DISCLAIMER (PLEASE READ BEFORE ARGUING):
This journal was dictated by Stephen, often while tired, cold, hungry, skiing, driving, walking, or actively missing important details. It was then embellished, polished, and occasionally egged on by ChatGPT, which has no legal standing, no firsthand knowledge, and no loyalty to any cousin.
All events described herein are based on true stories, real people, and actual snow… mostly. However, due to voice dictation errors, selective memory, dramatic flair, and the natural exaggeration that occurs after skiing all day, some timelines, conversations, distances, costs, motives, and personalities may be inaccurate, reordered, or entirely imagined.
Therefore, this document should be considered a work of semi-fiction.
Any resemblance to actual persons—living, dead, or currently arguing in a group text—or to ski rope boundaries, ski runs, parking lots, HOA presidents, hot tubs, chairlifts, pillows, ski boots, cameras, or financial spreadsheets is purely coincidental and absolutely not grounds for a rebuttal.
If you believe something here is incorrect,
you are probably right.
FOREWORD
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the legendary C-SKI Vacation Trip: Mini-Extravaganza Adventure—a tale not merely of skiing, but of vacationing with irrational confidence.
The Chiricos are bonded by a rare and powerful value system, passed down through elite genes, big muscles, and even bigger opinions. These values include, but are not limited to: FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), adventure, value, and the unwavering belief that if you talk about doing something long enough, you might as well do it, regardless of logistics, weather, sleep deprivation, or basic comfort.
Despite a 100% difference in age across the group—and a 1,000% difference in the ability to digest dairy—the Chirico’s remain united by their shared obsessions: powder skiing, maximizing ski passes, chasing storms, chasing deals, and turning minor decisions into full strategic summits. We believe deeply in putting our mouths exactly where our frugal dollars are, even when those dollars are being stretched, questioned, re-allocated, and audited in real time.
This trip is proof that excellent adventures can still happen when you combine relentless optimism, questionable planning, elite athletic confidence, and a total disregard for the phrase “good enough.” It is also proof that off mountain adventures are just as thrilling as ski adventures—but it’s the skiing really.
What follows is a chronicle of powder days, pivots, spreadsheets, hot chocolate ROI, and deeply held beliefs delivered at high volume. It is a story of cousins, chaos, and commitment—to skiing one more run, to finding one more deal, and to never, ever admitting uncertainty.
Enjoy the ride.
And remember: if it feels unnecessary, expensive, or mildly dangerous… it’s probably exactly right.
Steamboat Ski Trip Journal – Day One (C-SKI ❤️)
Day one started early—very early. After 4 hours of sleep, Stephen woke up at 5:10 AM. The Uber arrived at 5:30, and by 6:00 AM I was at Newark Airport. Security took all of fifteen minutes, and by 6:20 Stephen was comfortably planted in the United Lounge thanks to his free annual passes about to expire next month.
By 6:30 AM, Stephen had already committed to vacation mode: two gin and tonics, two Bloody Marys, an egg sandwich, and some egg whites (balance). At 7:15, Stephen headed to the gate.
The flight took off on time, and luck was on Stephen’s side—no one took the middle seat in his premium economy row. Smooth sailing overall. Stephen slept on and off and half-watched The Devil Wears Prada (Meryl Streep + Anne Hathaway never disappoint and his client is MS’s Ex-Sister In Law). We landed at 10:09 AM, a full 21 minutes early.
Stephen promptly texted Anthony, who said, “He’ll be there by 10:30.” Yampa Valley Airport is fantastic—tiny, efficient, and very Steamboat. He walked off the plane onto the tarmac, bags came quickly, and there was an entire designated ski area overflowing with skis (as expected).
Anthony and Courtney picked Stephen up, and after about 25 minutes, we arrived at Steamboat. Getting through the parking gate required a little help—Stephen chatted up a cleaning person who graciously let us in. Courtney, Anthony, and Stephen changed right in the parking lot. Thankfully, it was warm….too warm….where was the snow?
We walked straight over to the mountain, where Michelangelo immediately started texting:
“Where are you? Where are you? We want to ski with you. Come to the Rendezvous Bar. There is a DJ here”
None of us knew where that was, but Anthony wanted to ski first (which would become a theme). Still, when we got to the top and saw a sign for Rendezvous, we figured we had to check in with Cousin Michelangelo.
At Rendezvous, we met Harlie’s friends and then spent an impressively long amount of time deciding where to ski—very on-brand for group skiing, especially with the Chirico boys. Eventually, we headed over to the Sunshine area, far skier’s right. The lift line was decent but manageable.
We skied for a while, people split off, Harlie’s friends eventually left, and Mike switched skis—downgrading from 188s to 180s. A few more runs followed before Courtney and Harlie went in to grocery shop and give their muscles a break.
Michelangelo wanted to ski the trees. Anthony, on the other hand, wanted to “ski where the wind blows” because he just rips. He also said he wanted to “ski circles,” which we eventually realized meant green circles. This sparked a mild East Coast vs. West Coast debate, as the Coloradans were mildly offended by the trail color system. Turns out no one calls the just “Circles”, except Anthony.
A few runs later, as we were heading down Why Not, Anthony and Stephen noticed a lift still turning. Seeing an opportunity for more skiing, we bailed on Michelangelo and took one last ride.
After skiing top to bottom, we wrapped up at lift close at 4:00 PM, went back to the car, changed out of our ski clothes, and dropped our equipment at Ski Butlers—where our gracious hosts work. Ski Butlers (owned by Alterra) delivers skis concierge-style to wealthy skiers, who can’t carry their own skis as pricing runs about 15–20% more than walk-in shops. It’s a great gig for the staff as they get gracious tips, flexible hours, and a lively work environment complete with stocked fridge and couches at the hangout space in the basement.
Back at the cozy one-bedroom condo, we had drinks, chips, and snacks while Harlie cooked a delicious pasta with meat sauce, onions, and peppers. We brought food down to our hosts at the shop, stopped at the Pack-A-Package store for High Noons, beer, and supplies, then made another trip back to Ski Butlers to deliver said gifts.
Walking back to the condo, it finally became clear to Michelangelo just how ridiculously generous our hosts are—housing Harlie’s boyfriend’s cousin and his brother, and brother’s girlfriend in a one-bedroom. Michelangelo also hadn’t fully processed that Stephen might be sleeping on the floor, or possibly crawling into bed with Michelangelo and Harlie—depending on how bad everyone smells.
And that wraps Day One of the First Annual Cousins Ski Trip—officially branded C-SKI, a name coined by Bruce that works equally well as Chirico Ski or Cousins Ski ❤️.
Either way, it sticks. It even has a familiar ring to it—reminiscent of CE (Chirico Extravaganza), the undisputed crown jewel of vacations and the high-water mark for organized Chirico chaos.
If Day One is any indication, C-SKI is clearly warming up to join the family tradition… and we’re just getting started.
Cliff Note:
Michelangelo was skiing with an Insta360 camera, which records everything in full 360°. But somewhere around the Sunshine area, it became clearer that Michelangelo was not just skiing — he was producing content. He was armed with an Insta360 camera, a device capable of recording everything in a full 360°, including powder, trees, cousins, and every ounce of our collective patience.
After nearly every run, Michelangelo would come to a sudden stop and ask, with real concern,
“Do you see a red dot? Is it recording? Is it on? Is it on?”
This question alone accounted for at least two full chairlift cycles’ worth of time.
