We just saw a baby in Crocs.

We were walking back to the Lodge from Haagen-Dazs.  Where I partook of one element of my birthday trilogy.  Every year I have a hot fudge sundae, a pastrami sandwich and go to the movies.  I guess I’ll have to wait for the pastrami and movies.  Don’t think I want to risk any of the meat in Vail.  Gotta hit Langer’s soon.  And I want to see the Nicole Holofcener movie, even though I hear it’s not as good as "Walking and Talking".

And when we get to the front door, we hear people singing.  And agreeing it was just too nice to go inside, me hearing my mother shooing us OUTSIDE on a beautiful day, we wandered further into town.  Where one of those Colorado cowboy troubadours was holding forth on the deck of Pepi’s.  Couple of days back he was playing "Rocky Mountain High", but today he was singing "Hotel California".  And, after rapping a bit, he went into "Heart Of Gold".  Actually, he did just about all of "Harvest" in an extended medley.  He even included "Out On The Weekend".  Yet, although it was "Old Man" that resonated, I enjoyed singing along with "Heart Of Gold" most.

We were sitting on a stone wall along the main drag.  With the sun hanging in the scattered clouds in the west and the snow-covered Gore range in the east.  I felt this was EXACTLY where I was supposed to be.

And the cast of characters!  There was a twentysomething couple obviously on their way to a wedding.  A college student in what we used to call pedal-pushers and high heels.  The dude on the bench next to us was wearing what my sister Wendy calls "Liberace boots" (think about it, although passe, you still see people in these rear-entry monstrosities).  Some were dressed for summer, some were still wearing their attire from the slopes.  And then crossing the middle of the street I saw a tyke in pink Crocs.

We first saw Crocs in Vail last summer.  Imagine the ugliest shoes possible, made out of foam rubber, in garish colors, and then you’ve got Crocs.  Kind of like twenty-first century Murray Space Shoes.  They’re all the rage, the L.A. "Times" even did a story on them this week Crocs Wants to Take Its Odd Shoe to New Heights.  I keep nudging Felice, telling her to get them now, while they’re still hip, so she can be on the cutting edge, but she thinks they’re HIDEOUS!

But this tiny little girl who was barely ambulatory, she was prancing down the avenue in Crocs so small you could hang them from the rearview mirror of your car.

It was that kind of day.  Where everybody felt ALIVE!

People on the slopes were dressed in elf costumes, wigs, pinstripe suits, tutus, all celebrating the end of the season.  With not a cloud in the sky on a day so warm the vibe resembled nothing so much as Malibu.

Can’t say that every run was good.  The window of skiability was very brief.  The Headwall in Sun Up Bowl was too firm at 11, and only an hour later Big Rock Park in Blue Sky Basin was so grabby that you felt you were in stop and go traffic.

Challenging ourselves, we went into the dreck in Hornsilver.  Where the snow had baked untracked for days.  We cut through the crud and sliced through the bumps, but it wore us out.  Felice ran out of gas first, but a couple of runs later, after blitzing through the trees in Grand Review, I realized the week had taken its toll on me too.

Still, you soldier on.  Because you know you’re getting to the end.  Soon, you’ll be on the real beach daydreaming, just WISHING you were on the slopes.

When the not slushed up yet this week Pickeroon grabbed my skis at a quarter to four, I realized it was time to call it a day.  No need to push it.  I’d gotten my fill.

Still, the run down the Ledges in the carpet of corn was heavenly.

And when I got to the bottom of the Vista Bahn there were rivers of water that were impossible to avoid.  My ski boots sank in almost to the top a couple of times.  And then I sat on a bench in the Colorado sunshine and waited for Felice to descend on the Vista Bahn.  She told me to tell no one, but she shouldn’t be embarrassed, there was a big sign at the base saying to RIDE down since the snow at the bottom was so wet.  And when she arrived, we watched a guy ski down the sidewalk.  Literally.  He got to the edge of the snow, and then clomped down through town on his Salomons.  Maybe he’s got a rich dad, who knows?

After I complete this, we’re going to the Left Bank, for rack of lamb and chocolate souffles.  And then back to L.A. tomorrow.

I haven’t skied on my birthday since 1975.  It’s good to get the tradition going once again.  And I attribute this to Felice.  Who hadn’t skied in ten years, but picked it back up at my insistence with a VENGEANCE!  There’s no slope too tough, nowhere she won’t go.  And to have a compatriot feels so good.  Especially one who bought me a pair of skis and a season pass for my birthday!