Well, with the weather report predicting blistering cold, we didn’t rush out to the hill.  But, when we finally arrived at the Vista Bahn we were stunned to find out it wasn’t that cold, and barely windy at all, and CROWDED!  As crowded as Christmas.  Did I not get the memo?  Is President’s Day now a FOUR DAY weekend?

And when we got to Mid-Vail, the maze at the Mountain Top Express was full.  So we went over to Lion’s Head and hit the groomers.  It’s our little secret.  For some reason, no matter HOW crowded Vail gets, there’s never a line at the Pride Express.  But as brilliant as the skiing was, after four runs over there we were burned out.  So we dropped into Game Creek Bowl.  Oftentimes host to some of the longest lines in Vail.

But the lift line was only two or three minutes long.  And the skiing was GLORIOUS!  The Woods, a steep blue with trees in the  middle, was mighty fine.  But Dealer’s Choice, with not a soul on it, had the kind of snow that makes easterners cry.  It was just that good.  We were blowing down by the trees with shiteating grins on our faces.  It just doesn’t get any better than this.  And part of me wanted to stay, but I had a hankering to ski the Headwall in Sun Up  Bowl.

A trip on the dreaded Mountain Top Express would be required to get there.  But, if the Game Creek lift had such a short line, shit, maybe Mid-Vail had cleared up.

We dropped down the front side of the mountain once again.  Felice stopped in at Mid-Vail to hit the rest room.  Where she ultimately found no TP.  Thinking of Elaine in that "Seinfeld" episode, she asked for help from her next door stallmate.  Who responded with a grunt and then delivered ONE SQUARE of TP under the partition.  What, did she own the place?  She couldn’t spare any more?

And, after laughing at that, we slid down to the Mountain Top Express, where there was a line no longer than the one at Game Creek.  Things were looking up.

But when we got to the top of the mountain, the Host started waxing rhapsodic about where and where not to ski in the Back Bowls.  Because of the wind.  He was a folksy sort of gentleman, but he put the idea in Felice’s head that this was going to be an ordeal.  And I didn’t need this dude raining on my parade.

And we drop down the backside to the catwalk, and it’s blowing, and Felice announces she’s NOT going to take that slow triple chair we got stuck on two days before.  I told her to wait until we got to the Headwall to make a final decision.  But when we got to the Headwall…the wind was blowing and visibility sucked.  So I was wary of pushing my agenda.  I LOVE the Headwall.  It starts off at a certain pitch and then FALLS AWAY!  But my relationship was more important.  I told Felice we could ski down to Tea Cup Bowl, where the Host had said there was no wind and Red Zinger was delicious.

I wanted to drop into Sweet N Sour, and ski down to the Orient Express, but we’ve skied that a number of times and the Host was waxing rhapsodic about Red Zinger, which I’d never skied, so we continued down the catwalk and we…couldn’t find it.

We’re on this endless catwalk.  From the very top of Vail to the bottom of the Back Bowls.  And Felice starts to bitch.  It’s so fucking COLD!  Why aren’t I waiting for her!

After telling her NO BITCHING, that’s for the lodge, at the end of the day, not when you’re miles from nowhere, I suddenly realized it WAS freezing.  Venturing down to zero.  My fingers were going numb.  I had to put on my glove liners.

Finally, we ended up at the bottom of the aforementioned Orient Express.  And, as our chair whisked away from the bottom of the hill, not a word was said.  I thought Felice was giving me the silent treatment, but she said she was so COLD she couldn’t talk.

I tried to cheer her up.  Look, over there, in the west, the sun was trying to break through.  It really wasn’t that cold.  But my act wasn’t working.  Felice wanted to go into Two Elk Lodge near the top of the lift and WARM UP!

And I knew…  That would be the end of our Back Bowl adventure.  All I’d have to show for the last half hour was an endless runout and a freezing lift ride.  I’d never make it to…SIBERIA!

Okay.  The original Back Bowls are Sun Up and Sun Down.  Then they expanded east to Tea Cup.  And China.  THEN, they opened up a whole ridge, a whole PLAYGROUND that you can’t even see unless you’re in it.  Comprised of Siberia, Inner Mongolia and Outer Mongolia Bowls.  All black.  All seeming to say on the map DON’T COME HERE UNLESS YOU’RE A LOCAL!

But it was the only place I’d never been at Vail.  I had a hankering to go.  And the grooming report said they’d plowed Bolshoi Ballroom.  I pleaded, I cajoled, FELICE, I’ve never been there, can’t we go to SIBERIA?

