Up, up, up we went, the red tram packed with a hundred and some skiers and snowboarders all chattering excitedly, up to Hidden Peak, Snowbird's summit at 11,000 feet. At the top, we exited the tram and stood for a moment to get our bearings and to collect our wits about us, blinking in the suddenness of the brilliant sunshine and taking in the three-sixty panorama. The Bird--as we later learned was what the locals called it--did not disappoint. Then it was time to ski! We took a blue slope at top speed, eyeing warily the diamonds with names like Organ Grinder and Last Choice, and found ourselves in a wide-open bowl with little direction to go but straight down. A full day at Snowbird on Wednesday and we began to understand its reputation as one of America's most challenging ski areas. We left the day exhausted, smiling as best we could with whatever energy we could muster. Wednesday night we slept well.

Thursday would be our last day of skiing, and we voted for an afternoon at Brighton. We took things easy, everyone exhausted as we were, and spent the next few hours carving gently down the slopes there. Greg and I stayed on for night skiing as Kip and Henry called it a day. As the sun sank low, the night lights came on and the shadows of the pines grew longer and longer until they reached all the way across the runs, skinny black lines across white like barcodes on the slopes.

We're back in the city now, utterly spent after our trip, our legs barely able to carry us up to the apartment and our minds clamouring for rest. That's what six days of skiing will do to you. That's how six days of too much fun will make you feel.

I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

More photos from our trip uploaded here.

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Whew, we're here. After a late-night arrival into Salt Lake City on Friday, we drove to our overnight room at La Quinta, where we promptly lost electricity as we munched on post-midnight Wendy's. A few short hours of sleep later, we quickly re-packed our bags by candlelight and headed to our condo at the base of Brighton. Then it was off to the slopes. Afternoon skiing led to night skiing, and perfect blue skies darkened as the nighttime lights went on, tiny from the chair lifts, sparkling like fireflies on the slopes.

Two days at Brighton, one full day at Solitude, perfect powder and burning, burning legs, we are resting this morning lazy as can be before taking in an afternoon at the slopes once more. It's been an amazing trip so far, and we're only halfway through the week. Exhilarating, thoroughly exhilarating, and just what I needed.

Photos from our trip continually updated here.

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The dog days of winter are getting to me. Work pressures collaborate efficiently and friendlessly with sun-depressed evenings, and emotions run ragged at times. I am not alone, though. I look around, and there are a lot of tired souls about me. Tempers are shorter, faces are pale, everyone seems to be down with some malady or another. For me, it's the darkened nights that are worst, the darkened nights that gently coax personal demons out of hibernation. And they come out, yes they do, quietly at first, gently slipping in and out of the shadows, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes and licking with salt-caked tongues the wounds of my insecurities.

There's much on my mind these days. Much to think about, much to absorb, much to discard. Why is it that things so important in the now turn out to be so trivial when a little time has passed? Perhaps this is exactly what I need: some time away, some time to mull things over, some time to just sit back and relax and get out of the quagmire that is my head right now. Let the subconscious do the processing.

We're heading tonight to Salt Lake City for a week of skiing. Perhaps, indeed, this is what I need. Perhaps indeed, yes. I am looking forward to it, oh yes I am.

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