Hello and welcome to the new Altitude Problem, where your blogger looks like a roasted, red racoon. One should never assume, just because the sun is well hidden behind a milk-white sky and blowing snowflakes, that it won't be out by the time you are far, far away from your sunblock.

It snowed yesterday and last night. Actually, snow might not properly describe what happened here in Summit County. Snow could mean simply that the sky had a little dandruff, a few drifting flakes. That is not what happened here. We got buried. For a day, it was like the dry Oro Grande trail of the last three days never even existed. It could have been Christmas eve, it could have been any one of the many, many gray days in the last six months in which the snow blew sideways. I took advantage of the weather to take the bikes to the shop, and put them on the roof racks in a blizzard, holding them up with frozen fingers while I fumbled with latches and locks. When it let up, we measured 17 inches on our front deck.

I decided to take the morning off, since I had not had much exercise in the last two days, and snowboard. I stayed far away from the two resorts still open, Loveland and A-basin, since both were hosting fundraisers today. A-Basin had the Marmot Grind, in which skiers make laps on the mountain without using the chairlifts, and Loveland had the Corn Harvest. Not sure what all that involves. I started up Keystone with about a dozen other hikers, most of whom were there because they had been up to A-Basin and Loveland, taken a look at the full parking lot and long lines, and turned around.

I really should have started earlier. It took me almost three hours to reach the summit because of the heavy, deep snow. Andy bounded along ahead of me, barking at other hikers, diving into the snow, racing downhill until his legs could no longer keep up and wiping out spectacularly. About halfway up, he found a splintery bamboo pole buried in the snow. He got ahold of it and it split down the length of it, leaving a jagged edge of the orange plastic tape wrapped around it. I did not realize the edge was sharp, and, instead of stepping on it, grabbed it and moved it out of the trail. Andy dropped the end he was holding, and the snow under it was red. I looked at it, puzzled, wondering if it was flakes from the tape, and then at Andy's mouth. Blood was dripping out of his mouth and along his chin. I grabbed his mug and forced his mouth open while he struggled to get away, and the blood covered my hand and ran off my wrist, down my snowpants and splattered on my snowshoes. He apparently thought that wherever it dripped needed to be licked, and before long, his front legs were covered in smeared blood. It took some time, but I finally determined he still had his tongue and all his parts, it was just a cut on his bottom lip, where his top canine pressed against it, which kept it from clotting. We left a lot of carnage, crimson splatters in the snow along the skin-track leading uphill, but it ended up being okay. The snow was so sticky and wet, it stuck to the long, feathery hair on his butt, and hung in massive snowballs that swung and clattered together as he waddled with a hunched, unnatural gait, the heavy ice balls pulling his butt hairs uncomfortably. I would bet he had five pounds of ice and snow balls hanging off of him by the time we got down. Now that they are melted off, I think I am going to have to cut off the dreadlocks they created. Poor Andy and his beautiful butt feathers.

By the time I started down, the snow had compacted, and it was incredibly heavy. I took the steepest line I could find, and straightlined it as I practically sat down over the tail of my board, my exhausted left thigh taht had just climbed 2,300 feet in three miles burning and quivering under my body's weight as I struggled to keep the nose of my board afloat and Andy raced along behind me. It was not the fun ride down that it would have been had I started early and come down while it was still cold.

I was almost up, in the last quarter of the climb, when two tele skiers came practically floating up the hill, taking long, jaunty steps. We exchanged pleasantries and I watched their retreating backsides in dispair as I trudged uphill in my snow-weighted snowshoes, every step impossibly hard. They reached the summit, turned around, and flew down past me. I reached the summit about a half-hour later, sat for a spell, ate a granola bar, put my snowshoes in my pack and my snowboard on my feet, and started down. I was in the last fourth of my descent when I met them again, starting their next lap. I almost wanted to cry, and not just from exhaustion.

I made Andy stand with his butt to the firepit in River Run, and let the roaring gas flame warm up the snowballs. In the end, we gave up on getting them off him before we got in the car.

I decided my work for the rest of the day could wait until tomorrow. I got home, cleaned house, ate a late lunch, and went horizontal. I concede- today, Keystone schooled me. I have no plans to leave this couch. Andy has no plans to leave his windowsill. My face and neck are raw from sunburn, my legs feel heavy and tired. And it was all in the name of fun. How ironic.