Last Friday was Feb. 28. My birthday. And, yes, I almost was a leap-year baby. With a stage show coming up that evening, I hadn’t planned anything special that day. But returning from an early morning airport run, I decided it was just too nice a day not to get out on the skis.
With gear in the car, I dashed back up Parley’s. My ski buddy, Tom, texted that they were meeting at 9 a.m. So,I headed for our traditional Canyons meetup spot. Tom loves to use emojis. I guess I misunderstood the little sun with the dancers.
“I’ll meet you there at the Cabriolet at 9,” I texted. “We’re at Sundance,” he replied. Well, that won’t work. So I diverted, not wanting to get caught in the Kimball Junction traffic quagmire.
I skipped Canyons for the day with a bit of disappointment. I don’t know if others have experienced this, but on your birthday, the pass-scanning readers at Park City Mountain have this digital happy birthday tone that goes off when you scan, telling everyone around you that it’s a special day.
But I chose to forego that melodic treat for the nice paved parking lot at Deer Valley East Village, where I booted up 10 steps from the shuttle.
I just felt special with the clear blue sky and mid-20s temps — like someone had arranged this for me. The cushy heated seats on Keetley Express were a welcoming treat. On the way up, we looked across to the freshly groomed corduroy on sweeping runs coming off a ridgeline I knew wasn’t lift-served yet.
“How do we get over there?” said one of my seatmates. “I think you do this or that,” said another. I chimed in, “That will all be next year. The grooming is just a marketing tool for the snowcat tours they’re running there.”
Disappointment set in. I didn’t tell them the cost of the cat tours.
This was birthday No. 73. Last year, I decided mid-season to ski my age. And I did hit 72 days. This year, I chose to opt for quality over quantity. A much more civil plan. This was, indeed, a quality day.
I dropped off Keetley for Sultan, riding up into the sunlight. I wandered down Nabob and Birdseye, dropping down to Quincy. It was on pause, so I deftly pivoted to Red Cloud for a calm five-minute ride, then ripped some nice turns on my favorite Stargazer before dropping down to Silver Strike.
My liftmates included a local plus skiers from Ohio and Nashville. I asked my perennial Midwest question to the skier from the Buckeye state, “Do you ski in Ohio?” He laughed until I told him I was from Wisconsin. Turns out he grew up there. We talked about the Packers and skiing at Christmas Mountain, Cascade, and Devil’s Head — my haunts some 50 years ago. Apparently, they are all still there.
I did my little loop down Hawkeye to Lady Morgan Express down to Empire and skied the spine down Supreme after spending a few minutes at the top gazing out to the Daly Chutes. Not today.
Riding up Ruby Express, I thought about a tea by the window in Cushing’s Cabin. I do love my time there.
But, heck, this was my birthday! It was the right time for a little splurge.
I know I shouldn’t give away secrets. But I still don’t get how more skiers haven’t discovered The Kitz at Goldener Hirsch. Nine times out of 10 I can walk in late morning and get the cozy seats by the fireplace.
No savory scones today, so I settled for a wonderful almond croissant and a green tea. It was quiet and comfortable. I felt somewhat regal in the fur-lined chair, stretching my Dalbello boots out towards the fire.
What a civil way to celebrate a birthday.