Breaking news: this just in...

Just a word to let everyone know that something is seriously awry in the high country. Now, one would have to have spent time with us to know this, but every time it snows, Bobby D gets grumpy. No, not the dwarf. Nobody's out to get Grumpy. I mean Bobby D. wakes up, looks out the window, and says unsavory things in an unsavory tone of voice. Bobby does not like the snow. He does not like the cold. He likes the beach.

But this morning, he awoke to snow. And he was happy. Giddy. Excited. It has been a long four years in Summit county, before he had snowmobiles. He has dreamed of the day we can own a lake house, a beach house, a house somewhere warm. But today, he loves Summit County. Nothing wrong with it. Where else can you snowmobile like you can here, after all?

It is ironic that the year that Bobby has decided to embraced winter instead of fight it, it has chosen not to snow until nearly December. Last year, the ground had been hidden for two months by this time. But on Vail pass, the snow last night drifted deep, four to five feet in places. We wound up the sleds and let the two-strokes whine, and shot down the trail to Shrine Bowl. The bowl is a popular spot for high-markers (hill climbers) and consequently, a popular spot for avalanches. Even with this first snow, there was a fairly good slide already. Not to fear, we do not high-mark. Bobby's sled has a giant track on it, it could do it, but mine is strictly a trail sled. Too strictly. Just past the bowl, the trail got lost, I got into powder, and sunk it. We spent a half hour grunting, sweating, and heaving the sled around and lifting it out of the hole. As soon as it was unburied, Bobby decided to let me ride the machine with a bit more flotation and power, in the hopes that neither of us would get stuck again. Ummm... it went fine for a while, the sheer power keeping me from burying it, until I got all sidehill and 118 pounds of me pulling against 600 pounds of machine plus gravity did not do much to turn the sled out of the deep powder. Again, we dug. Again, we sweated. Again, I sheepishly climbed on my own sled, having proved that if I could get stuck, I would, no matter which machine I was on. The rest of the day, I made very sure to pick the path of least resistance, and managed to not get stuck again. But Bobby... that's another story. I think I'll let the picture tell it.

We got back to Frisco tired and hungry, and stopped for Taco bell, the longest we have ever had to wait for a grilled stuffed burrito. It didn't bother Bobby D. He's happy (no, not the dwarf).