By Archie Bunker
abunker@vaildaily.com
Awright, lemme tell ya somethin’ about this so-called “spring skiing” in Colorada. First off, I don’t know who the hell decided that slush and sunshine make for a good time on a mountain, but apparently, all the meatheads out here think wearin’ tutus and Hawaiian shirts while slidin’ down a hill is some kinda cultural experience. Ain’t that a kick?
Now wait just a minute, I ain’t sayin’ the whole thing’s bunkerbunk — the good old days had their fair share of spring slope shenanigans, too. But back then, we didn’t need no DJs, no “Party Grass,” and we sure as hell didn’t need some guy in a hot dog suit belly-floppin’ into a pond to feel alive. We just strapped on a pair of boards, zipped up our parkas, and prayed we didn’t snap a femur on the ice.
But I’ll be damned if these folks today ain’t havin’ a ball. Breckenridge? Copper? A-Basin? They’re all actin’ like the slopes turned into Studio 54 with lift passes. You got live music, DJs, giveaways, and guys named Homer, Buford, and Cletus posin’ with the governor. And not just any governor — Jared Polis! The hell ya do! Back in Queens, the most excitement we got from the government was a pothole gettin’ filled.
Now, these ski types keep talkin’ about “corn” snow. First time I heard that, I thought somebody spilled their side dish on the run. Turns out, it’s this fancy springtime snow that’s all melty and refreezy and ends up lookin’ like little frozen kernels under your skis. Y’know what I’m sayin’? And they swear by it! They say it’s the next best thing after powder. I dunno, sounds like a load of hooey. But I gotta admit, Tater Joe Wampler — some weather wise guy from OpenSnow — he made a point: this corn stuff forms on south, east, and west-facing slopes like clockwork, just waitin’ for some numbskull to carve it up in short sleeves.
Now listen here. The trick, they say, is to sleep in. Sleep in! On a ski day! I got half a mind to write a letter. But then again, I ain’t what ya’d call a “morning person,” and neither is my sciatic nerve, so maybe the kids got somethin’ there. Grab a cuppa Joe in town, slap on some sunscreen so ya don’t fry like bacon, and hit the mountain when it’s all softened up. That’s the plan. Just don’t push it.
And speakin’ of sunscreen. For cryin’ out loud, if I see one more lobster-faced snowboarder complainin’ about a goggle tan, I’m gonna lose it. Yer mother told ya, wear the damn sunscreen. You’re ten thousand feet closer to the sun. Use yer head, moron.
Now about this pond skimming thing. Back in my day, if you fell in a body of water in full ski gear, someone called the Coast Guard. These days, they applaud! You got people dressin’ like bacon strips, bananas, and full-blown circus acts, hurlin’ themselves at a pond like it’s the Olympic Trials for Lunatics. Whoop-de-doo! That’s not a sport, that’s a cry for help. I call it like I see it.
Then there’s this “Gay Basin” shindig goin’ on at A-Basin. DJs, dancin’, live music — the whole schmear. Look, I might not understand all the razzmatazz, but I gotta hand it to ‘em. They know how to throw a party, and they ain’t hurtin’ nobody, so knock it off with the pearl-clutchin’. Live and let live, I say. Long as no one’s tryin’ to make me wear sequins on the lift, I ain’t complainin’.
Now, a guy named Rick “Pup” Ascher — that’s right, Pup, like a dog, go figure — owns a glide shop over in Breckenridge. He says, and I quote, “It all comes down to an open pattern on the base and a good, soft wax.” I tell ya, if I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me in the Navy, I’d be swimmin’ in martinis.
Anyhoo, Pup swears by this spring waxin’ ritual. Rubs the stuff on his skis every day like it’s Vicks VapoRub. Claims it makes ya glide smoother through the slush, like butter on a hot griddle. Without it, you’re stuck tighter than Edith’s girdle on a humid day.
And it ain’t just the snow, it’s the whole vibe. That’s what they keep sayin’. “Spring is a total vibe.” What the hell does that even mean? Back in Queens, a “vibe” was the creepy guy who lived two floors down and never left his apartment. But out here, it means laid back, colorful, and probably involves neon pants and a snowblade or two.
So yeah, spring skiin’ in Colorada’s a different animal. You got bears runnin’ across the trails — I kid you not — and folks actin’ like it’s Mardi Gras on ice. But I gotta admit, there’s somethin’ charming about it all. Sunshine, costumes, and slushy turns. It ain’t the good old days, but it ain’t half bad either. Just stifle yourself, keep the wax handy, don’t forget the SPF 550, and try not to end up in a viral video dressed as a taco.
Case closed.
About the Author
Archie Bunker, celebrated outdoor sports journalist and self-proclaimed “Sultan of Slalom,” has been grumbling his way through the Colorado ski scene since the 1960s. His recent Powder Grit Magazine exclusives include, “Why Spring Skiing Is for Hippies and Fools” and “How to Yell at a Snowboarder Without Moving Your lips.” When not fearlessly reporting from après-ski buffets, Archie enjoys yelling at squirrels, and collecting vintage Spam. He resides in Canker Soot, Nebraska with his wife, Clodene, and their three kids, Hobart, Velma-May, and Darlene-Jewel who all share his passion for sarcasm.
