Hello and welcome to a world of having your cake and eating it too.

Thanks, all, for checking out the Gathering Place! In case you are having a huh? moment, the address is www.agatheringplace.webs.com. It is a virtual refrigerator door, a family and friends status report, and if I know you, or if anyone I know knows you, you are invited to join us over there. If you think I might be fuzzy on how I know you, add a brief note in your profile, so I don't knock you off the website. But, fuzzy or not, we want to hear what you have to say!

Ahh, yes, cake. Not literally, of course. I am talking about the perfect place, the perfect day, the holy grail of mountain sports fanatics. I am talking about those few days, those few places, where one can do all of one's favorite things in one day. Of course, the truly perfect day would include an epic powder day, followed by killer, dry singletrack, finished off by a bonfire on the beach. But a close second is a morning spent snowboarding, and an afternoon spent mountain biking.

Last night, while driving to a friends house for dinner, B turned to me with a scowl, and said, "I suppose you want me to snowboard with you tomorrow." I was my turn to have a huh? moment, before he explained.
"A-Basin opens tomorrow." I had no idea. But I heard my voice gain an octave as I began babbling about how I had not been expecting it so early, how cool was this, just when I was settling in for a long wait, my wait was over. All evening, I kept feeling my cheeks raising, high and firm on my face, and realized I was grinning uncontrollably.

He gave me permission to go, because he knows me. But he refused to set the alarm clock so I could get first chair. Because I did not want to oversleep, I slept fitfully. I woke up at 2 a.m., I woke again at 3:30. Again at 4:15. Again at 6:30. Each time, I sat up so I could see the alarm clock over the pile under the covers that was B. Each time, he grunted, annoyed even though not awake. Finally, at 7:30, he loosed me from under his annoyed elbow, (his semi-concious way of keeping me in bed, since once I am up, I will make so much noise he will not be able to sleep) and I shot outa bed, and landed in my boots before he had a chance to pull me back.

I dragged my snowboard from behind piles of other sports gear, didn't take the time to scrape the ice off the windshield, shut my bootlace in the door, and sped ten miles to the Basin. Once there, I grabbed my still-trailing bootlaces and hurried for the lift line, gloves and board in one hand, bootlaces in the other. I finished dressing in the lift line while waiting for the lift to start, waited while they sent up first chair in honor of Edna Dercum, who, along with her husband Max, poineered skiing in the area, and didn't make first chair, but possibly twelfth chair. I made three screaming runs, dodging a couple hundred skiers and snowboarders as excited to feel snow under their feet as I was, before the corderoy was completely scraped off and large patches of ice began to form, and by the end of the third run, the single's line stretched beyond the end of the maze. Then, back in my element, I made my way back down the hill to Keystone, and went to work far a few hours. Went back to the office and looked for my phone, missing since yesterday. (If anyone calls my phone, my voicemail will tell them to call B.'s phone) Then, I drove home, increasingly aware of the noise my jeep was making under the hood, and dragged the Stumpjumper out of the shed. I took a last ride to the back ranch, down and back up Blair Witch, crunching over the last few remains of last week's snow skiff. Stream crossings were edged in ice. Several other mountain bikers were out, especially friendly, because anyone biking anymore most be very dedicated to it.

Ok, so it maybe it wasn't the perfect day, because the perfect day would have begun in eight inches of fresh powder instead of man-made snow, concrete and icy. But it still felt so incredibly good to be back on the snow.

Even though the noise under the jeep hood turned out to be a cracked exhaust manifold, and B's new pickup truck is sporting a fresh dent from a random act of vandalism, and we are beginning to wonder if we will get our vacation this fall (if we do, it will be a flying trip, at the last minute), we sit in our living room, fire blazing, and indulge in a sense of well-being. The world may be crashing around one, but it is hard to remember it when one is warm, well-fed, and has just spent a day doing exactly what one likes best.