Thanksgiving for the Perfectos

I know what I’m thankful for, and that’s the fact that Aaron and I are still alive. Here’s how the Thanksgiving weekend happened. (See Ayo’s blog for an alternative, but probably not as good, account).

and here's the pics...
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Wed: Ayo flies in for about 7 hours of acclimatization. This is accomplished w/ Thai food and Japanese beer.

Thurs: Wow. Call time: 4 am. We (the All-Star Perfectos) leave the friendly confines of Denver for the harsh Rocky Mountains, whom we all know don’t fucking care. They’ll kill you. We drive to the base of Copper Mountain Ski Resort. The goal: ascend 2000 ft and 6 miles via cross-country skis to a virtually inaccessible cabin for a thanksgiving feast while carrying about 35 pounds of gear and food in sub-freezing temperatures. Certain death.

First we hike ½ mile while flipping off the shuttle bus that wouldn’t take us to where we needed to be. Then, the ski lifts that were supposed to take us 1000 ft up, were not working. Less than awesome. We now have to cross-country ski UP a ski run. Keep in mind that I only know how to snowboard and Aaron can count the number of times he has been skiing on one hand (he is also missing a thumb). After 45 minutes of sweating and cursing, we succeed in getting our skis on. This is followed by about 20 minutes of getting retarded: falling over, rolling around like a turtle, and making the mountains laugh at us.

About midmorning (we took no watches), we make our first step forward and up. We quickly find out that our sure-fire acclimatization plan for Aaron was not successful since he is hallucinating about polar bears and Scandinavian prostitutes. We trek on and almost lost our food when Aaron nearly fell off a rail-less bridge covered in 3 feet of snow (Aaron would have died also). Against all better judgment we pushed on.

After midday we reached the point of no return. No telling if we were going to find this mythical cabin or not, but we damn sure couldn’t go back now. Then the mountain got really steep….and we ran out of water….and the trail began to disappear into the snow…..and finally the sun began to go down. Lord knows I didn’t want to cuddle with Aaron in a sleeping bag/bivvy sack, so there was some concern.

With temperatures plummeting and Ayo plotting my assassination for dragging him along, we finally arrived at the greatest cabin I have ever seen. We would live. We quickly fired up the Franklin stove and cooked the most awesome thanksgiving feast possible with ground turkey and instant stuffing.

Well after dark a Yeti attacked the cabin. This actually turned out to be a crazy couple (also staying in the cabin) who had been snowshoeing through the dark, following our trail for a several hours. They were lucky to be alive. We shared our bourbon (just like the pilgrims and Indians) and we all gave thanks for not being dead and for not being OJ Chandler.

Fri: We rise early to begin our descent. Going up on cross-country skis, while tiring, is at least similar to walking. Going down on steep trails with 35 lbs on your back is disaster if your name is Ringo. I made up new curse words. Aaron helped me out by talking pictures of me as I writhed around in 3 ft of power on a 45 degree slope. He’s a piece of shit. I also hated the two snowshoers who followed us and tore up our nice ski-tracks and made our lives a living hell. There was a bit of frustration this day.

A positive of this leg of the trip was getting to ski down a mile of untouched powder on the unopened ski slope of Copper Mountain. Very boss. Victory was ours.

We then hike thru Copper resort where rich ski folks gawk at the freaks carrying funny ski equipment and huge packs. However, they were also impressed at the size of our huge steel balls.

We had some issues getting a hotel room to stay in Breckenridge, but once again, we played the huge steel ball card and there were no problems.

Sat: Early start to hit the slopes of Breck. I’m no expert snowboarder, but I felt like an X-games champion compared to those cursed skis. It even started snowing at lunch to give us powder in the afternoon.

Powder is pretty awesome until it closes I-70. However, the interstate was opened on the way to Denver, although that came with a 45% chance of death. Fortunately, the weight of our huge steel balls gave us traction, and the bourbon stilled Ayo’s nerves (definitely not driving), so that we escaped the mountains.

Back in Denver, we celebrated at the shittiest dive bar we could find. Bad idea. Cheap drinks are cool, but they couldn’t outweigh the toothless, gibberish speaking prostitute who kept trying to sell herself to us. I still feel nauseous.

Sun: Aaron is sent packing to the airport. Good luck getting those balls thru security.

ayo's account
http://dayglowayo.blogspot.com/

ayo's pics
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The Spaceshuttle Diaries

What have I been up to? Lately I’ve spent a lot of time dressing as a space man.

Last winter I was buying everything necessary for life at the thrift store, as I had none of these things except a snowboard and a tent. I came across an antique costume called “Little Astronaut” which featured a kick-ass plastic jumpsuit and helmet. Unfortunately, the jumpsuit was for a 6 yr old. BUT, I discovered the helmet not only featured a lock-down type bubble helmet, but also a hole to insert a straw for drinking while in outer space. Sold. I later picked up a fitting jumpsuit elsewhere, and Jen impressed everyone with her mad-sewing skills to put the hip NASA patches on.

The spacesuit was the only investment I have ever made. This past month has been nothing but profits.

The visual profits: http://share.shutterfly.com/action/welcome?sid=8AcMWLVy3bN2Hw

I tried it out in mid-October at some chick’s party. It was a “What You Want to Be when You Grow Up” party. I don’t really remember wanting to be an astronaut, but that was before I had such an ass-kicking costume. If more children had this outfit in the 70’s we’d be living on Mars right now.

The 2nd Annual Clown Pub Crawl (and probably last) gave me my next venue. I went as Pluto the Space Clown. Hideous yet awesome.

Then I wore it to a costume contest at a pub in Bret’s stomping grounds of Boulder. The people loved me, but I finished 2nd behind some crazy lesbian chick in a cupcake costume with real frosting. I know because the naughty cop made me taste it. That last sentence could be another blog entry all on its own.

The next evening consisted of a swank dance club filled with animals in costumes. Someone was even giving these animals booze. A highlight was Greg dressing up as himself 20 years from now. The ladies were afraid. As they should have been.

The last appearance was with the hippies to see a band do Michael Jackson covers. Now, I like Michael and all. I always wanted a red jacket with zippers and I can do a mean monster dance, but Jen was in euphoric state of pop-ecstasy. I’m surprised she’s not following this band's tour as a Jackson-5 groupie right now.

And thus the costume rests. It’s nice not wearing a helmet, but damn, I miss that hydration system.