Days 30-31.
I'm going to be brief, using a bullet point format because I'm only posting this now out of a sense of obligation to do so. I'm really not in the mood right now, as you'll understand in a moment.
Mrs. Admin and I went on a road trip this weekend to Crested Butte to research an upcoming feature. It's a 6.5-hour drive from Salt Lake City to Gunnison where we were staying, and another 30 minutes up CO-135 to Crested Butte. In a nutshell here's what we learned:
And now a bit of explanation of why I feel the way that I do today. Many of you have gotten to know my dog Jake through postings to these forums, and some have even had the pleasure of meeting him in person. A friend was babysitting Jake while we were away at Crested Butte. While we were driving home, Jake and another friend's dog were left home alone together for a bit and they somehow both got out of our friend's fenced back yard. Jake got hit by a car.
The injuries were horrific. In essence, the impact ruptured his diaphragm and pushed his stomach organs up into his chest cavity. The only possibility was a $4,000 surgery with only 50/50 odds of survival. We decided against trying that while on a phone call while we were still 50 miles away. We told them to go ahead and euthanize him immediately to prevent any suffering. By the time we got to the veterinary emergency facility he had been put down. The doctor assured me that had he been in the same situation he would have made the same decision.
I understand that he was really tough in hanging on. He never once whimpered or cried the whole time. He even somehow walked into the examination room under his own power but he began to fade quickly thereafter. The veterinary assistant said that he was sweet and affectionate to the end. They first thought that he just had an abrasion on his leg, the only visible injury, but once they took an X-ray they saw the true extent of his internal injuries. We never got to say goodbye, but that was my wife's and my choice -- we didn't want to see him like that. I just thank God that I wasn't there to witness the whole thing unfold.
Perhaps the hardest part for me in dealing with my grief is that Jake was my adventure buddy. I took him along with me everywhere, and he was always excited for anything on the agenda, be it camping, hiking, backpacking or even skiing. His perceptiveness was genuine; there was a level of mutual understanding between us that's nearly impossible to describe. I've had many dogs in my life, but none like that. We had so much still ahead of us, yet we only got three and a half years. My eyes are welling up just as I'm typing this. I lost more than my dog; I lost my little boy.
But like all things in life, this pain shall too pass with time and will be replaced by positive emotions. He set the standard by which in my mind all other dogs will be compared. I'm just thankful for time that we had together and I will forever cherish those memories long after the pain of this moment subsides.
Rest in peace, my little boy.
I'm going to be brief, using a bullet point format because I'm only posting this now out of a sense of obligation to do so. I'm really not in the mood right now, as you'll understand in a moment.
Mrs. Admin and I went on a road trip this weekend to Crested Butte to research an upcoming feature. It's a 6.5-hour drive from Salt Lake City to Gunnison where we were staying, and another 30 minutes up CO-135 to Crested Butte. In a nutshell here's what we learned:
- The situation right now is really low tide with a 35-inch base, but you'd hardly notice that skiing around. Fortunately, four inches of dense new snow fell the night of our arrival, and they opened about a third of the North Face terrain the day before that. You had to watch your step and ski lightly, but I somehow didn't hit anything on a run down Hard Slab to Last Steep and had a blast in the process. While the Banana/Peel area has some aesthetically intriguing lines, they looked a bit too bony for my taste.
- The wind arrived with clearing skies on Sunday, scouring Saturday's soft surfaces and leaving some windswept sastrugi in its place. The difference between Saturday's and Sunday's surface quality was noteworthy, but that's a weather thing and hardly CBMR's fault.
- The terrain at CBMR, while limited to 1750 acres, is a hoot. They've got some legitimate steeps off the peak and at random spots around the mountain, and while the North Face terrain wasn't as steep as I'd been led to believe, it has tremendous variation and character that more than makes up for it. The mountain skis much bigger than that 1750-acre figure would lead you to believe, although in times of drought the bumps appear in sufficient number and depth that the 1750 figure makes sense.
- Much like Big Sky in Montana, there's a lot of steep, and there's a lot of easy. There's not a whole lot in between.
- Being well off the beaten path, the place was quite empty. While the base area is certainly well developed with luxury hotels and condos, once on the lift CBMR feels like a completely different place - low-key, quirky and laid back. Between the mountain and the base area it's got a real split personality. Despite its well-deserved reputation for extreme terrain there's no "look-at-me factor" going on. Even on a weekend with little new snow it seemed that I saw as many season passes as I did day tickets (CBMR dropped its early purchase pass price to $599 a couple of years back in an effort to recapture the local market and draw in some add-on passholders from the Denver metro area, some 4.5 hours away).
