Old Man Winter- the cool old geezer we're ready to spend some quality time with.

Hello and welcome to An Altitude Problem, where there is winter. Just as suddenly as summer left, winter arrived. Last week, bike rides, albeit bundled-up ones that left cheeks bright pink and toes a bit numb. Today, snow blowing in sideways, power failures, a wood burning stove that is never allowed to go out. Loveland ski area opened yesterday, A-basin opened this morning. We actually woke to rain, no snow, but about twenty minutes after crawling out of bed the cold front arrived, the temperature dropped ten degrees in twenty minutes, and within twenty more minutes, I shovelled the deck for the first time in the 2010/2011 season.

My parents were up here for my mom's 6th chemo infusion- halfway through round number one. They left early and crawled over Vail Pass, the roads slick. Arden and Michalle, who stayed with us over the weekend, left about the same time and spent a half hour waiting for I-70 Eastbound to open so they could drive the opposite direction, over Loveland pass to Denver and beyond.

My mom stayed here while my dad went home to work this week. She has another appointment with a specialist tomorrow, then a six day gap until the next chemo appointment. And of course, I am scheduled to work at the ski shop tomorrow, so I cannot drive her over- either she will drive herself or B will take her, depending on the weather. I swore my working at the ski shop would not cause B undue stress. Oops. I had at least hoped it would be later rather than sooner that it would cause a scheduling conflict. At the moment, we are all (B, mom, and I) relaxing in front of a fireplace filled with glowing coals, and wondering into the kitchen periodically for another bowl of chili. In a little bit I will go clean the kitchen, but right now, I am in a state of relaxation that I am loathe to interrupt.

I say ski shop because this weekend was the weekend the staff (except for me, who was on a mountain biking trip in Fruita- more on that later)swapped the space in the back from bike shop to ski rental shop. I am going to have to have a moment of silence when I see the shelves lines with rental gear where mechanic's stands and tools usually live. It will not be a bike shop, except for possibly a tiny closet in the basement with one mechanic's stand, for nearly six months.

Our much-anticipated trip to Fruita was not exactly what we expected. Drizzling rain turned to pouring rain turned to cloudy skies with no sun to dry the trails. The soil in Fruita is absolutely impossible when wet. It is clay that turns to gooey grease and sticks to everything in giant clumps and pulls shoes from feet and sticks to chains so thickly that it breaks fragile parts like derailleur hangers off of bike frames. We did not ride on a single trail. We camped in the rain, sat around campfires wearing hats to shield our faces from the drizzle, shared beers and biking tales and peered at the gray sky. Finally, we did go out to the trailheads, knowing that it was stupid, but wondering if anybody else was stupid enough to ride in such muck. Turned out, there were plenty of nice, clean riders on nice, clean bikes heading out, but we all liked our bikes too much to subject them to the trails and too conscientous to subject the trails to our bikes. A group of four of us, the four who were really bothered by not riding at all in Fruita, took our bikes up on the Colorado National Monument and did a mountain bike road ride, which was beautiful and scenic and a good workout. And that was that. We said goodbye to our fellow campers, a group of about six other couples, all from Summit County who had rented a large block of campsites in Highline State Park together, and came home.

My house is still cluttered with all the camping stuff that we dropped just inside the door and I have been slowly working on washing and putting away. It was good to spend a day at home, but I did not get much accomplished, what with all the reveling in just spending a day at home. I did get a cross-country ski in with Andy, a three and a half mile out-and-back through meadows full of drifted snow. About halfway back to the house, i began to feel that familiar slipping, stinging sensation that is a blister forming and remembered that I have to stick gray tape to the backs of my heels when I wear my XC boots. I forgot about that minor detail. Now I sport big fluid filled bumps on the backs of my heels. Just like last winter.

And now it is time. Post prandial (look it up) relaxation is over. The electricity is back on and it is time to make hay while the electric light shines.