Sitting neck deep in the most rotten snow in the Rockies, the irrefutable truth was forced through my skull faster than the crud crammed down my pants. Reality's cold sting trickled down my spine as I realized that my butt, once again, had been kicked.

The struggle began in the stale, over-baked snowpack and treacherous tree wells surrounding the west slope of Vail Mountain's Ptarmigan Ridge, where, in the face of global warming on this January day, I managed more or less to link a series of incongruent tele turns through the shadows leading down to the banks of South Game Creek.

There I encountered the glazed track that would prove to be my undoing, my skis skipping erratically across the narrow, icy run like baby gazelles attempting in vain to escape a pack of hungry hyenas on the bleak plains of the Serengeti. Jumping and bucking wildly in their fit of desperation, they ran as fast as they were able.

My skis, however, are not quite so agile as gazelles, lacking too in instinct as they leapt over a small stream and darted not back to the safety of the trail, but defiantly toward the deep cover of breakable crust and sugar snow surrounding the creek bed. It was there, alone and without ceremony some 10 feet below that trail that the tush-whooping was made complete.

Blinded by disillusion and goggle fog, I eventually dug out of the bottomless sugar bowl and groped my way home to Minturn.

This wasn't my first attempt at the local backcountry commuter cruiser connecting Vail Mountain to my home in the hamlet of Minturn, but even after 11 years and more than 100 trips down the multi-mile drainage, somehow the run still manages to get the best of me at least once every season.

Since our introduction, I've had something of a love-hate relationship with the Minturn Mile. I fell hard the first time I discovered Minturn's own ski-in, chill-out route, and even harder on the second, when I managed to hook a tip around a tree during a fatefully foggy run down the "luge" section of the slope and nearly decapitated my knee.

While that hateful ski day still lingers with the dull, throbbing pain of a distant Mariah Carey ballad, I ultimately re-learned to love the luge through the benefit of a snowboard, smearing butter smooth turns down the tree-lined mini-pipe to town.

Tackling the Minturn Mile Photo: Scott Willoughby

A broken snowboard binding in a mandatory-skate portion of the luge that once again tossed me toward the creek bottom served as a reminder that our relationship shouldn't be taken for granted. And routine squabbles now that I've removed the training heels from my skis help me keep my New Year's helmet resolution.

But like any relationship that stands the test of time, I've learned a lot about my Minturn mistress through the years. I know her quirks and understand that she deserves my respect. Despite her flaws, it's her beauty that keeps me coming back. And I always leave satisfied.

Today's run began the same way they all do, with a short hike up the ridge and out the backcountry gate from the top of Vail. The majesty of the Mount of the Holy Cross greeted us from across the valley at the summit and tracks leading out the gate were few. My friend Karm and I pointed our skis south and savored the first few turns as snow billowed over our thighs with every delicious telemark turn. But after a short elevation loss, the skiing went south indeed.

Our fat skis were put to the test as the snow turned at once unseasonably stale and soupy. A series of linked recoveries landed me at the base of the slope, where the narrow luge run begins. We attempted to take our time on the slick, singletrack route, but the snow would have none of it. The wind whistled through my helmet as my eyes frantically scanned the horizon for onrushing hazards. Watch out for the stump. Ollie that rock. Hold the line. Better slow down before the creek. Too late.

Once my skis slid off track, the stale sugar snow had its way with me. The fall was swift and painless, but the hike back up to the packed trail lasted a seeming eternity. I laughed it off quickly though, knowing full well that I'll soon again fall in love with my Miniturn mistress on the next outing.

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