At least twice, we had to pull over so he could change camera positions, negotiate angles, or otherwise convince the technology to cooperate. Momentum would build, skis pointed downhill, spirits high — and then suddenly: camera meeting.
The most dangerous part, however, came on the chairlift. Under no circumstances were you allowed to put the safety bar down. Doing so would either shatter the Insta360 lens or catapult Michelangelo into a neck brace, possibly both. So we rode up dangling freely, wind whipping, silently trusting that content creation was worth the risk.
In the end, we skied on—Anthony ripping wherever the mountain sent him, Michelangelo chasing cinematic perfection, Stephen trying not to die on a chairlift, Harlie strapping in and out just to keep pace, Courtney dialing in her form—and all of us learning that while 360° footage captures everything, it also stops the trip after every run to ask, “Wait… was it on?”
C-Ski Trip Journal – Day Two (Sunday)
Day Two was Sunday. Not Saturday. Definitely Sunday.
Despite the one-bedroom situation and the general human pile-up, everyone somehow got a surprisingly good night’s sleep. People began stirring around 9:00–9:30 AM, and Harlie heroically made bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwiches, which very well received. In true ski-trip fashion, all urgency vanished once breakfast was consumed.
What followed was a very slow-motion morning. People taking turns in the bathroom, then collectively taking way too long getting dressed and ready. We finally made it out the door around 10:00 AM, stopped at the shop to grab our skis, and walked toward the mountain. But by then then Anthony’s ski patience was thin and he headed to the mountain thinking Harlie and Michaelangelo would somehow catch up. They were getting demo rentals and were just generally slow. Stephen followed Anthony & Courtney to the mountain choosing vertical over togetherness. But, thanks to cell phones, it wasn’t long before we met up again .
We headed over to Morningside, where we got two solid runs of really good snow, though the entrance made us earn it with a hard mogul field that politely reminded everyone it was still early. After several more runs, hunger became the dominant force, so we made our way down, took the gondola back up, and aimed for Rendezvous Lodge where we were the day before and they had a DJ spinning dance tunes.
We arrived around 2:15 PM, which turned out to be the exact wrong time. The DJ started packing up at 2:30, and food service was wrapping up, but we managed to eat anyway and declare it “lunch-adjacent.”
After that, Courtney, Harlie, and Michelangelo decided they were mostly done skiing for the day and opted for cocktails and a leisurely journey back. Anthony and Stephen, however, chose (drum roll) more skiing —in the pursuit of more vertical. They explored trying to get to the west side of the mountain, eventually concluding it was closed… but not before squeezing in plenty of great runs.
We were nearly last chair on the Steamboat gondola, which took us high up for the inevitable end-of-day cruise—a long, winding trail packed with beginners and mild chaos, typical of large mountains. Eventually, we made it back to the base and took the scenic walk to the shop, dumped our gear, and Stephen stopped in to talk logistics with the Steamboat Powder Cats about their logistics situation. (Bonus: now it’s a business trip for Stephen).
Harlie returned triumphantly from the package store with a case of beer, which was immediately and enthusiastically opened on the side of the road. Then it was back to the condo to change and get ready for dinner, where we treated our hosts at O’Neill’s, an Irish restaurant in downtown Steamboat.
Dinner was excellent—burgers, Michelangelo’s fried chicken, Reubens, and plenty of drinks. Harlie ordered Jameson shots with pickle juice chasers, which sounded awful, and was,….but, somehow, could have been worse.
From there, we headed to Strawberry Park Hot Springs, a natural hot spring with three pools: one very hot, one mild, and the rest aggressively cold. Naturally, we took multiple cold plunges, which was extremely cold—but everyone held their own, even staying in for multiple minutes before retreating back to the heat.
We had some mild concern about the clothing-optional policy after dark. The group text immediately spiraled: Mike campaigning aggressively against seeing anyone’s junk, Anthony expressing pure disbelief, and Courtney calmly insisting it “couldn’t possibly be that bad.”
To be safe—and emotionally prepared—multiple drinks were responsibly imbibed pre-spring. Fortification achieved.
As it turns out, Courtney was right. It wasn’t a big deal at all—mainly because it was pitch black, foggy, and visibility was roughly three feet. Ignorance truly was bliss.
We soaked loudly and confidently for nearly an hour and a half, until it was time to leave and face the long, freezing walk back to the changing rooms—suddenly very aware of gravity, sobriety, and traction.
Back at the condo, there was somehow still had energy for a movie. And so, in deference to Courtney and Harlie, we watched The Maze Runner. Which would take many more sessions and arguments and laughs before even the first of the trilogy would be viewed.
End of Day Two.
Morale: high.
Muscles: questionable.
Space: nonexistent.
Here is Day Three, fully translated from dictated chaos into a coherent, funny, and affectionate C-SKI journal entry, keeping all the madness intact:
C-SKI Trip Journal – Day Three (Monday)
After another medium-quality, highly chaotic night of sleep, with humans and gear scattered across every available square inch of a single room, we woke up to what can only be described as The Great Packing Event.
The task: pack five people’s worth of ski gear, plus Settlers of Catan, coolers, food, beers, extra food, mystery food, and random objects no one remembered bringing—into a medium-sized Volkswagen Taos. By the time we were done, there was very little room for actual humans.
Then came the skis…actually…
Four sets of skis, one snowboard, multiple poles, FIVE pairs of big ski boots.
Every square inch of the car was already occupied!?!? Regardless, more items went on laps. Others wedged between knees. A ski bag was secured to the roof with an emotional quantity of tire straps and a full-scale brotherly dispute. Anthony issued calm, militaristic instructions—“tie here,” “connect there,” “make a cross for load distribution.” Mike rejected every command on principle… even as he executed most of them almost exactly, muttering objections the entire time.
In the end, the bag was “sufficiently” secured.
We departed in light snow, fully trusting the new Michelin snow tires, which—credit where credit is due—handled beautifully. The drive was about an hour and a half, during which we repeatedly checked to make sure the ski bag was still attached to the roof and not currently tumbling down I-40. When a strap unwound, it flapped like a victory streamer until Mike pulled it in—Anthony made a jab, Mike declared the strap redundant to his master tire strapping.
Silverthorne Gear Stop
As we arrived in Silverthorne, we called ahead to the Airbnb to see if we could drop off boxes, bags, and excess chaos before skiing. We had to beg but, they let us in early—though they insisted we not look around, clearly because the place wasn’t ready.
We dumped a ton of stuff, yet still had a wildly crowded car, and headed 20 minutes to Arapahoe Basin (A-Bay or A-Abasin)—the closest option with convenient parking. It turned out to be a great call by Tony.
We pulled in around 12:30 PM, clicked in by 1:00, and skied hard until about 3:00—at least Stephen and Anthony did. After the first run, Michelangelo, Harlie, and Courtney retreated indoors, leaving just the two of us hunting vertical.
Only two lifts were running, funneling everyone onto roughly five or six trails. The snow was solid up top, but flat light and snowfall made visibility rough, so most runs we stayed lower mountain.
Toward the end of the day, Mike joined the boys skiing and Courtney and Harlie skied one last run to the lower lodge. Anthony attempted to duck a rope and executed a major biff, getting snagged in the process. Fortunately, Stephen got the entire thing on video, which was really the most important outcome.
We scored a bonus run when the lift closed at 4:05, which felt like winning the lottery.
