Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at [email protected].
Tony Vagneur/Photo courtesy
We had everything planned.
My ski partner for the day, Lorrie Winnerman, and I planned to do a few laps in the morning and then have lunch to catch up a lot. She and I went to Aspen High School together and have been hanging around ever since, but haven't really spent much time together. She called early Monday because of the bad weather and the day was off.
Now that we had time to spare, my daughter called during a leisurely breakfast to say that school had started late and the kids wanted to go for a run or two beforehand. “The children” she was referring to are my grandchildren, six and nine; There was an immediate look at the breakfast I had just prepared and a quick calculation of whether I would make it in time if I ate in the car. Ha! “I am on the way!” My dog gave me one of those “Do you have to ski every day” looks and I threw him some cookies and told him he was in charge.
You know how children are – they grow like weeds, and after I walked around, put on my boots and went to the gondola, at the other end of the square was my grandson, dressed in new clothes for the winter. Wow, I wouldn't have recognized him without the Aspen Ski Club jacket. And then right behind me came my granddaughter in a wild parka with great pants, her mother right behind and no gondola line. They had just arrived. It was our day to shine. New skis, boots, new gloves and a seething but growing excitement behind a serious smile.
It was their first day of the season and an opportunity to remove the insects from clothing or equipment. Everything seemed fine; Cash couldn't get lost after a few turns getting used to his new, longer skis, and after taking a few turns, Charli was back in the swing of things, making great, aggressive turns and keeping up with her mom.
Climbing over Deer Park, Cash was stunned because he had forgotten his parachute. Oh no, I forgot to bring the parachutes that my good friend Bill gave me for you. Next time we'll throw the parachutes and then jump there, take our parachutes and jump off the big rock. This elicited an approving smile. Yes!
At least in my opinion, being a grandparent and watching my grandchildren grow up in ski culture is a different perspective than being a parent. I am in awe and completely impressed by my daughter's dedication to bringing these children up the mountain; It takes a lot, and maybe part of that is because of the way she was raised.
Starting when I was two years old, I rode around Snowmass with her between my legs, and by the next year she had her own equipment and learned it quickly. Like most kids, it started after she figured out how the edges worked. From 3rd to 1st grade, she went to Powder Pandas with me one or two days a week, on weekends.
Once I was in school, I put her on the Aspen Ski and Snowboard Club bus every Saturday that went to Snowmass. I would come later and ski until it was time to pick her up. Then we went for a few runs together or went home, depending on our mood. The next day we got up bright and early and climbed the mountain of our choice, sometimes Aspen Mountain or Highlands, in addition to the other two. Walsh's was one of her favorites from a young age, to the core; and Steeplechase, oh man, run down after the other Steeplechase. “How about a cruiser, Lauren?” “Okay, Dad, after another down steeplechase.”
I love skiing with my grandchildren and their mother – all four of us go – and we seem to have a good system for keeping everyone happy, sometimes splitting up at the summit and hanging out at the chosen lift Hit the end of the slope. Our timing is generally excellent in this regard.
In any case, it's still early, and as I tell people who make excuses for not skiing well enough or fast enough, the level of skiability on any given day is measured by the size of one's smile.
Have a great winter!
Tony Vagneur writes here on Saturdays and welcomes your comments at [email protected].
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