expectations of love. Tom pulled the second blanket over them. He softly caressed Sara, holding her tightly. Unbuttoning her shirt, she reached up and held his head in her hands and kissed him. Gently, she laid his head across her breasts. Slowly, tenderly, ever more passionately they fulfilled their desires. Their hearts pulsing pounding, as the mountain sunshine bathed them. They gave to each other completely.

     They both lay facing the billowy cumulus clouds, watching then form kaleidoscope patterns. The thermals blowing lightly nudged them along. Tom held Sara’s hands tightly in his. They were two small beings, dots on a nature painting, dwarfed by he vastness of the spiraling peaks, their lives like the clouds passing bye. What lay ahead would soon form and become. Everything that had taken place, had already disappeared. Time the elusive commodity, stood still. There was only the here and the now.

     “I love you Tom.”

     “I love you also, Sara,” Tom surprised himself with his response. It was the last thing he thought he would have said and he was terrified of it. Having spent most of his life, alone, on the circuit, drifting from mountain to mountain, he had become his own best friend. He was ready to spend his life with this girl.

     “Taking a nap,” Lance Berry yelled. He was leaning on his poles by a large evergreen.

     Tom and Sara both sat up startled by the intrusion.

     Lance skied over kicking a large rooster tail of snow on the blanket wrapped around them.

      “What would your mother say, young lady?”

     Sara was scared and embarrassed at the same time.

     “Buzz off Lance,” Tom yelled. “Don’t you have anything better to do than to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong/”

     “Better than what you two where up to,” he gave them both a disgusted look.

     “Anytime you want Lance! You just say the word. I’ll be there.” Tom was generally a peaceful man.

     “You wouldn’t stand a chance little man,” Lance mocked as he skied off down the trail.

     Tom watched as he skied away. He realized Lance was probably right.

     “Nice going babe,” Sara slapped him on the back. “He could have killed you.”

     “He’s a clown. Let’s eat.”

     They spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun and the mountain. Sara was glad that Tom had professed his love. He had never been that vulnerable before. There was nothing more she could do. She had fallen deeply. Her experience had taught her to let nature take its course. 

The Hanuman Chalisa (Tutorial); Krishna Das

Saturday, May 20, 2023

138- Where Do You Go, When You Have Had Too Much To Dream Last Night?

 Attachment is blinding; it lends an imaginary halo of attractiveness to the object of desire-----Swami Sri Yukteswar, in "Autobiography of a Yogi"

Photo Credit from: Of Mountains and Men, Albert Bianchine.
 
Attachment can be motivating, crippling and debilitating. Have you ever been attached to something or someone? It differs from Obsession which can be a compulsion, infatuation or delusion. There have been several people places and things in my life that have had this affect upon me. Nothing has been greater than my attachment to and obsession for the sale of Arapahoe Basin Ski Area to Ralston Purina Corporation in Dillon, Colorado in 1978.

I read somewhere that is was not so much about the actual event in history as it was the reaction to that event by the artist. My belief is the need of the artist to explain what they have witnessed. The most prominent examples that I can think of are All Quiet on the Western Front or Cry the Beloved Country. The authors of both witnessed something that so affected them that they had the need to explain it. My mentor once told me that most people begin writing out of anger. It was enlightening to me on many levels. I turned twenty five years old the year that A-Basin was sold. To all of us that wintered there that year it was the death of a dream. Not Just Joe Jankovsky's dream, it was the American Dream. I had watched corporations come in every where that I had lived as a young man and buy up businesses, housing, farms and start wars in foreign countries over oil. To say that we loved a mountain is to put it mildly. The motto of The Basin at the time was Nothing In Moderation and it was billed as the Highest lift serviced mountain in North America at 13,050 ft. All mountains had their claims to fame but A Basin had the real thing. (Ski Above All)

My attachment for the Mountain and my obsession to in some way write about it has possessed my soul every day since my first writing workshop at SUNY Albany in the spring of 1979. I have written poems, short stories, and now am working on my novel (co-authored with my musician friend in the 1980's, Gordon Grey) The book along with the music score for the film ( yes film! thanks to my film and screen writing mentor Ira Wood and his Aspen Film and Screen Writing Intensive, that I now am pulling out my first Act complet to the plot point.) Finally ever so slowly over the years has come together. Never in my wildest imagination or dreams would I have considered to find myself at the age of Seventy Years Old pulling out pieces of manually typed pages and stacks of manilla folders with reams of notes and drafts. But I am and the feeling is like nothing I have ever known. Sometimes I feel as if I am being guided and coaxed not only by all of the wonderful teachers, writers, poets, musicians and mentors I have been blessed to have been associated with, but by a Divine Will or Source that has kept me motivated all the minutes, hours and years to pursue my dream through all the trials and tribulations that life is.