Parking Lot & Ski Boots
After skiing, the boys went back to the car to unload and change—but Michelangelo never took off his ski boots. Instead, he re-marched the entire length of the parking lot, into the lodge, into the bar, and sat there for 10–15 minutes eating pistachios.
At the bar.
During closing.
While the bartenders cleaned.
Without ordering a single thing.
Still fully locked into ski boots.
When the place started shutting down, Michelangelo got up to walk but realized he was still in his boots. He started begging Harlie for help, who wisely refused. Left on his own, Mike took another ten minutes attempting to change his shoes while the rest of the group left and waited in the car.
This is when it became painfully clear that Mike may not possess the independent life skill of removing footwear.
It raised some troubling questions:
Why didn’t he take the boots off at the car—where any rational adult would?
Was he physically incapable of changing shoes without supervision?
Had his dependence on Harlie crossed from “cute” into “concerning”?
The answer was yes. All yes.
Whole Foods: One. Hour. Later.
Next mission: Whole Foods. The closest one added another 10 minutes, but pizza was deemed worth it.
But, Courtney was devastated when they were out of the pizza we could bake ourselves, so we ordered fresh pizza, accepted the one-hour wait, and spent that hour roaming Whole Foods. This sparked multiple debates over:
- Community groceries vs. personal groceries
- Basket ownership
- Who was making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
- Who drank and ate what.
By this point, everyone’s sides hurt from laughing—between the morning car ride, Mike’s Boots and grocery negotiations. Yet even after checkout, we waited another 10 minutes for pizza, then headed back out into heavy snowfall, now about 2–3 inches deep. The route home was long and roundabout, but the snow tires held like champs.
Once back, we brought in the food which ended up strewn about the hallway when the wet bag opened and Tony went down. Pictures were taken before offers to help. We went to condo an ate the Pizza. Then realized we still had to go back outside to retrieve snow gear and equipment. This unloading process was—unsurprisingly—another classic Chirico operation.
Michelangelo was wearing stocks, Anthony mere flip flops yet they still took an incredibly long time unloading and arguing over how to UNpack somehow. Stephen found a dumpster to ditch the pizza boxes while they debate the best way to unload.
Eventually, equipment was secured.
Pizza was eaten.
Chaos continues.
Movie Night (Sort Of)
Then came movie time—and the ongoing debate over whether to start The Maze Runner from the beginning. Anthony insisted we start from the beginning… and then changed his mind 10 minutes in.
After about an hour, Michelangelo announced it was bedtime and turned off the TV, despite everyone else objecting, particularly Courtney’s (who is quite in to the movie, having even read the books). When Anthony tried to restart it, logging back in took another 10 minutes, involving glitchy remotes, battery issues, and rising frustration.
Eventually, The Maze Runner resumed…
And as the day finally ended, drifting off to sleep, the only remaining sounds were distant movie dialogue—and Michelangelo’s farts, echoing softly into the night.
Addendum: The Pillow Incident
At some point, Michelangelo became convinced that the condo pillows were biological crime scenes. Under CSI style blue-light inspection, he believed he had discovered “horrific filth.” This launched an obsessive spiral.
He fixated on a suspicious spot on the pillow in which he must sleep on. Which pillow he could sleep on. Which pillow might be cleaner. He tried trading Pillows with Harlie, who needed a thin pillow. He tried stealing Anthony or Courtney’s pillow which they were not having any of, having just spent 10 minutes restarting the Maze Runner. He whined that he couldn’t sleep on any of them, then ranted and tantrumed about pillows while Harlie pleaded, very calmly but very seriously:
“Mike. Stop. Please.”
Mike could not stop.
He wanted to switch pillows.
Eventually, he circled back to the original pillow—the same one he had declared unusable—but per Harlie’s command he put a T-Shirt over the pillow just shielding his face from the blue light revealed filth. This was somehow now “less bad.” The pillow won.
End of Day Three.
C-SKI remains undefeated.
Here is your midday powder-day journal update, turned up to maximum funny, still very you, and fully honoring the absurd greatness of a bluebird powder day:
C-SKI Day 4 (Tuesday) –
Midday Journal Update – Powder Day (Copper Mountain)
This is a midday update, which is necessary because it is a powder day, and powder days are not just days — they are events. Not just a mere “powder day”, but a bluebird powder day, which is basically skiing’s version of winning the lottery and finding out it’s tax-free.
We woke up to Anthony announcing—like a town crier—that Copper Mountain got 8+ inches of glorious overnight snow, confirmed by the snow stake. That was all the motivation needed. People were immediately vertical. Bacon was deployed.
The Alpha Team began loading with purpose.
The plan was simple: load the car and go.
The reality: Harlie wanted an egg sandwich.
Which meant, of course, that everyone wanted an egg sandwich.
Four egg sandwiches later (worth it), we hit the road. The parking lot was shockingly unplowed, and the roads were legitimately snowy—something that deeply impressed Stephen, who is conditioned by years of New Jersey over-salting and aggressive brining. The drive itself was short—about 20 very excited minutes, filled with fresh snow, mountain views, and the collective understanding that today was going to be special.
We pulled into Copper around 8:45 AM, solidly in the first half of the free parking lot, which felt like a moral victory. A massive ski shuttle bus delivered us to the lifts, which started spinning at 9:00 AM, and from there it was immediate chaos—in the best way.
Run one: spectacular.
Run two: also spectacular.
Naturally, this led to us saying, “We should probably explore.”
So we pushed farther and farther skier’s left, finding fresher and fresher snow. Before, we decided to drop down, down, down. On the next lap, we went even farther left, but things were starting to get tracked out… until Michelangelo and Stephen made eye contact and executed a quiet, mutual rope duck.
Through the trees they went.
And then—boom—the trees opened into a wide, untouched bowl of absolute virgin powder. Without speaking, Michelangelo and Stephen assumed full skier stance and began laying down perfect, synchronized powder eights, sinking into snow so deep it felt like slow motion.
This moment was captured in all its glory by Michelangelo’s Insta360, which—credit where credit is due—was absolutely earning its keep. The best part? That bowl stayed fresh for multiple laps.
We promised to bring Harlie back, which we did, pushing once again into the forbidden zone. And as with all forbidden zones, there was a price to be paid.
Harlie came through the trees when her board’s nose dipped into a downed tree hidden just under the snow line, launching her into a spectacular, full 360-degree somersault. At one point, her board was entirely above her body as she head-planted into a snow drift.
Amazingly:
✔ rattled
✔ full of snow
✔ completely intact
After a brief regroup, Harlie was rewarded with first tracks of our secret forbidden stash of untouched powder, safely tucked behind a Snow Patrol rope that we were technically not supposed to be behind—but this was clearly a “forgiveness over permission” situation.
Harlie, back on her feet, dropped first, absolutely floating through fresh turns. Michelangelo and Stephen followed. When we reached the bottom, we immediately agreed: Impatient Anthony was missing out on the best powder of the trip.
Next lap, all four of us stayed tight, ducked the rope together, threaded the trees, and dropped into the bowl as one. What followed was a blur of catcalls, “Wahoooo!”s, and loud, joyful laughter as we carved line after line.
We repeated this two more times, until we selfishly squeezed every last fresh turn out of the trail. At this point, Stephen officially renamed it “The Chirico Powder Trail”, in honor of those who discovered it on this bluebird pow day.
After a few more runs, Michelangelo and Harlie retreated indoors to rest and review footage, while Anthony and Stephen stayed out, cruising groomers, occasionally dipping into the trees, but mostly just doing what they love best: going fast and ignoring their legs which were screaming for Mercy.
