I have been wanting to do a "best of" post from last winter for awhile. In thinking it through, I realized that one ride report was missing, and even though it wasn't the most epic, I think it captures the spirit that makes the 7YW roll. So here it is, "The Utah Trip".

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The trip was meant to be a week of bumping around the West, scoring those epic runs that stay with you forever. Unfortunately, it seemed doomed to failure pretty early on. First my wife's mother went into the hospital the Wednesday before I was to leave, then my flight was canceled while I was standing in line to board. Multiple times I felt like flushing the trip down the toilet and perhaps I should have. I arrived well late into SLC after enduring a whirlwind of misadventures that only United can create. John picked me up and we proceeded to exercise the customary arrival ritual of drinking far too late, ensuring the worst possible physical condition for the first day of riding.

We headed out to John's traditional stomping grounds, The Canyons, in the mid-ish morning to get a little ride on. John insisted that conditions sucked, but I was 99% sure they were actually pretty good. I am sure he will chime in about how awful it was, he will probably even apologize. There were some long hikes to places that sounded like farmyard songs. John kept giving me advice, like make sure your zips are open. Despite these inspirational words, I lagged far behind, which of course I blame on the tasty beverages the night prior. Around the time that you start thinking about calling last run but don't because, well, you know why, we were crashing through some low angle birches. I came around a bend and to find John lurched over in pain on the far side of a sort of rainbow tree. I didn't have my camera so I made the below image to recreate the scene.

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It was pretty obvious when John gasped for air and wheezed out an apology, that the day of riding was finito. Off we went to the doctor, where it was determined that not only was the day shot, John's season was 2 months shorter. Multiple broken riblets, John apologized again.

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While this probably should have been the completion of my trip, especially with the homefront issues, I figured I had already imposed on Utah, I might as well ride it out while I could, winter dickhead syndrome example one. John put me in contact with the man, Benny, and I was off to Snowbird in the morning. Wow, I love that place. With steady downfall of the fluffy kitty, Benny guided me to all the goods. We steadily added comrades to our posse. The highlight of the day was definitely skirting across the ridgeline, through the enemy territory of Alta, to seek out the Comma Chute. I got that warm squishy feeling inside knowing that I spit on two of the anti-snowboarding regimes this winter (MRG and Alta). Somewhere in the trees, I lost the crew for a bit, eventually locating the girls. It should be noted that the girls, Chessa and Wendy, are some of the most badass skiers I have ridden with, male or female, period.

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We snaked through the trees for a bit and finally dumped out into the elusive Comma Chute. Radical. I was destroyed at the conclusion of riding, those kids in the Wasatch lay some serious tracks when the snow flies. Despite all the radness that had been had, I made the decision to cut the trip short and get home to the family.

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Of course, I managed to get another half a day of shredding with Mike in before hopping a plane back east. This was the time of that massive March storm that shut the entire Northeast down. It was a minor miracle that I could get through at all. Unfortunately, the only airport available for landing was three hours away from home at 1 am. Fear not, a Chevy Aveo, a vehicle with the exact interior length as a board bag, was on tap for the slosh. With a solid coat of snow on the roads, the 3 hour trip took me 4.5. At 5:30am, with a few hours of sleep, the only reasonable thing to do was head over the hill and shred some snow at MRG.

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After dropping first tracks top to bottom under the single chair, I was showing off my snowboard at the base when the head of marketing came up. Seeing the Snowbird ticket, assuming that I was that guy bragging about my western days, he stated sarcastically, "so were you just at Snowbird?" I responded flatly, "yeah, yesterday." That moment alone made the weeks of cold home life worth it.

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