The very final song on the Music Score now that the Ballad of Tom Dillon is written is to be a rousing remake of the Song, I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night, The Electric Prunes.

Tuesday, March 22, 2022

110-What is Social Climbing? In The Time of The New Renaisance

 

God and bad habits both take time to acquire force. Powerful bad habits can be  displaced by opposite good habits if the latter are patiently cultivated. 

Paramahansa Yogananda "Scientific Healing Affirmations"

Character Musings


Tom shuffled slowly past the rows of western buildings, his hands stuffed into his denim pockets. This was the worst day of his life. He had never wanted it to end like this. It had been the greatest winter of his life. A winter that he would cherish and carry deeply in his heart for the rest of his waking life. He kicked maliciously at the chunks of snow lining the walk to the Moose Jaw. He thought about his friend and his favorite saying, "be careful what you wish for Tom my boy."

He had been a part of something. What that something was, he didn't know. Maybe he would never know. He just felt it in his heart and he knew it was there. There are somethings a man learns that he may not like, somethings he may like to change, but doesn't know how. Somethings will never change, that's just the way it is. 

"Can I ever change?"he thought. He yanked at the big wooden door and it swung open. 

Sara glanced up and quickly turned away. She walked to the farthest end of the bar. This was not going to be easy. Sara smiled afraid that if she didn't she would cry. Tom was a lone wolf. He would never change, and would know a lot of pain and heartache and grow tired of the loneliness and uncertainty. She knew he had so much to give, but didn't know how to give it. There would always be the next higher mountain. He used to lie awake late at night and say, "I wonder what the Himalaya's are like? The Basin is only 13,009 hundred feet. What must 30,000 feet or 8,000 meters be like?" Poor Tom he would never learn that he was born two hundred years too late. Once he learned to conquer himself he would conquer  anything, or spend the rest of his life trying. He might settle down for awhile, but to him, sitting in the whiteness above it all was what he came here for. It was his idea of social climbing.

Baba Hanuman, Krishna Das, Breath of the Heart

 

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Ikon Ski Pass


There is a new pass for skiers that I think is adeal. It is the Ikon Pass that allows for incredible skiing options. It is one that should be checked out. I love it now but it would have been my dream pass in my youth. Check it out. A-Basin a mountain I write about in stories, poems and blogs is one of those destinations. Incredible offer that should't be missed even by and Old Broken Ski Bum!

Today's Song
"Sierra," Boz Scaggs

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Relativity of Time

 
The phrase that time is relative has never escaped me. I always knew that as a young man that time was the here and now. The book for my generation that was the rage was "Be Here Now," by Ram Dass. It reverberated with the message of the times. You know all the Sha-la-la-la live for todayer's. I was one of them. You guessed it a hippie. Of course I had long hair and a beard. My little sister was kind enough to put my hair into tight braids, so that when I took them out it made my hair frizz out and it looked good with my big gold ring in my ear. Yep! That was me the cool cat, or at least I thought I was in my mind. After all, I watched Doby Gillis and thought Maynard G. Grebbs was cool. I may have even bought a set of bongo's. However I learned early in my life that I have no rhythm and I can't carry a tune. Except for my brief try at chorus in eighth grade. (My friend Michael Metti convinced me to try out. I actually made chorus, but my sisters laughed at me and I decided to quit. Just like my engagement to Mary Corona, when I was five years old. I bought her a ring, gave it to her because she was the absolute love of my life. Again my sister's made fun of me, so I remember asking her for the ring back. God Rest her soul as she has passed away.) The Hippie movement was right on time for my friends and I. The signs were all there and it was exciting. Looking back on the times I am still amazed and surprised about how unaware our parents and the police were concerning the times and the drug scene. I remember a hippie jeweler in town who had a small three bedroom house and he painted it the color of the rainbow, and put large bubble windows in place of the traditional ones. When you walked into the store he had completely covered the inside walls with broken pieces of mirrors in every room and had large display cases with all his wares. He burned incense and had black lights everywhere with brightly colored T-shirts for sale. Even I thought it was slightly bizarre for 1968. However, neither the police, nor our parents ever voiced any concern about the house, even though it was a major source of marijuana and hashish. Good times, where you could charge your purchases on your credit card and be styling. I suppose that it was a real sign of the times. Every one I am sure has many stories like that. People just didn't catch on or if they did they really did not care.