We later regrouped in the lodge for a round of footage review, which quickly became less about reliving the glory and more about reliving Harlie’s pain. Once the clip was replayed, the true epic, apocalyptic nature of the fall was fully revealed.
No matter how many times we watched it, the exact moment of impact triggered the same involuntary response from every viewer:
a sharp inhale, a full-body cringe, and a long, horrified
“oooooooohhhhhhh.”
But in true C-SKI fashion, we immediately pivoted to the upside:
this video was absolutely going viral, would make Harlie internet-famous, and might even make her rich—which felt like a fair trade for mild trauma and temporary back paralysis.
Stephen asked ChatGPT to sum up the above with a one-liner. Chat GPT delivered as follows:
ranked by level of savagery — pick your weapon 😄:
Dry & devastating:
“The fall hurt, but the footage healed us.”
Classic C-SKI:
“It hurt… but at least it’s content.”
Mike’s Brutal honesty:
“Pain is temporary. Content is forever.”
Anthony’s analysis:
“She fell so the algorithm could rise.”
Family version:
“No injuries—just dignity.”
Stephen-core:
“Worst moment of her trip =best clip of the trip.”
But wait there is More….
As this all unfolded, Michelangelo stood and loudly declared he was going to the bathroom, and upon returning immediately quizzed Harlie on how many wipes she thought he needed.
With no hesitation, and eyeroll. Harlie deadpanned six.
She was wrong.
Mike loudly evil-laughed victoriously.
The answer: one and done.
Michelangelo proudly announced this achievement and put forward photographic evidence as proof, before we could look away! We recoiled and accepted his word.
At that point, we all agreed there was still far too much powder left to chase. Anthony started moving slowly toward the exit. Stephen followed continuing to dictate into ChatGPT. Mike & Harlie wanted “one more run to rest”.
End of midday update.
Powder morale: elite.
Insta360: vindicated.
Chirico Powder Trail: legendary.
C-SKI Trip Journal – Day 4 (Tuesday) (Continuation: Post-Midday Powder Glory)
After our midday break, Harlie wisely decided to call it and enjoy the lodge scene, while the three cousins headed back out to finish strong at Copper Mountain. What followed was an excellent afternoon of roaming the vast expanse of Copper, linking together great runs and aggressively filming everything thanks to the perfect light.
Because many of Copper’s slopes face south, the sun stayed directly at our backs, backlighting the entire mountain and delivering elite visibility all the way down. It was one of those rare afternoons where every run feels cinematic. We captured some truly excellent footage: cruising blue-square groomers in formation, synchronized turns, and even one-legged skiing competitions along the cutback trails—very casual, very cool, very “we definitely planned this.”
Michelangelo floated the idea of “last run” sometime shortly after noon, which—unsurprisingly—fell on completely deaf ears for Anthony and Stephen. But by around 2:30, it became a legitimate conversation. The compromise: Michelangelo would head in after one more run, while Anthony and Stephen would squeeze in two more and then regroup.
This worked out perfectly, because Harlie was already down near the lodge where an après DJ event was in full swing—hundreds of people dancing, great music, peak vibes, sponsored by Outdoors life- a college trip planner who organized winter break for 100’s of college kids. So, while she missed the afternoon skiing, she absolutely did not miss the party.
On what was supposed to be Michelangelo’s last run, he spotted something intriguing: a fenced-off area with a gate, clearly suggesting adventure. Stephen, equally curious and incapable of ignoring such things, slammed on the brakes and followed him in.
Anthony, of course, was already far ahead, charging downhill like a bloodhound sniffing out powder, blissfully unaware of anyone behind him. This is simply how Anthony skis. He does not wait. He hunts.
Stephen followed Michelangelo into the mystery zone, which—naturally—led to another area… and then another lift… meaning one more run was required just to get back. Anthony, meanwhile, did another run anyway, because of course he did.
Back at the lodge around 3:00 PM, we took a short break soaking in the DJ scene before deciding on logistics:
Stephen and Anthony would ski back to the other side, grab the car, and pick up Michelangelo and Harlie from the designated pickup area.
Stephen and Anthony went back out, caught one of the last chairs to the summit, and cruised down. Even on the very last run, we somehow stumbled into another pocket of untouched virgin powder, which felt borderline unfair and was an unbelievable way to end the day.
The Pickup Fiasco™
At the bottom, it was a short walk to the shuttle, an eight-minute wait, and then back to the Alpine lot. We changed, loaded the car, and headed to retrieve Michelangelo and Harlie.
This is where things unraveled.
Texts started coming in saying their batteries were critically low. Anthony’s phone hit 1% on the last run… then died completely. That left Stephen as the sole keeper of communication, a role he did not ask for and was arguably unqualified for.
A later forensic review of the text chain revealed that Michelangelo and Harlie had dropped a location pin, then immediately warned their phones were about to die. Stephen read the text… but failed to understand that a pin had already been sent and instead asked them to send the pin thinking he was being clever.
That request arrived exactly as their phones died.
Communication ceased.
What followed was pure Chirico chaos:
Stephen and Anthony drove to Central Village.
They weren’t there.
Parked the car.
Walked through the village.
Checked the lodge.
Nothing.
Circled the perimeter.
Nope.
Split up—Anthony went one way, Stephen the other.
Stephen eventually returned to the loading area to find Anthony gone since as we know by now. Anthony does not wait for anybody. But Anthony drove around and did spot Michelangelo’s skis and Harlie’s snowboard chained to a bus stop pole, suggesting proof of life. Meanwhile, Michelangelo and Harlie—tired of freezing—had gone inside a nearby hotel, which was almost certainly the exact moment Stephen jogged past them outside.
With phones dead, they used a hotel house phone to call Rose. She didn’t answer the first time because it was a random number but picked up on the second attempt. Rose then three-way called Anthony, coordination was restored, Anthony picked up Stephen, and we finally located Michelangelo and Harlie.
Once reunited in the car, heads needed to role and blame had to be placed!
Stephen went down, HARD—being the only one with a charged phone and the only one too old to recognize what a dropped pin actually was. The evidence was clear. Stephen had no defense other than the post-ski beers he was preoccupied with after a legendary Pow day.
Whole Foods visit #2: Burgers
With everyone thawing out and no traffic, we exited at Frisco and returned—once again—to Whole Foods, where it had been discussed ad nauseam since approximately 11:00 AM that dinner would be burgers. With Stephen seriously started to wonder if Mike had bad hearing or bad memory.
But even after it was settled on Burgers, there had to be yet another Chirico debate, because Michelangelo has a special talent for reopening settled decisions.
Stephen knew the correct answer all along: pre-made gourmet butcher burgers.
However, Anthony was horrified by the price:“$8.99 a pound?!”
Stephen insisted this was an excellent Whole Foods price, especially for gourmet meat. Anthony, unconvinced, wanted frozen cheap burgers—the kind he usually eats. However, after doing the math (slowly, repeatedly, and loudly), it turned out the frozen burgers were more expensive per pound, which led to further confusion because Anthony trying to make the math work pivoted: “pricing should be per burger, not per pound.” Huh??
Despite lingering emotional damage over the number 8.99, we proceeded. Lettuce, tomato, brioche buns were added. At checkout, Harlie scanned, Anthony Paid, Stephen scanned his Amazon Prime membership to offset the “overpriced” meat, Mike played with the grocery cart, we didn’t want to pay for bags and then—through convenient chaos—we forgot to scan the meat entirely.