She told me she couldn’t feel her fingers.  Nor her toes.  I felt like a bad boyfriend.  But I pushed her.  It was now or never.  It would be good.  We’d warm up on the catwalk over there, which required a bit of walking.

And by time we get off the Orient Express lift, it’s blowing.  It’s miserable.  But I push off on the catwalk.  And Felice follows.

And then we reach the point of no return.  There’s a gate.  We can stay in China Bowl or venture into the UNKNOWN!

We drop in.

And are confronted with crusty crud.  There’s no sign of a groomed slope.  There’s just a continuing catwalk.  Which I lead Felice down.  Not wanting to be next to her, for fear she’ll lay into me.

Then the catwalk stops.  And there’s a lift.  The legendary Mongolia t-bar.  I ski up to it.  And ask the attendant.  How do we get to BOLSHOI BALLROOM?

Damned if he knew.  This wasn’t his regular gig.  He was just filling in.

So, we could hike back up, and then ski to the end of the catwalk and venture off into the trees.

That sounded too formidable.  We were far out of cell range.  What if Felice froze up and fell.  What THEN?

There was no option.  We had to go UP!

I saw a catwalk paralleling the t-bar.  Worst case scenario we could get back to where we started at the base of the lift.

Now I’m nervous.  I’ve got no fucking idea where I am.  I’M cold.  And I’m dragging Felice along!

But, with her undying confidence in me, Felice puts the disc at the end of the rope between her legs and starts to go UP!

Yes, the t-bar is kind of a pomalift.  Which drags you up to the highest point on the ridge.  11,455 feet.  We’re riding SO high that we can now see over Vail Pass to Copper Mountain.  And as we approach the top, I see…there’s one of those narrow chutes leading down.  The kind that isn’t THAT hard to navigate.  But if you’ve never skied between the rocks before, you can get truly freaked out.

And now we’re off the lift.  And there’s no map.  Only the chute and a catwalk heading off into NOWHERE!

I’m not taking that catwalk.  Lord only KNOWS where that goes.

So I drop into the kind of windblown crust you see at the top of the Alps.  The kind that separates the men from the boys.  The kind that demands a constant edge as you navigate the bumps, ice and rock.

And then we get to the point of no return.  We’re at the catwalk that parallels the t-bar.  I decide at this point, we’ve got to go down.  Because where we started from, I was CLUELESS there.

And we start to ski.

It’s the kind of frozen crust that has been burnished smooth by hundred mile an hour winds.  There’s not another soul in sight.  But it’s SMOOTH!

Sure, the wind is blowing.  But you can get an edge.  I start to carve arcs between the trees.  I see a sign, this IS Bolshoi Ballroom.  It was only supposed to be groomed halfway down, but this top part, it’s relatively flat and eminently skiable.

By me.  But what about Felice?

I stop in the blistering wind.  I look back up the hill.  Felice is linking turns.  She’s got no idea that I was freaked out.  She seems to be running on faith.  She’s got no anxiety at all.

And then, after I wait for her, we start off again, and we get into a RHYTHM!  The wind has died down a bit.  There’s a bit more snow on the hill.  This is GOOD!

And then, the lower we get, with an endless view of the Vail Valley, from Mt. Holy Cross to Beaver Creek and beyond, it starts to occur to me as we’re out here alone in the middle of nowhere, this skiing, it’s FANTASTIC!

I finally broach the subject with Felice.  She’s smiling, she’s LOVING IT!

And now we’re SCREAMING along.  As the slope gets steeper.  It’s like being in Courchevel, on top of the world!  Way down below we can see some ant-like people taking the cat track back to the Orient Express.  We’re SAFE!  We’re on our way back to civilization, we can kick back and ENJOY OURSELVES!

And now it’s packed powder.  And the hill drops off suddenly.  Like the Headwall.  There are no snowboarders criss-crossing the slope, getting in our way.  We’re way out here in the Colorado Rockies, tearing it up, ALONE!  We’re in HEAVEN!

And when we finally got back on the Orient Express, Felice said that was the best run of the day.  No, maybe the best run of the past THREE days.  Maybe the best run of our TRIP!

I wanted to convince her to do it again.

She said she was too frozen.  But I could go back alone.

But I didn’t want to separate.

And when I finally walked into Two Elk Lodge, I felt I couldn’t stand one more minute exposed to the elements.  Shit, Felice said the only thing that wasn’t frozen on her was her ASS!

That run made the trip.

And I’m so proud of Felice.

The mark of an expert skier is someone who can make it down the hill through any kind of junk snow in any kind of weather.  It appears she qualifies.

Vail (Siberia Bowl and Bolshoi Ballroom are way off to the right)