    Fortunately for me, I was the first year of the draft lottery for the Vietnam war. They were taking everyone with numbers 210 and lower. My number was 242. Free bird! I am sorry for all the young men who went to Vietnam, many did not come back or they did in body but not mind and spirit. It was my good fortune to go skiing and not to war. I remember thinking what a very lucky group of men my friends and I were. We all worked in our family business's or in local jobs and were free to take long ski vacations, In my case, and Captain Zooms, Touloose, and Creme-Kings we all were able to go and live in ski town's like Aspen, Vail, in Colorado, Brighton in Utah, Jackson Hole in Wyoming. It started out by skiing weekends, then week days, until we realized we could ski every day if we became bona-fide ski bum's. Every mother's night mare, a son or daughter with out a real career, drifting through life like the snows of winter. I remember my first winter at Arapahoe Basin, as beautiful as it was every one was talking about Grand Targhee, in Wyoming that was the first and last mountain to get snow. It was addicting, the freedom I mean. Get up every day and turn your boards until you were exhausted. Work where ever and when ever you could. It was a freedom that captured my heart and soul and I guess that is why I have always wanted to write about it. To explain why we all ran way, we were in a way a lost generation. I believe that I found myself in the running away. Subsequently each and every one of us did. I really want to follow the lives of the people I knew at Arapahoe Basin, and where they went and what they did with their lives after leaving.


   The mountain changed us all and touched us all in it's own way and we all found our individual truths that we were searching for. All in a winter's tale. We all moved on but we shared a special time in a special place with a group full of searchers. Sometimes I think I almost know what it is I want to say. These day's it is more pressing and wanting to come more as my time has been put into perspective. I always thought I had all the time in the world to write what I needed to write. Having been diagnosed with Cancer, (a non lethal form of skin cancer, that will require another unpleasant surgery, and six weeks of radiation therapy,) has put my time into perspective. Write, hell yeah, as often and as long as I am able. I suppose that when I look back at my life in my old age to come and Thank God! for the wake up call and the time that I was able to spend writing in my future life, I will say it was my singular greatest turning point and inspiration to pursue the dream I have always held so close to my heart. Time is relative! I'm sure that even Prince would love to have a little more time. No one ever thinks they are going to run out of it. Guess what? I have had my moment with time the past few weeks. My future is a little less certain. Time a little more relevant than it ever has been in my life. The future is mine to create..

   Thank you for your love and support Katarina.


   I would often listen to this first song when I was working out at the Athletic Club in Colonie and taking writing classes at Union College. It would help me to focus on my dreams of writing and forget the reality of living in a city. I remember how very unhappy I was in the city. I just couldn't get my act together there.

   The second song I would listen to with the artist Evelyn Wilson, we were kindred spirits in the city longing for new horizon's and distant frontiers. She liked Prince, I was not so enthusiastic. I hope she found her horizons. I found mine and a beautiful woman to share them with.

Today's Songs

"Never Surrender," Corey Heart

"Purple Rain," Prince

My little nurse and angel who has helped through my ordeal and I am sure will continue to lift my spirits through the coming battles! I can't forget her good friend "Boney".


Monday, July 6, 2015

Hippies Moving to the Hills

   You see only the gross material products coming from God's factory behind creation; but if you went into the factory itself, you would behold in what marvelous manner everything in this world has been brought into manifestation.
 Paramahansa Yogananda

   Letting go and letting God has never been my strong suit. It has always been my path to assert my will into the equation. I am learning to remove the I from the equation. Life does have its way of working things out if you will just allow the universe work it's magic. Removing myself from the center of the universe is the hardest thing I have ever done. What it has given me is endless joy and freedom from my own trappings of life.

