Posted by: seasonaire | March 19, 2012

Babysitting Boys (and their toys) in Colorado

Awkward.

That is pretty much the only word that comes to mind when you think about spending two weeks with a group of lads, one of whom you are supposed to be involved with, some of the others with whom you may, at some point, have had some involvement with. Added to this is the recent discovery that you may not want to have anything to do with the one you are meant to be seeing. Fundamentally this was not likely to be the smoothest of rides for me, and possibly for them. This is just one of the reasons why I cannot have nice things, like boyfriends, I will only go and break them.

Boys, I discovered, you can leave to book condos, but not cars. If you leave it to a bunch of standard dudes to book a car, it will invariably end up being gigantic and unnecessarily bling, which ours was. Not particularly expensive, thankfully, as I was by far the poorest member of our little crew, but certainly a monstrosity by my reckoning. Still driving American cars is like driving go-karts, 2 pedals and ridiculous power steering, such that the weakest of the weak can easily cruise around in any size of behemoth like they own the road. So there we were, in Denver with the biggest vehicle you have ever seen, with the boys excitedly trying every button and complaining about the temperature. I ran away to the safety of our native Denverite (another old friend of mine) who would be joining us for a few days at the beginning of the holiday.

We were heading to Silverthorne, a typically American small town near to many of Colorado’s most famous ski resorts. Bitterly cold, I worried about not having enough clothes, and it turned out that I was right, oh so right. Unfortunately for me this was an expensive mistake. Still, luckily I am the size and shape of a teenage boy, so this meant I could purchase discount kids clothes and ensure a lack of frostbite for the remainder of the trip.

Since we had our local guide with us on the first day, we chose Vail as our fist port of call. Vail is vast, full of open bowls that are never groomed, and probably the windiest place I have ever been, and I spent all of my childhood summers on the East Coast of Scotland. The back bowls and Blue Sky were eventually closed, resulting in a 2 hour lift queue, and then a very long, erratic lift ride with all of the chairs being blown horizontal but the gale force wind.

After this rather distressing start to the holiday, it was time for Apres. We couldn’t wait to be proven right in our smug assumption that Americans had no concept of Apres, but were fortunately a little incorrect as we had failed to take account of the Happy Hour factor. American bars know how to make an hour happy. Usually several hours long, with uber cheap drinks, we were able to get pretty sozzled pretty quickly. Sozzled enough for one of our party to spend the next 4 hours sleazing on lesbians, but then straight boys have no gaydar, so I probably should have helped him out with that information.

TBC.

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Responses

  1. Er… never let the facts get in the way of a good story, especially if said story involves a stereotyping cliche… surely you remember that the original car was smaller and because we could not close the tailgate with all the luggage in we had to upgrade. And there was a much bigger option by the way.

    • Dude, you are going to have to not get so upset about details in the blog. I wasn’t even there for the upgrade conversation, so had to infer and insert stereotypes about petrolhead boys (which I feel are accurate enough given the company I was in). No names in there you will notice, I am not an idiot or malicious. End of the most boring comment ever, sorry folks x


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