As we walked out of Whole Foods, Stephen reflected proudly on the cheapness of his younger cousins—watching them penny-pinch like pros, arguing expenses with passion, calculate price-per-pound on the fly, hunt for bargain lettuce, and boldly take extreme cost-cutting risks rarely seen outside of forensic accounting investigations.
End of Day Four.
Powder chased.
Harlie’s Biff: going Viral
Phones Dead.
Pins misunderstood.
Burgers acquired (accidentally discounted).
C-SKI Day Five (Wed)
Day Five began with what can only be described as an aggressive commitment to sleeping in. Everyone surfaced sometime between 8 and 9, then lingered lovingly over breakfast like we had nowhere to be—which was bold, given that we absolutely did.
Breakfast was its own event. Anthony kept it pure with straight eggs. Michelangelo went full commitment with a leftover cheeseburger from last night. And Harlie, now internationally recognized for her craft, produced her now-famous egg sandwiches—each yolk perfectly runny, identical in consistency, like they were calibrated in a lab.
Anthony goes down for the delay as he delivered a serious, data-backed weather briefing to the group—only to report the a less than perfect outcome: no snow. Mike immediately questioned the credibility of the entire forecast, labeled it fake news, and instructed Harlie to fact-check it independently, because clearly one disappointing report wasn’t enough and more proof of Mikes over-reliance on Harlie.
Naturally, this only extended the leisurely pace—until Courtney announced she had a 10:30 work call. A real one. IPO-level. The kind where billion-dollar sentences are spoken casually, and the entire operation rests on Courtney: executive assistant to the owners and single source of calm and truth to supervise the capitalist process.
And we had to be quiet.
This was ambitious. Unrealistic. And 100% impossible for Mike, who obliviously asked a new, loud and inappropriate question at the exact moment Zoom’s polite morning greetings started.
Frustration escalated.
Anthony started flinging items into the hallway like an evacuation drill. Mike for hurried out by Harlie. There was scrambling. Stephen forgot his phone. Then Anthony realized he’d also forgotten his phone.
“GO BACK IN—BE QUIET!”
Phones found…quietness: debatable.
We piled into the car and headed out, spending the entire drive talking about Copper… while actively driving to Copper… until we arrived at Copper—at which point Michelangelo announced, “I thought we were going to A-Basin,” which was both confusing and extremely on brand.
We unloaded, boarded one shuttle bus, discovered that shuttle bus had door issues (concerning), abandoned it, boarded another shuttle, and finally made it to Center Village. Progress.
Strava’s were turned on Pre-Ride at 11:02am. The first lift was a half-chair, half-gondola situation—every fifth chair was a gondola—so naturally we waited for the gondola like civilized people who had already been through enough. At the top, we arrived at the Aerie Lodge, where Anthony immediately had to use the bathroom, forcing a full-group bathroom stop because skiing does not begin until everyone has suffered equally.
Anthony and Stephen emerged from the restroom ready to go. And ready to ski immediately. Michelangelo and Harlie were… gone. Vanished. No warning. No note. Just absence.
Anthony, already clipped in and emotionally unavailable for waiting, announced he was going skiing. Stephen, faced with the eternal choice between mountain and whatever Mike and Harlie were doing, chose correctly and followed Anthony.
As it turns out, Mike and Harlie weren’t lost—they were investing in hot chocolate. After running the numbers, the $6 could be amortized over unlimited refills, which they aggressively exploited by drinking three. To further improve the ROI, Tony and Stephen stepped in to help polish off a fourth, since we were all financially disciplined.
Anyways, we did one run. Called them.
“They need more time. Still drinking hot chocolate”
We did another run. Came back.
Mike said he wanted to go… but showed no signs of movement. Possible Sugar Blues.
So we did another run.
Eventually, Mike and Harlie emerged—bundled, sugared, and mildly shocked to learn that people were still skiing. They proudly declared themselves snow snobs and promptly made the executive decision to retire for the day.
Mike and Harlie returned to the car for what turned into a highly professional nap, while Stephen and Anthony pushed on—lap after lap—chasing vertical like it owed them money.
By then the snow was fast, firm, and perfect. No crowds. Just hardpack begging to be skied aggressively. The mission shifted: big turns, Super-G corners, full send. We lapped relentlessly, carving deep, hitting a flow state—only mildly interrupted by the occasional powder stash or rogue mogul field reminding us we were human.
We were among the last people on the mountain, grabbing last chair around 3:58 and then taking nearly 25 minutes to ski the full vertical of Copper—traversing the mountain end to end, marveling at how absurdly far you can go when gravity and maximum skiing efficiency, conditions and no crowds are aligned. Even the flats were forgiving at speed.
Back at Center Village, we walked to the pickup spot Anthony had pinned—only to arrive 15 minutes early. To kill time, Stephen took a work call, standing in ski boots, in a village plaza, discussing important matters (at least the client through so) while still vibrating from adrenaline.
Mike and Harlie arrived right on time. We loaded up and headed to Safeway—Safeway, not Whole Foods—because budgets were at stake. Dinner was steak, onions, and spinach on the Blackstone, and as expected, it was phenomenal—though to be fair, anything eaten after skiing tastes like a Michelin meal.
When we got home, Courtney was still working—busy, focused, but annoyed at the golden handcuffs of work.so Stephen lied and said conditions were awful and deployed ChatGPT to write her a poem in an attempt at morale support.
For Courtney the IPO maestro
Courtney worked while the mountains called,
Emails rang where lift lines stalled.
Spreadsheets hummed, the hours flew,
While skis sat idle, feeling blue.
So while we froze and chased the sun,
You won the prize: cozy, done.
No icy boots, no chairlift ache,
No goggles fogged at every break.
You missed the mountain—true, unfair—
But luck wore slippers, not ski gear.
We clicked in boots, the cold bit deep,
While you made numbers lose their sleep.
Because while skis traced lines in white,
You steered an IPO through the night—
And let’s be honest (between us all):
It was freezing, windy, kind of brutal.
Inside was warm, the coffee strong,
So really… you played this one not wrong.
After dinner, Anthony and Courtney embarked on a heroic beer mission and battled through two intense games of Catan (Courney Winning both). Michelangelo bravely attempted video edits, Stephen journaled while juggling work, and Day Five drifted toward a close—another chapter of excellent skiing and mild, familiar chaos.
As if that weren’t enough, the group finally tackled the final movie of the Maze Runner trilogy—an achievement worthy of a plaque. Anthony spent most of it asleep, periodically resurfacing just long enough to aggressively question plot holes, while Harlie and Courtney attempted to enjoy the finale through the dual soundtrack of commentary and snoring.
As the night wrapped up and Anthony said goodnight (after napping the last hour), he delivered the final verdict—
“Hun, we’ll have to watch that movie again.”
Courtney groaned: “Oh No”
Case closed.
C-Ski – Day Six (Thursday)
We were out the door at 5:41 a.m.—not bad at all, and frankly an impressive Chirico feat of logistics. It would’ve been earlier, but Anthony had to make a last-minute return trip to retrieve the ski rack keys that someone—had thoughtfully placed “where they belong,” which is to say: absolutely nowhere anyone would ever look.
The culprit remains unknown.
Anthony insists it was Mike.
Mike insists it was Anthony.
Justice will never be served.
