red lodge, montana

February 17, 2018

Now... Andre and I are very similar in most ways. We both have an unhealthy love for Thai food, we both adore a good flannel shirt during the winter and we both agree that a dirty dog is a happy dog. However, we do differ in one very extreme and distinct way. When skiing, I like to get to the mountain in time for first chair (the earlier the better), while Andre prefers to take the morning easy, go into town for a coffee, and meander up toward the mountain by mid-morning. At first, I could not understand this plan of action... er... inaction. I was constantly perplexed by the loss of valuable fresh morning terrain time. But this so happens to be one of the great lessons that I have been learning from this man: slow down, enjoy each moment.

Whenever we are walking somewhere together, he tugs on my arm and reminds me that there is absolutely no rush (even though I remind him that our dinner reservation was for 15 minutes ago). I have always thought that I am a journey kind of person instead of a destination one. And when looking at the big picture, I definitely am. However, moment to moment, I can easily get lost trying to rush toward what's next. I rush down the street, for instance, toward the restaurant that holds within it's walls my most favorite Gluten-Free pizza whom someone (an angel I assume) has smothered with globs of mashed potatoes. But as I rush, hyper-focused, toward my culinary Holy Grail, I could have easily missed the sign for a drag show I wanted to get tickets for, or the sweet woman in the Audi passing on warm clothes to a homeless man, or the puppy marching toward me, obviously needing my attention. I could have missed any of these small moments if not for these gentle reminders from the man walking next to me, hand in mine. Life, as it turns out, is not just about wheatless, mashed potato pizza - although I frequently have dreams at night about it - it is equally about those tiny, almost missed moments that are so fulfilling. 

The point is is that I found myself beginning to understand Andre's No Rush policy little by little during this week together. It was nice to cut out the morning rush and scramble to assemble ski gear before our bodies were properly caffeinated. It was also incredibly enjoyable to hold hands across the sticky table at a local coffee shop while critiquing the espresso shots and eavesdropping on groups of old crotchety men in overalls. And, much to my relief, the snow was still just as good at 9:30am and I was just as happy squished up next to my honey on our late first chair.

Drainage, best run of the day

Red Lodge ski resort turned out to be a tiny, throwback establishment. The base area was comprised of only a few small buildings (the largest of which was the bar - an architectural win in my book) and the mountain was home to a humble six chair lifts. Immediately during our first day we came to the conclusion that people from Montana are somehow nicer than both Coloradans and Oregonians combined. We met so many wonderful fellow skiers while cruising up the chair lifts and quickly had a list of the best runs, spots to eat and even tips on how to be great grandparents (still questioning how this one was applicable to us). Our first run of the day was past an "experts only" sign. Let me clarify by saying that only one of us in the group (*cough* Andre *cough*) is an expert skier. Andre is an incredible skier and I... well.. I like to say that I can do anything, it just won't be graceful. I'm full of bad skiing habits that Andre is patiently trying to coach me into breaking. What I like about skiing with him is that he pushes and challenges me to do things out of my comfort zone while still allowing me to say no and respecting when I'm just not comfortable. I tell him he's lucky that I'm not a perfect skier because it keeps him entertained while I crash and burn, over and over. He says he looks forward to the future boredom once I'm well trained. Whatever.

This first run was called Drainage and was the only run we did all morning. It was hidden deep in the trees with a steep grade and lots of powder. Views of sprawling Wyoming popped through openings in the trees here and there. On all the runs we made down Drainage, not once did we pass another person. My favorite part, however, was that hanging on and clinging to all the trees surrounding us  were huge clumps of bright green moss. Moss is one of those weird Oregonian things that we're all obsessed with and probably overly appreciate it's beauty. Since moving to Colorado, I have only seen moss a handful of times and seeing so much of it on this morning kept me "oo-ing" and "aw-ing" for hours on end. I may have also repeated fifty times too many, "We're moving here!"

Lunch of champions: Waffle sandwiches and Bloody Marys

After lunching with Julep down at the truck, we returned to find that the main lift we had been taking all morning was down due to a rare derailment and it's stranded occupants were slowly being evacuated. As we waited in the long line of the only other base lift, we were feeling lucky not to be two of the many stranded in a chair. We found some pretty good skiing on the other side of the mountain that afternoon, but nothing was able to compare to our prized Drainage run. Once our legs were sufficiently feeling like Jello that afternoon we called it a day and headed into town for some incredible bison burgers. Although we were quickly falling in love with little Red Lodge, it was time to move on along our ski route. We drove a couple hours to Bozeman and arrived just in time to set up camp at the first trailhead we found out of town. The car camping Gods were generous with another night of 15 degrees and only light wind. It was cozy inside our little winter cave and I couldn't help smiling as I fell asleep next to the man and dog who were both already snoring wildly beside me.