The Hawgs

February, 2021

I have had a number of requests (well, at least two that I can remember) to write about my various travels. Doubtless they are looking for expansive descriptions of breathtaking landscapes and erudite discussion of food and culture. They will be disappointed. For this next segment features the All American Ski Trip with, you guessed it,

The Hawgs.

This is not a family name but a collection of skiaholics that is always just inside of out of control. Except for yours truly, they are all excellent skiers. The Hawgs would convene when the stars aligned, and my cohort Kevin and I would fly out to Colorado to join our friend Bruce. People thought we liked hanging out with Bruce because of his sparkling intelligence, witty conversation and hospitable generosity. Actually, that’s why we hung out with Lynn, his beautiful better half. We hung with Bruce because he could get us discount lift tickets to the Aspen resorts, just a short drive away, and he had a wine collection we shamelessly depleted.

On one of ouf our first trips we had airline problems and our connection left without us. When we finally made it to our destination airport the next day, our luggage and ski equipment had decided not to join us. Not to sweat. Bruce ransacked his garage and storage closets to find his old discarded 80s snow wear, all in screeching fluorescence. A trip to the rental shop and we were set for a day on the slopes of Ajax. When I confessed to Bruce of my chagrin at walking through Aspen in mismatched neon fleece, he said “Relax. You look like locals.”

Little Nell’s sits at the base of Ajax and is prime apres ski territory. So prime that the waitresses are each armed with a can of mace lest some clown is stupid enough to step out of bounds. Kevin and I were resting our bones after a bluebird day on the mountain watching a bro trying to invite one of said waitresses to a house party. She told him where her accent was from as Kevin was looking elsewhere for another beer. Noticing our thirst she left the bro and started walking toward our table. “Kevin, trust me on this. Speak to her in Russian.”

“Hi. What would you like?”

“[Something unintelligible but in Russian]” says Kevin.

Her face shows shock for a split second followed by a linguistic gear shift. Much bantering between Kevin and the waitress ensues, all of it unintelligible but all of it in Russian.

At this point the bro has taken notice and is staring at Kevin. The bro’s bros have taken notice and are staring at Kevin. Every guy in her service area has taken notice and is staring at Kevin. Kevin, blissfully oblivious to the testosteronic deflation he has caused, banters on, all of it unintelligible but all of it in Russian. I’m wondering if I’m ever going to get a beer. She mercifully notices my thirst and relief is soon on its way. We leave her a nice tip.

One of the cool things about the Aspen area are a couple of hotel bars that feature close up magicians. The hotel at Snowmass featured internationally renowned close-up svengali Doc Eason. We were fortunate to be the benefactors of a barter between Lynn’s computer repair services and Doc’s magical prowess. At a small dinner party Doc went to work. One of his most impressive was the pick a card, replace it in a deck that was intensely shuffled, only to have that card appear under someone’s wine glass, trick. He repeated this trick numerous times and none of us could figure out how he knew the card that was picked (he never saw it) or saw him slide that card under an unsuspecting wine glass. I was fortunate to be able to see Doc perform at a number of other venues including the famed Magic Castle in Hollywood. Check him out on YouTube.

In the next segment I’ll introduce my favorite eye surgeon who, against her better judgment, becomes a Hawg.