Once on the road, Michelangelo spent the first 30–40 minutes editing videos with intense focus, before inevitably falling asleep and transitioning into light snoring. Harlie dozed on and off but still managed to contribute elite logistics by scouting ahead, researching snow passes, and monitoring weather reports. Stephen attempted to stay awake for moral support but did some light dozing anyway, which felt acceptable given the conditions. Most of the drive was full whiteout, gradually brightening as morning arrived—proof that somehow, against logic and sleep deprivation, we were actually pulling this off. While Anthony—heroically,—drove us straight into the storm on the Michelin snow tires.
We were one of the very few cars on the road, because who else would voluntarily be up at 5:45 a.m. in a blizzard, heading over a mountain pass? For much of the climb, a snowplow acted as our spiritual guide. On the descent, it peeled off, apparently deciding we had enough momentum—and confidence—to handle the six to seven inches of snow on our own.
HOA Fear, Ski Abandonment, and No Friends on Powder Days
The real Day Six chaos began at 7:30 a.m., when we rolled up to the condo feeling optimistic, at our early arrival and the fresh Pow but wildly unprepared for human interaction.
Anthony casually asked a guy walking by,
“Hey, do you have a pass to let us in?”
The man replied, calmly and devastatingly:
“No. There’s only one space. And I’m the president of the HOA.”
Record scratch.
Immediate paranoia.
This single sentence unlocked all previously reported fears: surveillance, citations, towing, lifetime bans, and HOA tribunals. Just as Harlie emerged from her friend’s car running with the pass like she had the winning Willy Wonka Chocolate ticket, not the right look. We proceeded in and started dressing in the parking lot in the snow but we could see we were being watched. So, it was unanimously decided that the safest course of action was to abort and retreat to regular mountain parking before we were exiled forever.
The new plan:
- Mike and Stephen would bail immediately with gear
- Harlie and Anthony would go park the car and then “find us”
What actually happened:
Mike immediately disappeared straight to the lift—no hesitation, no eye contact, no loyalty—leaving Anthony’s skis abandoned in what can only be described as the worst possible place. Stephen went to the locker room and started changing like a civilized adult.
Eventually, Anthony and Harlie arrived, we all regrouped, and—still shaken—Stephen rented a locker for a whopping $20 a day, roughly the size of a carry-on suitcase, but emotionally necessary.
Somehow, Harlie found Mike or Mike found Harlie because, well, he needs her to survive.
Anthony, meanwhile, began a ski recovery mission.
His skis were eventually discovered lying flat in the snow in an unusual location… while a man was actively shoveling snow directly on top of them, as if nature itself had decided they should be buried.
Crisis resolved, we jumped on the closest open lift and were immediately rewarded with fresh tracks top to bottom—the kind that erase all parking trauma and HOA-induced fear.
It was on.
We lapped powder, cut fresh lines, then transitioned to the Steamboat gondola for more untouched bliss, coordinating loosely with Mike and Harlie on where to reconnect—though, as Mike loves to remind everyone while skiing ahead at full speed:
“There are no friends on powder days.”
And with that philosophy firmly enforced, Day Six was officially underway—and it was already worth it.
We finally regrouped at the Five Points Lodge and, after a well-earned break, headed back out in search of more powder—this time under the expert guidance of our local hosts, Sophie and Yishar, who knew exactly where the goods were hidden.
Following them, our group organically expanded to 12+ skiers, as other locals latched on mid-run—an impressively large and highly capable crew. We dove into tree skiing and powder, with lines crisscrossing everywhere, skiers whooping, weaving, and hunting for untouched stashes while carefully avoiding anything solid—purely in the interest of preventing any additional Harlie-style incidents.
Mike was in full content-creation mode, aggressively filming, then immediately reviewing clips on the lift and ruthlessly deleting anything subpar to preserve precious hard-drive space. Efficiency at its finest.
Skiing with a big group of advanced skiers ripping through the trees is an experience in itself—organized chaos, shared stoke, and just enough danger to keep everyone sharp.
The final run was called around 3:30 p.m., as flat light set in, the powder had largely been skied out, snow was still falling, and—most importantly—we had a mountain pass to cross before heading home.
Back in Steamboat Square, a country music festival was in full swing. Stephen briefly regretted not having his cowboy hat, but there was no time to linger. Stephen and Harlie walked through Steamboat Village back to the Ski Butlers shop while Tony retrieved the car. Gear was packed, we returned to the condo, swapped gear, dropped off Mike and Harlie, and said our goodbyes.
Anthony and Stephen then headed out, with Stephen driving, as Tony had been running on just two hours of sleep and was completely spent.
Thankfully, the pass was open—but it was still snowing in many sections. Once again, we were lucky enough to follow a plow on the way up. The descent, however, was on our own through roughly five inches of fresh snow. And, as a reminder: Colorado does not salt its roads.
As darkness fell and snowfall intensified, there were multiple long stretches where visibility dropped to near zero. Speed fell to below 30 mph at times simply because we couldn’t see the road—pure whiteout conditions.
Conversation stayed constant to keep everyone alert and awake, bouncing between bike hostels, investing strategies, career journeys, and dinner options.
Eventually, we arrived safely in Silverthorne, called Courtney to coordinate pickup, and headed straight to dinner at a generic Asian restaurant with a very large menu.
- Courtney ordered ramen
- Anthony went with red curry
- Stephen chose green curry
- Sushi appetizers
- And the chicken appetizer was… just fried chicken, and disappointing
Full once again, we headed home. After a brief debate over the next day’s plan, the decision was unanimous: early to bed, early to rise, and head home in the morning (read on for explanation.)
Another full, snowy, slightly chaotic—but entirely successful—C-Ski day in the books.
Chirico Forces
With all Chirico adventures—and indeed all Chirico family endeavors—there is a common thread. Actually, two powerful forces, eternally at war.
Force One: FOMO — the Fear Of Missing Out.
Force Two: Thrift — the sacred duty of maximizing value at all costs.
This year’s chain reaction began when Michelangelo insisted we ski all five days of his Steamboat pass, instantly detonating Anthony’s carefully choreographed, spreadsheet-adjacent mountain-hopping plans. Regardless, our first two nights were spent piled on the floor of Harlie’s college friend’s one-bedroom apartment—because value was being maximized, whether we liked it or not.
Then came the pivot.
Snow was forecasted for Thursday.
It was only Sunday but still… Michelangelo, now gripped by existential powder panic, became terrified of missing a Steamboat powder day. This triggered a full logistical spiral: leaving Steamboat on Monday earlier than planned, not using the final ski day, repositioning to A-Basin, and then—drumroll—driving back again for Thursday. All of this now required a 5:00 a.m. wake-up, because obviously.
To be fair: the snow was fantastic.
Also to be fair: so was the hassle, hazardous white-out condition driving, and inconvenience required to chase that FOMO.
The problem compounded by having to drive over a mountain pass before and after the big storm and the blizzard conditions were bad they would close the pass! This concern kept Anthony up all night, while also watching the SteamBoat Snow stake live feed and thus only got 2-3 hours of sleep before a very long day.
Meanwhile, Courtney, newly exposed to full-strength Chirico chaos, reasonably concluded that she required an optimal work environment—and that the Airbnb was, by definition, sub-prime. And thus on Friday needed to work from home to deliver top service. This was, of course, in direct conflict with Anthony’s FOMO, who—despite having skied 11 days in a row—still believed one more powder day was not only possible, but necessary.
Stephen, also afflicted with Chirico FOMO and value sympathy, found himself tormented by the knowledge that yes you DO NEED a good place to work and IPO’s are a big deal and logically we have skied A LOT (5 days in a row)
No plan could possibly maximize everyone’s needs simultaneously. There would be no perfect compromise. Only trade-offs. And FOMO sacrifice.
