Ski Trip
This past weekend, Ray, Miranda, and I took a short vacation to Bend, Oregon. We booked a really good deal: about $580 for three nights in a condo hotel room and three days worth of lift tickets at Mount Bachelor, and drove down to Bend. It was a seven hour drive, and it went remarkably well, even with Miranda. We left at 3-ish, just in time for her nap, and she slept for three and a half hours. We stopped in Goldendale, WA for a long dinner and play time with Miranda, and then she slept for the rest of the trip.
In Goldendale, we were very pleasantly surprised to find a wonderful pub for dinner. The town was no bigger than Anna, IL (Goldendale has around 4000 people), and it's 60 miles from anything, but we wandered into a beautiful place (all brick and timber and prairie style leaded-glass), built by hand by the owner/operator, with great food and Quilter's Irish Death on tap. The place is called Windy Ridge Saloon and Eatery, and seriously, if you ever find yourself in Goldendale, WA, you've got to stop there.
The drive across central Washington and Oregon was pretty mind blowing. There were long stretches where the only signs of human life were the road and the cars. We did pass one monastery out there. And then there were the windmills. In some areas there were wind farms stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. These gigantic, white, alien looking things were so stark against the background of the almost untouched nature, they were creepy. Especially in the near dark, when there turning blades were just barely visible.
Bend is a cool little town. There are seven or so breweries there, though we only made time for two of them: Deschutes and Cascade Lakes. Good food and beer at both, though I'd recommend Deschutes first.
Because Miranda is too young to ski, Ray and I took turns on the mountain. I got to go first, and so that Saturday morning I took the hotel shuttle up to West Village Lodge. I was hesitant to waste my precious skiing time on warming up on the green runs (even though it had basically been two years since I'd skied), but after I took a dive into the softest, fluffiest snow, I remembered that I had three days and a few warm ups wouldn't kill me. It was beautiful: 15" of brand new snow, and not an icy crunch in sight. By the end of my 2.5 hour turn, I was back on the blue runs and feeling confident.
The next morning, Miranda and I went into Bend while Ray was skiing. We walked along the river for a while, and the the old downtown area. A lot of things were closed, but it seemed like a friendly little place. The sky was mostly clear and you could see mountains all around.
I took the second turn skiing that day. The snow was a little bit used up, but it was also a beautiful bluebird day, so it was a trade off. I did a bunch of runs, mostly good, one bad (I wandered into a fluffy, ungroomed, tree-lined run and decided I was too out of practice for that). I also caught the very last lift of the day up to the mountain's summit, where I learned about a kind of scary I'd never even considered before. The top 50' or so of the summit area were really icy by then, and there was a strong wind. I couldn't cut into the ice and it felt like that wind could push me over. I felt kind of ridiculous as I inched my way down that section, but I was too scared to care. When I finally got away from that icy, windy patch, I was so exhilarated, and also relieved enough to look around and see how beautiful it was from up there: over 9000 feet. Once I was over my nerves, I did alright on the way down, until I hit an ungroomed, fluffy section and took a fall. I have a lovely, brightly colored bruise on my calf from that fall, and I decided that would be my last run of the day.
That night we had pizza and beer in our condo and sat by a fire in the fireplace. Miranda seemed to like the fire, or at least was a little hypnotized by it.
On our last morning, we each only squeezed in about an hour of skiing, but it was worth it. It was snowing again and there were no lines or crowds since it was Monday morning, and I was able to get three long runs in.
It was a great trip and I am thrilled that we were able to pull it off with the baby. It will be fun in a couple more years when she can ski, too, but for now I'm just overjoyed that we can still ski for ourselves.
In Goldendale, we were very pleasantly surprised to find a wonderful pub for dinner. The town was no bigger than Anna, IL (Goldendale has around 4000 people), and it's 60 miles from anything, but we wandered into a beautiful place (all brick and timber and prairie style leaded-glass), built by hand by the owner/operator, with great food and Quilter's Irish Death on tap. The place is called Windy Ridge Saloon and Eatery, and seriously, if you ever find yourself in Goldendale, WA, you've got to stop there.
The drive across central Washington and Oregon was pretty mind blowing. There were long stretches where the only signs of human life were the road and the cars. We did pass one monastery out there. And then there were the windmills. In some areas there were wind farms stretching from one end of the horizon to the other. These gigantic, white, alien looking things were so stark against the background of the almost untouched nature, they were creepy. Especially in the near dark, when there turning blades were just barely visible.
Bend is a cool little town. There are seven or so breweries there, though we only made time for two of them: Deschutes and Cascade Lakes. Good food and beer at both, though I'd recommend Deschutes first.
Because Miranda is too young to ski, Ray and I took turns on the mountain. I got to go first, and so that Saturday morning I took the hotel shuttle up to West Village Lodge. I was hesitant to waste my precious skiing time on warming up on the green runs (even though it had basically been two years since I'd skied), but after I took a dive into the softest, fluffiest snow, I remembered that I had three days and a few warm ups wouldn't kill me. It was beautiful: 15" of brand new snow, and not an icy crunch in sight. By the end of my 2.5 hour turn, I was back on the blue runs and feeling confident.
The next morning, Miranda and I went into Bend while Ray was skiing. We walked along the river for a while, and the the old downtown area. A lot of things were closed, but it seemed like a friendly little place. The sky was mostly clear and you could see mountains all around.
I took the second turn skiing that day. The snow was a little bit used up, but it was also a beautiful bluebird day, so it was a trade off. I did a bunch of runs, mostly good, one bad (I wandered into a fluffy, ungroomed, tree-lined run and decided I was too out of practice for that). I also caught the very last lift of the day up to the mountain's summit, where I learned about a kind of scary I'd never even considered before. The top 50' or so of the summit area were really icy by then, and there was a strong wind. I couldn't cut into the ice and it felt like that wind could push me over. I felt kind of ridiculous as I inched my way down that section, but I was too scared to care. When I finally got away from that icy, windy patch, I was so exhilarated, and also relieved enough to look around and see how beautiful it was from up there: over 9000 feet. Once I was over my nerves, I did alright on the way down, until I hit an ungroomed, fluffy section and took a fall. I have a lovely, brightly colored bruise on my calf from that fall, and I decided that would be my last run of the day.
That night we had pizza and beer in our condo and sat by a fire in the fireplace. Miranda seemed to like the fire, or at least was a little hypnotized by it.
On our last morning, we each only squeezed in about an hour of skiing, but it was worth it. It was snowing again and there were no lines or crowds since it was Monday morning, and I was able to get three long runs in.
It was a great trip and I am thrilled that we were able to pull it off with the baby. It will be fun in a couple more years when she can ski, too, but for now I'm just overjoyed that we can still ski for ourselves.