   Many years ago, I sat in a cabin in the Heldeberg Mountains of New York State and dreamed of skiing in Colorado in the winter. A lifetime of winter skiing is behind me now. All grist for my writing mill, it serves to propel me forward toward becoming the writer I wish to be. I remember listening to the music of the times. It spoke of freedoms never before thought of or imagined. It was the sign of the times. We had just come out of the turbulent sixties. I pulled a high number in the first draft lottery and would not have to go to Canada to avoid being drafted into the Vietnam War. I was free. Free to pursue the life and dreams I imagined. Looking back on it now, it was the beginning of a new era. Driven by the words and ideas put forward in popular songs, Hippies sought freedoms never before imagined. Hippies were moving to the hills. Not only were they making love and not war, they were experiencing life in a way that was unimaginable to society. A society that was expanding in every way. It seemed that the fabric of society was being stretched and pushed to it's breaking point. Peoples minds were being expanded and opened. What was taboo was in. The social fiber and morals of the day gone. A new dawn, a new day.
   I hope to explore the post sixties and early seventies to help find the motivation of the characters and principles that brought everyone to Arapahoe Basin in Colorado leading up to it's sale in the late 1970's. I look forward to a journey of the times, the people, and the places. It will be an exciting journey. I hope you will stay with me for it.

A Song of the Times
Canned Heat: Going Up The Country




 

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Remembering Beaver Creek

   Beaver Creek is a wonderful mountain nestled in a hilltop outside of the town of Avon, Colorado. It was my distinct pleasure to spend a lot of time there in the late 1980's. When I first arrived, there was no base building. A large white plastic dome served as it's main building. What made Beaver Creek so unique at the time is that the terrain although not as high in altitude as many other mountains has some incredibly challenging runs. Birds of Prey serves as the downhill portion of many competitions.


  Former President Gerald Ford made his home in Beaver Creek and this lent for great excitement and very good promotion for the ski area. While working for the Beaver Creek Children's Theatre it was my honor one Christmas to play Santa Claus and to ride into the Christmas Gala with Gerald and Betty Ford. For me although a bit corny, the adulation of the crowd was a fun and wonderful  time. They were very gracious hosts and wonderful human beings. Betty Ford well known for her work with the Betty Ford Clinic would chair the Local A.A. Meetings.

   It was a wonderful time then and Beaver Creek was the host of the 1989 World Alpine Skiing Championships. The festivities and joy of the period prompted me to make the area the setting for a ski novel that I had been thinking about writing. If you check out My Stories you will find two short stories that are chapters of my ski novel. A lot of the chapters are partially written and will take some time to bring them into form. It was a time of great revelry. Beaver Creek was young and growing and it just lent itself naturally to my work. It was a great time of personal growth for me. I was to eventually spend 5 years in the Vail, Beaver Creek Area before moving to Aspen, Colorado.
 
   It was during that time that I had some of the greatest outdoor experiences of my life. Those areas really were a young peoples towns. The average mean age I believe was the late 20's and early 30's. Hiking, mountain biking and climbing, along with snowboarding and skiing were some of the predominant sports of the times. I was fortunate enough to meet my climbing and mountain biking partner Christian there. There are quite a few climbing and grueling mountain biking expeditions I hope to write about in the future.

   I look forward to the work on Out Of America just for the fond memories of the area and recreating the people and places that made the times so exciting and joyful. Enjoy the stories although my characters are fiction.I do not wish to offend anyone with my work, but life does lend itself to create good fiction. So this is pure fiction!

Sunday, November 23, 2014

The Valley of the Blue

The view from the parking lot of A-Basin into the valley over the Dillon Reservoir passed the Corinthian Hills. The Continental Divide to the rear of the photo up Highway 6 overlooked by the Seven Cornices and the wonderful all seeing Professor with her endless open snowfields far above the timberline. The origin of unimaginable full moon night ski adventures. Looking at the valley your back is to Lenawee Mountain and its massive ski bowl above the Land of the Giants and  across to Pallavacini.  Trails indelibly etched into the recesses of my mind body and spirit. A celebration to the soaring spirit of youth. Youth is invincibility. Age is the knowledge of the folly in that belief. Wisdom is the healing.
Healing is Freedom.

