Slednecks

I think I was more psyched to get home to snowmobile than anything. I have skied tons of pow everywhere I have gone, so to come home and ski was not on the top of my list. Rest, hanging out with my good friends and a little roosting were much higher priorities.

After my first day home of nothing but sleeping, eating, and yoga, I was ready to get up and at 'em. It took a little while to get sorted, since my trailer for the snowmobile was missing, I couldn't find my knee pads and my sled was buried in the back yard. A few hours later I had tracked down all of my gear — my sled was no longer stuck (true to form it started right up) and I was ready to roll. At this point my friends, with whom I had planned to roost, were now long gone. I rallied up to the trailhead and went out in search of the boys.

"I stopped by a friend's house up in the Irwin townsite ... but I found only his dog, hanging out as Irwin dogs do..."

I stopped by a friend's house up in the Irwin townsite (11 miles from Crested Butte accessible only by snowmobile in the winter), but I found only his dog, hanging out as Irwin dogs do. Now, I figured the best bet was not to worry about hooking up with the boys and just to go for a solo roost instead.

My sled was running like a champ, but this time the front suspension was dragging a little and making some weird noises. I chose to ignore it (only to find out at the end of the day I had been riding all day with a broken trailing arm — oops) and rip around the woods with reckless abandon, being careful not to stray far from old tracks except in large flat clearings. The idea of getting stuck while full solo in the late afternoon in the Colorado high country with a long walk out of there was far from appealing.

	Back at the Trailhead

After about two hours of full throttle action, I was pretty wired on the two stroke buzz and in need of some refreshment. I rode up to the Irwin Lodge, a cat-skiing Mecca and a great stopover after skiing or snowmobiling this section of the backcountry, for a cold one. Sure enough, the boys were there. Why did I not come here first? Probably because I would have stayed and drank rather than have gone roosting.

We threw down a few cocktails chased with some good lies. There really is no other way to end a two stroke day.

— Dave Swanwick, MountainZone.com Correspondent

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