Amanda Rae Was Here...

SKI SEASON IS OVER. BRB.

[Base Camp, Snowmass, Colorado, April 16, 2012]

50 degrees outside right this minute

32 days left in the Aspen/Snowmass ski season

18.4 miles shredded yesterday (via Ski Tracks iPhone app)

9 hours slept last night

1 very happy girl

[AMF trail, Snowmass, Colorado, March 11, 2012]

GPOYW: Don’t ask someone wearing mittens to take your photograph on the chairlift.

[Aspen Mountain, Colorado, March 2, 2012]

Oh, and I ride “The Skittles” to work…

[Snowmass, Colorado, March 5, 2012]

GPOYW: One Step Closer to Winter Bliss Edition

[Snowmass, Colorado, Mardi Gras, 2012]

Join the party for Presidents Day Weekend! (Burgers, sushi, beer, DJ: stellar après.)

[110 Carriage Way (facing Elk Gondola), Base Village, Snowmass, Colorado]

Special Delivery!

“That’s quite the package!” my housemate quipped. “Your father seems very…thorough.”

I’ve adapted some of his technique, too.

Two totally enthusiastic thumbs up for waking up in Santa Monica and shredding the slopes just two hours later.

At daybreak my brother and I donned our snow pants and piled into his car; a scant 90 minutes after passing downtown Los Angeles, we arrived at Mountain High for our first outings of the season.

Albeit on 100 percent man-made snow….

…but beneath a blazing California sun that soon bumped temps to the 40s, softening the East Coast-ish hardpack and shutting down the snow guns: 

How bizarre it was to see desert beyond, stretching for miles:

The place felt like our cozy old stomping grounds—Bousquet Ski Area, credited as the birthplace of the “rope tow gripper”—but with a high speed lift and less ‘tude. (Interestingly, skiers like Jason were outnumbered, like, 40 to 1. Not exaggerating.)

I didn’t have much of my own gear, so I was silently envious of his getup. For me, a white windbreaker sufficed in the warm weather; as did hiking socks and a gifted hat. Most importantly, I had pants, salvaged from my post-apocalyptic apartment nightmare in May:

They still smell like nasty black smoke and industrial-strength laundry detergent, which conjured up vivid memories of the worst laundry week of my life the worst week of my life, period—for the better part of the drive up there.

I’m over it.

Instead, I feel so incredibly lucky to have those pants in my favorite color, a Christmas gift from “Boarding Claus,” a symbol of strength with their double-taped seams, shrink-proof polyester, and sturdy snaps. Survivors.

Miraculously, I had stowed my snowboard and boots (not pictured) and these shiny Oakleys in my parents’ basement for the summer just three weeks before the crisis. So on July 1, I stashed the goggles and the pants in a duffel bag at the very back of my trunk, where there they’ve sat ever since in anticipation of today.

After 16 seasons on a snowboard and another 10 before that on skis, I am a self-admitted gear snob was a bit wary of the POS rental when the clerk handed it to me with loose screws on the bindings, but uh, I got what I paid for, and it served its purpose. The shady setup got me on the mountain, where we took the same three runs and met a handful of cool young kids for the better part of five hours.

Just like old days! Let it snow.