Hello and Welcome to An Altitude Problem, where, two hours after I first picked my way across it in my bare feet to take Andy outside this morning, the ice on the deck has finally turned to water. I sit here in my pajamas, having a fairly leisurely morning, although I do have two arrivals to ready for guests checking in today. The last several days have been busy for me, getting ready for Labor Day weekend, but now, the check-in mob of yesterday is over, so until someone complains because I did a shabby, hurried job and missed something in my rush to get everything done by 4:00 pm yesterday, we are sitting tight and crossing our fingers.

Winter is fast approaching. After everything checks out on Monday, we start deep-cleaning units, dry cleaning bedding, inventories and purchasing and restocking broken coffeepots, crock pots, lampshades, pillow shams, hangers, irons, hair dryers, stained or torn bedding and shower curtains, repairing or replacing broken blinds and light fixtures, giving sixty units a thorough once-over to get them ready for guests who think that, although they rented a condo from us at 2/3 or even half the price of other management companies, "for what they paid" their vacation should go without a hitch. The way the downturn in the economy has most directly affected us, other than about a 20 percent drop in bookings, which we could still absorb because of our unusually high occupancy rate other years, is that people are still coming to the mountains, but only a few out of each party are skiing. The rest are making snow angels, drinking coffee, buying tee shirts, soaking in the hot tub, watching TV, and spending time in the condo with hot chocolate in one hand and note pad in the other, making lists of the shortfalls of their condo, hoping that, when presented with proof that they got screwed and paid good money for a dump of a condo, the company they rented it from will give them a discount, or possibly even a free stay. We had more whiners and refund-hunters this year than we can ever remember having in years past. Which means our condos had better be sparkling, well maintained, well stocked and well organized, and our guests had better be impressed, in spite of their efforts to find fault. Our job depends on it. And never mind several new owners this year who freak out over the tiniest power waste, like a stereo left on standby, or a light switch dimmed all the way, but not off, and, of all things, demanding that we iron the bedspreads before each guest. As if we have the resources to do that when we are spread so thin as it is over the winter. The nature of a seasonal job. Overstaffed in the summer, understaffed in the winter. We are hiring a new year-around maintenance man this winter and have guaranteed him hours in the summer, and are crossing our fingers. Oh, we will give him enough hours to keep him around all year, but it may come at the cost of our own hours. But the plan is to actually start taking days off. One day a week in the winter, two in the summer. By the three of us doing this, the company should not have to pay a lot extra for another employee. After all, paying three people to work seven days a week can be about as expensive as paying four people to work five days a week. We shall see. I predict B still working every day. He just tends to get a bit uneasy on his days off, unless we leave the county.

Speaking of which, he did do a very odd thing and take an in-county day off this week. We had been planning for some time to take a day, pay for lift tickets, and ride Keystone. In the end, we didn't want to spend the money. Spending money becomes painful for us this time of year, after a summer of cut-back hours, and with labor day weekend comes the looming charge on our credit cards for ski passes that wont even be used for another eight weeks. Instead, we rode West Ridge, taking the jeep up to the trailhead to save us four miles of uphill, then riding three miles uphill and over the top of the ridge, and down the other side, into Keystone ranch. It is the smoothest, longest downhill ride in the county, I think. One has three miles of climbing for six miles of downhill through sage covered hillsides, damp forests, stream crossings, and views, with some tight switchbacks thrown in. All the way up, B kept asking me how far yet, and I finally told him three more switchbacks, which turned into five, and he was a bit out of sorts by the time we had ground our way to the top. But about half way down, after he had forgotten all about the climb and was nicely drugged by the adrenaline rush of the downhill, as well as by the high produced by warm sun, pine sap and sage, and the whoosh of soft loam under knobby tires, he stopped to take in the view of a sky a bit smoky from wildfires west of here turning Guyot and Baldy and the Gore and Ten-Mile Ranges purple and gray, turned to me, and announced that he was glad he had married me. I replied that I know I am irresistable, but what had brought on this sudden revelation? And he began naming the names of people he knew who had not married me, had not even thought of marrying me, and for that reason, had never been reluctantly dragged out on a beautiful day, dragged, whining and sweating, up 1000 vertical feet, and forced to coast down a winding trail through forests and hillsides alive with squirrels, chipmonks, and ptarmigan, and feel that sudden flood of well-being and joy at being alive and surrounded by earth and sky and sun and wind.

