ASPEN, Colorado–I wasn't even going to go to Aspen, the roads were so bad. It had been dumping a heavy sort of Slurpee snow since before I got up, just enough to grab the front tires. But I got there, to Buttermilk, by noon. I couldn't ride anyway because I was still recovering from a sore back, so it didn't really matter that I was late.

There's less snow in Aspen than Vail, but way more girls. And Vail's not that bad. There were barely any girls over for Cliff's Carving Expression Session, though. Alpine riding is like a fraternity without a sorority pairing (I got that from my woman).

It was pretty cool anyway. Girls in the lodge, boys on the hill. Red rover, red rover, send Donna right over. Carvers from every arcable spot in the country showed up for no reason other than to share a few turns with new found friends. No contest, no money, just riding.

I wasn't sure anyone would show up, but they came in droves: Indiana, Tahoe (I know that's not a state), New York, Oregon, Vail (self plug). It makes sense, though, Alpiners ride for those same reasons everyday.

I'm back home now, after wading through a weekend of "Broncomania" on the front range. This state is so lame sometimes. I was wearing orange and blue on accident. Can I get an Apple Fritter, and two Broncos donuts, please? Can anyone find out where I live from reading this on the Internet? Actually, the Superbowl was kinda lackluster. No big surprises. Weak rioting.

It's been dumping steadily for the last couple weeks, por fin. I don't speak French too good. Later.