Good news? Bad news? Hard to say.
So we started floating the idea of maximizing the return journey by scooping up Bruce and forcing him to ski. Bruce, however, operates under a different Chirico FOMO variant—his fear is not missing out on skiing……it’s missing out on all the things other Chirico’s do but, he’s too lazy to do.
In the end, we stayed at the AirBnB and set our clocks for another 5:30am wake up to get up drive to Denver and then BACK to the mountains with the Bruce . (Read on for Day 6 details)
And thus, FOMO balance was restored.
Costs: Chirico-approved financial wrap-up with just enough spice and reverence for value:
The numbers have been crunched—and true to any Chirico event, where value is sacred, costs have been cut, allocations have been debated, and harmony has been carefully preserved.
Using the mystical powers of Splitwise, a certified financial wizard has emerged from within the app. Drumroll please for the final balances:
- Total group expenses: approximately $2,118.72 ($1,100 Accommodation; $400 dinner, $400 Groceries, Beer & Fuel)
(“Approximately” being a key accounting term here, as some expenses were intentionally not allocated to everyone for reasons ranging from fairness to peacekeeping.) This included Groceries, Dinning, Fuel, Accommodation and a material amount of beer. - Using nice, round, emotionally palatable numbers, this puts the per-person cost at roughly $423.74.
Some group members fronted expenses and therefore do not need to pay in.
🏆 Biggest lender / Patron Saint of Cash Flow:
Anthony, who heroically advanced the accommodation costs and some groceries (for the points) and is currently owed $878.05 to be made whole.
💸 Current Debtors to Anthony:
Courtney ($250.04), Mike ($231.25), and Harlie ($396.76).
📊 Stephen’s Status:
Stephen covered sufficient pocket expenses and, via a highly specific side settlement, is also owed $80 from Courtney—a private ledger entry, emotionally binding but not group-wide
For those craving full forensic transparency, the Splitwise app contains every charge, adjustment, reallocation, and re-reallocation. This data was lovingly reviewed and recalculated by Stephen the Accountant and Anthony, the Angelic but Extremely Intense Excel Wizard, who—despite having the most at stake—spent the last 30 minutes inefficiently re-checking everything anyway, because trust is good, but spreadsheets are better.
Value has been honored.
Debts have been named.
And peace… for now… has been preserved.
Pay up Chiricos!
Addendum: Later Stephen would forgive his $80 and allocate $20 back to each person with Michaelangelo assigning his credit to Harlie as a cooking fee. Well worth it for Stephen, but then Anthony wanted a Driving fee. Stephen was again pleased with the negotiation skills and thrift of his cousins.
C-SKI Day Six – Friday
As per the plan hatched the night before, we woke up extra early at 5:30 a.m., because this was no ordinary ski day. This was a logistics day. The mission: get Courtney back to Denver for her very important IPO-level meetings, then scoop Bruce and somehow still go skiing.
We rolled into Denver around 7:30 a.m., where momentum immediately slowed to a Chirico crawl.
Steven took a power nap on the couch.
Bruce chatted with T-Mobile agents about an international calling plan.
Anthony fired off work emails and conducted what appeared to be a full self-performance review.
By the time we actually left, it was 11:00 a.m.—which is still considered “early” in Chirico Time.
We headed toward Eldora, stopping for matcha at a tiny railroad booth in the town of Nederland, because nothing says serious ski mission like ceremonial beverages. We arrived at Eldora around noon. It was brutally cold, but we scored excellent parking, which immediately lifted morale.
That’s when Anthony pulled a classic Chirico move:
He forgot his ski boots.
As Great Grandpa always said:
If you have a weak mind, you better have strong legs.
Anthony, unwilling to walk (or drive) back home, opted instead for a strong wallet, paying the $30 shame fee to rent boots—boots that hurt his feet for the rest of the day and served as a constant reminder of his forgetful failure.
Meanwhile, Bruce was assembling layers like a survivalist. He ultimately borrowed Stephen’s fleece Superman pajama pants, which Stephen brought “just in case”. The PJ’s over his Lululemon pants made him look like he was wearing aggressively tight skinny leggings.
On top? Just a long-sleeve kite-surfing shirt under a borrowed jacket. Somehow… he was warm…enough.
Bruce logged an impressive 10 runs, which we immediately calculated meant his five-day, $550 Ikon Pass was now down to $55 per run. Value was being achieved.
We skied for about three solid hours. It was around 5 degrees, and much colder with wind chill, and windy enough to question our life choices—but the snow was excellent: fresh pack powder with a little crust on the steeps. No one fell, Bruce skied strong, and—most importantly—he survived uninjured before his flight to Thailand the next day.
We called it around 3:30 p.m., because even Chiricos have limits.
Next stop: back to Denver. At Anthony’s place, we snacked on cheeses and carrots, did some computer work, and half-watched The Talented Mr. Ripley. Stephen power-napped in the car so he’d be concert-ready.
That night’s event: Charlie Crockett.
Dinner was at Postino in LoHi—an upscale Panera vibe where everyone orders sandwich and soup or salad and feels morally superior about it. And everyone got ID’d even Bruce (who turns 65 next month) and Stephen (who didn’t even have an ID and presented a photo which was accepted). The most comical part? Every single person in the place—except Anthony, Bruce, and Stephen—appeared to be a 30 something-year-old Female. Yet the waiters were all gay men.
The concert started at 8:00. Anthony dropped us off, promising to find free parking, then immediately paid $20 for a spot that was somehow still far away.
The concert itself was excellent—far surpassing Stephen’s expectations, which were already cautiously optimistic. Stephen was looking exceptionally tough, rocking full cowboy boots and a cowboy hat with the confidence of someone who absolutely did not grow up ranching but was nonetheless committed to the look.
Courtney and Anthony were also fully dialed in with cowboy hats and boots, leaving Bruce alone in his Lululemon, tragically underdressed and visibly jealous of our superior Western aesthetic. Bruce usually doesn’t care, but here the envy was unmistakable.
Not only was the main act great, but the opening band absolutely crushed it. A local two-piece called Poudre Valley Playboy—spelled in the most Colorado way possible (POUDRE, as in Poudre Valley Canyon near Fort Collins). One guy aggressively attacked a bass like it owed him money, the other shredded an electric guitar, and somehow the two of them produced a sound that was massive, tight, and shockingly good. Phenomenal tone. Great songs. Zero filler.
Stephen was so impressed that the very next day he added multiple tracks to his Spotify playlist, which is the highest honor he can bestow.
After multiple rounds of drinks and High Noons, spirits were high, ears were ringing just enough (but not too bad thanks to found complimentary ear plugs), and we headed home—boots off, hats retired, Bruce still jealous—and finally went to bed, closing out yet another unexpectedly elite night in the ongoing C-SKI saga.
And just like that, Day Six wrapped:
Early alarms.
Forgotten boots.
Pajama pants as technical gear.
Cold fingers.
Good snow.
Strong value.
And yet another successful Chirico adventure—somehow exactly according to plan.
Absolutely—here is a cleaned up, flowing, and polished Day 7 entry, keeping the humor, chaos, and legendary C-Ski tone intact while making it readable and epic:
C-Ski Day 7 — Saturday
Saturday started not too late, but still a little too early for Stephen’s liking—but Bruce had a plane to catch. Bruce was heading to Thailand with a one-way ticket, one suitcase, and his friend Pete, chasing tourism, kite surfing, and an unknown return date. In short: Bruce was officially off to live his best life.
