Woolly Mammoth...return to the ice age.

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Last year was my first trip to this awe-inspiring beast of a mountain and this year it was even more of an enjoyable experience. The thin, post-holiday crowd was a lot easier to manage; the weather was perfect, sunny, and clear; and there was a crap ton of the white shit!

I do my best to ignore all the rich kids here with their brand new gear, omnipotent smirks, and lack of skiing/snowboarding abilities, but shit, if you can't make it down the double black diamond that you thought you could, don't sit in the middle of the run looking for yellow snow to eat, get up and move to the side.

In typical fashion, The Rocky Mountain Barking Spiders returned! Whether I'm on a plane, on top of a mountain, or in any sort of high altitudideness, I end up having a great deal of gas. I can fart all day, but the pressure in my abdomen refuses to go away. I can deal with the farting, it's just those around me that get horribly offended. I even make significant contributions to the jacuzzi's effervescence, but I'm never given credit where's it's do...either way, I can't help it.

Every day, generally, went by the following order of business: wake up complaining of aches and pains, fly the RC helicopter until it breaks, ski out, get lost, ski in, hit the jacuzzi, Wii, movie....eating and drinking was definitely involved somewhere in there. Oh, and farting.

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