Ridgelines: Courtesy of a birthday ki

Last Friday was February 28th. My birthday. And yes, I was almost a baby baby baby. With a stage show that is due that evening, I hadn't planned anything special that day. However, when I returned from an airport in the early morning, I decided that it was just too good that it didn't get on the skis.

With equipment in the car I ran Parley's again. My Skikumpel, Tom, wrote that they met at 9 a.m. I made my way to our traditional canyons Meetup spot. Tom loves to use emojis. I think I misunderstood the little sun with the dancers.

“I will meet her there at 9 in the Cabriolet,” I wrote. “We are in Sundance,” he replied. Well, that won't work. So I diverted and didn't want to get involved in the Kimball Junction's traffic jet.

I skipped canyons for the day with a little disappointment. I do not know if others have experienced this, but on their birthday the pass scaning readers in Park City Mountain have this digital happy birthday tone, which runs out when scanning, and says all around them that it is a special day.

But I decided to enjoy the melodic enjoyment for the beautiful paved parking lot in the Deer Valley East Village, where I climbed 10 steps from the shuttle.

I just felt special with the clear Blue Sky and in the mid-20s temperatures-as someone would have arranged this for me. The comfortable heated seats on Keetley Express were an inviting pleasure. On the way up we looked at the freshly maintained cord cord in the floating runs, which knew from a ridge line from me that it was not yet served on lift.

“How do we get there?” said one of my seatingmates. “I think you do it or that,” said another. I got involved: “It will be all next year. Care is just a marketing tool for the Snowcat tours that you run there. “

Disappointed. I didn't tell you the costs for the cat tours.

This was a birthday no. 73. Last year I decided in the middle of the season to ski at my age. And I hit 72 days. This year I chose quality about quantity. A much more civilian plan. In fact, this was a quality day.

I dropped Keetley for Sultan and rode into the sunlight. I wandered Nabob and Birdseye and fell to Quincy. It was a break, so I skilfully pushed myself into the red cloud for a quiet five-minute drive and tore my favorite star gaza before I fell to Silver Strike.

My buoyancy staff included a local plus skier from Ohio and Nashville. I asked the skier from the Buckeye state my constant question of the middle west: “Ski in Ohio?” He laughed until I told him I was from Wisconsin. It turned out that he grew up there. We talked about the packers and skiing on the Christmas mountain, in Cascade and Devil's Head – my haunt about 50 years ago. Apparently they are all there.

I did Hawkeye to Lady Morgan Express after Empire and turned the spine to the top one after I spent a few minutes at the top to the Daly Chutes. Not today.

I rode up Ruby Express and thought of a tea at the window in Cushing's cabin. I love my time there.

But the hell, that was my birthday! It was the right time for a little splendor.

I know I shouldn't give away any secrets. But I still don't understand how more skiers have not discovered the Kitz in Golden Hirsch. Nine of ten years I can run late in the morning and get the cozy seats on the fireplace.

No hearty scones today, so I chose a wonderful almond croissant and a green tea. It was calm and comfortable. I felt a bit royal in the fur chair and stretched my Dalbello boots towards the fire.

What a civilian way of celebrating a birthday.

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