By the time we got home, 18 miles later, he was back to wondering why, exactly, he had had to marry someone who insisted on always taking the hard route, thanks to a new trail I led him down that ended up being more uphill than I remembered. Although he has done more biking this year than any other year, and his skills, as well as his legs, have improved massively, I still do more riding than he does, which meant his legs were done by the time we got back to the Cove, while mine still felt fairly fresh. He pedaled and scowled, and balance was restored. There were no more unexpected compliments. It was a relief to know things were back to normal.

We ate when we got home, then grabbed our swimsuits, drove the Subaru up to the trailhead and retrieved the jeep, then went to the pool, where we swam, then soaked in the hot tub until we got too hot, then sat in chairs and soaked up the last slanting rays of sun as it dropped behind Buffalo Mountain. We pretended we were on vacation, and schemed our next move, what we should do if and when we are not doing property management, where we should go after Summit County. Although we like it here, it is possible we find ourselves influenced by the transient lifestyle lived by most people here. They are here for a break, and sometimes the break becomes permanent, and they find it possible to stay here their whole lives, but most of the time, the high cost of living, the floods of people who can work a job that pays less than their living expenses for a year while they decide who they are and what they want come and go with the seasons, taking all the jobs, leaving permanent residents with two options- find something extremely lucrative to do, something that can support life in a resort town, or leave. We would hate to leave Colorado, and leaving our friends here would be hard, but we could leave Summit County if another oportunity presented itself. Yes, I would miss being five minutes from world-class snowboarding, but if I could spend more of the year on my bike, which really is more my thing than snowboarding anyway, would I miss it so much? Especially since, now that we have snowmobiles, we really don't need a resort to get epic turns in deep powder.

My parents were up here last weekend for my dad's birthday, and for the first time in I don't know how long, i did not work while they were here. Instead, they brought their bikes and we spent a lot of time in our saddles. Grandma and Grandpa from Eagle met us on top of Vail Pass and Grandma, Mom, Dad and I coasted down 12 miles to Frisco on the bike path. About a mile or two down from the top, my Dad accidentally rode off the trail, hit his front brake, went over the handlebars, and landed in a heap- not something one wants to see their 50 year old father do. He sprained his wrist, and in the absence of any first aid gear, I tied my windbreaker tightly around it to lend some stability and keep the swelling at bay. He rode the rest of the way down, and we met Grandpa at the Island Grill at the Frisco Bay Marina, where we sat on the upper deck, quenched our thirst and enjoyed views of lake and mountains until the wind and rain chased us away. I rode back to Vail Pass with Grandpas, retrieved the Jeep, went back to Frisco and loaded bikes and people, and returned home to find Bobby and dad seasoning steaks, a birthday cake on the counter.

The next morning, fueled on a breakfast of birthday cake, Mom and I hit the bike path again and rode from Dillon to Frisco, with the plan of turning around when we got to Frisco. When we got there, however, my mom was still feeling fresh, so she called Dad and got permission to extend our ride, and we rode around the entire lake, over Swan Mountain Road. It was no small climb, especially for a flatlander, but with all the bike riding and exercizing and healthy eating she has been doing lately in an attempt to show her body, which gave her a cancer scare this summer, who is boss, she pulled it in fine form. We made a detour at Sapphire Point, an overlook far above the lake, and rested and enjoyed the view, then coasted home. Since my jeep was parked at Dillon, we ate lunch, packed up the car, then she and I rode our bikes down to Dillon Marina, bringing our total for the day up to 18 miles, where Dad met us, we loaded up her bike, and they headed home.


And now, it is time for me to go do something with my day. I am going to take Andy to his best friend's house, where he can romp and wear himself out, and maybe I can go on a longer ride this afternoon than usual.