A Song of Wisdom.


"Mr. Mister, Broken Wings"

Sunday, November 18, 2012

The Razor's Thin Edge


There is a razor’s thin edge of existence in life. I have seen it in the mountains. A place where you know if you jump into a couloir to ski it your first few turns are the most critical. If you miss any of them and lose your balance you will most definitely fall to your death. It seems that the younger you are in life, the farther beyond that edge you step.  There is nothing like the exhilaration, the adrenalin rush, the sheer thrill of pushing the envelope just beyond that edge.

When I was twenty five and skiing at Arapahoe Basin in Colorado the edge blurred into reality for me. Arapahoe Basin was then the highest lift serviced mountain in America at 12,500 feet in elevation. The main lift brought you to the top of the mountain, and you could traverse into Lenawee Mountain and climb higher to get great powder shots. You could also drop over the backside into Montezuma Bowl and ski incredible vertical terrain and deep out of bounds powder, but you would have to hike out. Looking across Route 6 at the awesome Professor with its seven cornices would orient you toward the Pallavicini, on your left and the infamous Wall, the Wall was at the same elevation as the summit except that  there was an incredible vertical drop down from the summit with a steep incline back up to the cornice. The prevailing winds would race across the giant top of the wall and create a massive wind blown hanging cornice. It was always unstable and could fracture and avalanche at any time. Often it grew to enormous proportions and would be a twenty to thirty foot drop to the steep vertical slope below. On cold winter days it was always more stable and provided and excellent platform for launching into thin air before landing on the steep lower terrain. The lower terrain vertical was such that if you were not acutely aware of bringing your arms forward and keeping your elbows tucked in you might drag your arms on the slope behind you throwing off your balance.

One particular winter day I took the leap of faith and hit the deep powder successfully. I was just starting my second critical turn when another skier, who had not seen me jump from the cornice traversed across in front of me. I narrowly missed a collision but the tips of my skis caught the tails of his. My skis stopped abruptly. I was launched into a tip roll, a somersault on skis. Skiing with my bindings cranked down tight did nothing for easy release. The motto of the day was “Deliver us from premature release.” Every time I came back up on my skis I would again roll over and bury my head and neck in the snow. I was sure that this time my neck would break and I would die, or worse be paralyzed for life. This went on for what I thought was an eternity. It was then that my right shoulder caught a boulder. My shoulder dislocated and my ligaments and tendons were torn. It however had arrested my forward tumbling. I was unable to move my neck and it took months for both my shoulder and neck to heal. I said in the brashness of my youth, someday I will get a plastic socket. Through the pain in my later years, the prospect of a major operation does not intrigue me.

It brings me back to the fine line of existence in life and the mountains. I had realized my mortality. I was no longer an immortal God as I had thought in my youth. I had experienced near death. I never again skied with such reckless abandon. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I pushed the limit, even in my later years. I however possessed fear, a good healthy dose of it. It is detrimental when you love and play in the mountains to be afraid. Fear is healthy but you lose some of your edge. If you hesitate before turning on a steep slope or performing a feat while climbing or mountaineering it can be disastrous. I lost some of the thrill, to some degree, I had been conquered by nature instead of conquering it. I am saddened today by it, but it is as the world is.

I feel today like I am again standing on that wind blown cornice. I am more than twice that age now. The sky is azure blue, the wind gently rushes through my thinning hair, the snow is deep and the sun is shinning brightly. It is up to me to take the leap. What in the world am I talking about?

I have always wanted to pursue my writing career, but I always chose the safer accepted route of a business career in the private sector. The thought of contacting agents and editors and publishers has come and gone often. I even tried self publishing with out any great success. Always like a giant Goliath, the fear was in front of me, taunting me, calling out my name. It is time to slay the giant.

Today, I welcome you to Sun Moon Books. Look us up at www.sunmoonbooks.com. Our new blog. We will soon be publishing ebooks. My collection of ski short stories “White Dreams” will be available in mid to late February. I have another collection of horse short stories and two novels in the works for the next several years. Standing here on the cornice wondering if I should jump into that couloir full of snow snakes and conquer nature or be conquered by it, I am reminded of a quote that is attributed to the ages but no one sage in particular. “Leap and the net will appear.”