There were a few last-minute scrambles, including the realization that Bruce would definitely need a day pack, resulting in the decision to send him off with a Patagonia backpack. Egg sandwiches were made, an Uber was called, and Bruce departed around 8:30 a.m.
Naturally, 20 minutes later, the inevitable Chirco call came.
Bruce was at the airport… and couldn’t find his passport.
Anthony immediately launched into a frantic full-house search—inside, outside, everywhere—Stephen observed with a mix of amusement and mild disbelief. Bruce, ever unbothered, took it completely in stride. After 10 chaotic minutes, the mystery resolved itself: Bruce had the passport the entire time—he just hadn’t known where to look.
A rookie travel mistake… except Bruce is definitely not a travel rookie.
With that crisis behind us, the next hour was spent packing up the car and doing a bit of Quicken work, during which Anthony helped Stehen fix a client issue involving properly matching spot gold and silver prices to physical holdings—a rare moment of productivity before the mountain.
We hit the road around 10:30 a.m., heading up to Winter Park through stunning mountain passes. Upon arrival, the parking situation was… bleak.
- First lot: full
- Second lot: full
- Third lot: full
Anthony remained confident the super-secret pass lot would save us. It did not. Not only was it full, but it was swarming with dozens of prowling cars, circling like parking vultures on a bluebird powder day—especially cruel considering 6 inches of fresh snow had fallen overnight.
After 15–20 minutes of suffering, a decision was made: Stephen and Courtney would be dropped off, sparing them the misery while Anthony continued the hunt.
Just as we were unloading, a girl walked by.
“Hey Courtney—do your thing.”
Courtney did her thing.
The girl confirmed she was leaving. Anthony attempted to charm his way into driving her to her car, but she casually replied, “Oh, I’m only three rows away.”
Stephen immediately jumped out and walked with her, providing both strategic positioning and muscle. Sure enough, another car was waiting—but Stephen confidently claimed the spot on foot while Anthony maneuvered around the waiting car. The moment the girl pulled out, we slid in.
Undeniably. Unequivocally. Our spot.
We unloaded, regrouped, walked to the base, boarded the gondola, and were skiing by 12:30 p.m.
The first few runs were on the front side before moving deeper into the mountain. Courtney’s calf began bothering her, so she called it a bit early and headed in. Stephen and Anthony, however, continued the eternal quest for vertical and exploration.
The lift lines were long but reasonable: some around 20–25 minutes, others as short as three minutes, impressive given the lack of parking.
By coincidence, it was the 50th anniversary of the Mary Jane section, and the party was impossible to miss—bass thumping through the canyon, echoing across the mountain.
Late in the day, while riding a chairlift, Stephen and Anthony asked the guy next to them for the time.
“3:56.”
Immediate panic.
We were on the far side of the resort and needed to cross a significant amount of terrain to get back. No worries though—mission accomplished smoothly, and we made it back without incident.
By then, it was brutally cold, and Courtney was already inside at the bar. Stephen joined her for two more drinks, during which Courtney recounted how she casually made a new friend at the bar simply by telling a girl she seemed cool. She also received a drink from a guy who was getting married and apparently just wanted some life advice.
The vibe was excellent.
Anthony, our heroic but reluctant designated driver, reminded us of our next mission: unlimited pizza, salad, and soup at Woody’s Wood-Fired Pizza in Golden.
We headed to Golden. Upon arrival we put our name in, we wandered through downtown Golden, beautifully lit for Christmas and glowing along the river. A brief false alarm had us hustling back before learning we still had 15 more minutes, which Stephen used to check an important box: drinking a Coors beer in Golden, Colorado, the home of Coors.
Despite not really liking Coors, he begrudgingly chose the 25-ounce, because value matters.
Dinner was glorious: a modest but satisfying salad bar, beer cheese soup (very cheesy, surprisingly not that beery), and far too much wood fired pizza of every variety. As always with unlimited food, everyone over-ate with both pride and shame.
Stuffed and now suffering, we headed back to Denver. The evening wound down with football, two days of journal entries being transcribed into ChatGPT, and Courtney changing into pajamas and lovingly torturing her cat, who only wanted to roam freely and chase imaginary things around the floor—but was instead smothered with affection anyway.
A perfect ending to another classic C-Ski day.
Here’s a clean, polished, and lightly comedic rewrite that reads like a proper finale chapter while keeping the Chirico rhythm and tone:
C-Ski Day Eight — Sunday: The Finale.
Everyone woke up lazily, with Stephen finally making his way downstairs around 9:30 a.m.—a respectable hour, considering this was both the last day and a travel day. With a 5:33 p.m. flight out of Denver, we did what we do best: strategic planning, reverse math, and mild panic.
After counting backward several times, we realized that if we wanted to squeeze in all the things we wanted to do, we had exactly 15 minutes to execute a bike adventure.
Egg sandwiches were consumed. Bikes were prepped. Light packing was accomplished. And just like that Tony and Stephen rolled out downhill from Anthony’s nice townhouse and onto Denver’s extensive bike trail system.
The trail was beautiful, well-maintained, and—most importantly—completely car-free, as were much of the routes we rode. Denver deserves serious praise for its bike infrastructure: trails everywhere, heavily used, even in January. Of course, it helped that it was 55–60 degrees and sunny, which Anthony bragged was completely normal and typical since Denver enjoys sunshine 300 out of 365 days per year and very little rain.
Stephen rode Anthony’s e-bike, turning the motor on exactly twice “just to test it,” while Anthony rode Courtney’s regular bike, which—according to Anthony—was also very fast. In total, we logged about 20 miles, cruising through trendy neighborhoods, past the Capitol, along river paths, and over to Union Station.
The ride would have gone longer, but we were irresistibly pulled into the massive Denver REI, housed in a repurposed early-1900s factory the size of a small stadium. Naturally, the returns and discount section demanded attention. Value shopping ensued. Stephen emerged victorious with a new pair of On Cloud sneakers and sunglasses—excellent finds, fully justified.
We met Courtney for lunch after she arrived by train at 2:15 p.m., but immediately faced a new challenge: we had to catch the 2:56 train back to allow time for biking home, showering, final packing, and arriving at the airport the mandated 90 minutes early.
Burgers and a Reuben were ordered with a polite-but-urgent explanation. The server delivered heroically, and in true biker fashion, we inhaled the food without hesitation. We walked out at 2:51 p.m., confidently boarded the train with a full 90 seconds to spare, and enjoyed a free 20-minute ride back—thanks to the apparent absence of ticket enforcement.
After disembarking, Stephen and Anthony biked home while Courtney walked uphill for bonus exercise. Stephen showered, completed final packing, and Anthony drove him to the airport.
The airport experience was unusually smooth: check-in, TSA, gate arrival, and boarding all flowed effortlessly. The flight departed on time and landed in Newark 15 minutes early.
Stephen opted for a taxi home—believing Uber prices were outrageous—only to later realize Uber may have been cheaper after all. A classic ending.
Despite it being midnight, Stephen was too amped to sleep thanks to a plane nap, so he reviewed photos one last time before calling it a night.
And with that, the C-Ski adventure officially concluded—a perfect mix of powder, logistics, value optimization, mild chaos, and skiing adventure.
Until next year!
Viva C-Ski!!
ChiricoChronicles 