- I may well be one of the first people to opt to skin out of Teocalli Bowl rather than bootpack. My skin track was the only one, and the local with whom I rode the High Lift indicated that no one ever skins out of there. I nevertheless maintain that a five-minute skin beats a 10-15 minute boot pack any day.
- The town of Crested Butte (not to be confused with the town of Mt. Crested Butte two miles up the road at the base of the ski area) has been preserved charmingly well. We left an art gallery with not one, but two creations of local artisans who were present to explain their craft (and in the case of one of them, her history on the extreme telemark circuit). The Montanya rum micro-distillery serves some intriguing craft cocktails, but you'd better like rum 'cuz that's all they serve. The Secret Stash pizzeria is perhaps one of the most eclectic, bizarre places in which I've eaten in a while. The downstairs dining room had that "strip club-chic" ambiance -- quirky, yeah, and the pizza rocked.
- Locals were, without exception, enormously friendly. Our first lift ride was with a local who was more than happy to provide some pointers on where to go. A shopkeeper we met on Saturday night recognized us at the resort on Sunday and stopped by to chat. Another local guy struck up a conversation over coffee at the mountain on Sunday that provided much insight. The bartender at Montoya kept stopping to chat, and our server at the Stash even sat with us for a few to share a few secrets, none of which can be republished here :wink:.
- Apparently even the cops here are friendly, including while doing their job. They patrol the living crap out of CO-135. In three round-trips on that 30-mile road we never saw fewer than three police officers and/or traffic stops. If you're going to have a drink in Crested Butte before driving to Gunnison, take the free bus or you might end up like I did, on the shoulder of the road doing sobriety tests for an hour before finally getting to blow into the straw to prove that you truly are more tired than intoxicated. It was a wholly uncomfortable experience (including somehow screwing up reciting the alphabet from G through P! :shock
, and I'm sure that I exhibited plenty of nervousness (see aforementioned alphabet incident), but the Colorado State Patrol officer was very polite, respectful and at times even friendly in administering the tests. He noticed the leftover pizza box from the Stash and volunteered similar observations about the joint. That'll teach me to not weave a bit while playing with the radio. - The Gunnison Getaway is perhaps one of the best dirtbag deals around, but more on that in the upcoming feature piece that should publish in our news/feature section sometime this week.
And now a bit of explanation of why I feel the way that I do today. Many of you have gotten to know my dog Jake through postings to these forums, and some have even had the pleasure of meeting him in person. A friend was babysitting Jake while we were away at Crested Butte. While we were driving home, Jake and another friend's dog were left home alone together for a bit and they somehow both got out of our friend's fenced back yard. Jake got hit by a car.
The injuries were horrific. In essence, the impact ruptured his diaphragm and pushed his stomach organs up into his chest cavity. The only possibility was a $4,000 surgery with only 50/50 odds of survival. We decided against trying that while on a phone call while we were still 50 miles away. We told them to go ahead and euthanize him immediately to prevent any suffering. By the time we got to the veterinary emergency facility he had been put down. The doctor assured me that had he been in the same situation he would have made the same decision.
I understand that he was really tough in hanging on. He never once whimpered or cried the whole time. He even somehow walked into the examination room under his own power but he began to fade quickly thereafter. The veterinary assistant said that he was sweet and affectionate to the end. They first thought that he just had an abrasion on his leg, the only visible injury, but once they took an X-ray they saw the true extent of his internal injuries. We never got to say goodbye, but that was my wife's and my choice -- we didn't want to see him like that. I just thank God that I wasn't there to witness the whole thing unfold.
Perhaps the hardest part for me in dealing with my grief is that Jake was my adventure buddy. I took him along with me everywhere, and he was always excited for anything on the agenda, be it camping, hiking, backpacking or even skiing. His perceptiveness was genuine; there was a level of mutual understanding between us that's nearly impossible to describe. I've had many dogs in my life, but none like that. We had so much still ahead of us, yet we only got three and a half years. My eyes are welling up just as I'm typing this. I lost more than my dog; I lost my little boy.
But like all things in life, this pain shall too pass with time and will be replaced by positive emotions. He set the standard by which in my mind all other dogs will be compared. I'm just thankful for time that we had together and I will forever cherish those memories long after the pain of this moment subsides.
Rest in peace, my little boy.
