Hawgs Part Two

February, 2021

From the Department of Be Careful What You Ask For, here come more stories of those powder chasing Hawgs. This is what happens when you suggest in a comment that I should write about my travels. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Kevin and I had been skiing Aspen Highlands when we met up with Bruce and a good friend of Bruce and Lynn’s named Barbara. At the time she was an eye surgeon and a very nice person who should know better than to hang with us. But she had a lift ticket so we headed to the nearest chair.

Barbara unwisely gets on the triple chair with Kevin and me. Since these are times pre COVID, I offer Barb a drink from my water tube attached to a flexible water bag. She politly declines explaining that she doesn’t drink fluids while skiing because that would require her to sacrifice hill time for the ladies room. I offer the nozzle to Kevin who begins to orally pleasure the tube with mock enthusiasm. Barb is appropriately disgusted. The tube remains frigidly limp.

One of the unique features of Aspen are the shrines, hidden in the trees, to departed luminaries like Jerry Garcia and Marilyn Monroe. Imagine my delight when I came upon a shrine at Aspen Highlands to one of my my favorite Aspen area luminaries Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. A letter told of his genteel civic involvement try to fight an expansion of the Aspen Airport and what a gentleman he was, in contrast to his well-deserved reputation. It was time to visit his old watering hole, the Woody Creek Tavern. Which we soon do, diving into nachos and toasting the good Dr. with shots of Wild Turkey.

By the time we have dinner Barb is not doing too well. She goes to bed early complaining of stomach flu. Lynn checks on her periodically. Meanwhile we decide to get a jam session going, with Bruce on electric drums, me on keyboards I had shipped over, Lynn on vocals, Kevin on audience, and Barb unable to sleep downstairs. We serenade her with numerous versions of Carole King’s “I Feel the Earth Move”. I mean, what are friends for?

In the morning Barb is doing better, a somewhat living testament to the healing power of music. If I were her I’d take a down day, but Barb announces that she’ll catch up with us later in the afternoon with Bruce (which she actually does). I immediately christen her The Barb Machine realizing she has become a full fledged Hawg.

Well, that’s about enough of this. As you might guess the whole sordid mess goes rapidly downhill, albeit on expertly waxed bases. I could go on and on, but I like you too much. If you do partake of gliding on frozen fluff, whether on two planks or one, lift or cross country, take a fall in some pow for me.