We spent the weekend at Sugarloaf. I hadn't been skiing there since the winter before I moved to Vail, and I must say I was pleasantly surprised. It felt bigger and steeper than I had expected it to after spending 3 winters in the Rockies. We totally lucked out with snow, too. The day before we arrived, it had been just warm enough to warm up the "bullet proof ice" (my dad is especially fond of that expression), so it was relatively easy to carve turns. And it stayed pretty warm on Saturday too. My dad and I kept saying we actually wished it would be worse conditions, because we wanted Dan to see how bad "real" eastern skiing can be.
Sunday, on the other hand, was a different story. Temperatures plummeted to below zero with the windchill. In the picture above you can see the thermometer reading 8 degrees at around 10 am with no windchill included. Scroll a bit farther down and you'll see just how windy it was. Anyway, my dad, ever the ridiculously hardcore skier, left us to take a few runs before lunch, while the rest of us lounged around by the wood stove, sipping coffee and eating bagels from Scratch Baking Co. (yum!).
The main room of our camp is filled with pine paneling. And that little wood stove up there? It might look unassuming, but it can heat our camp up from sub-zero temps to the 90s in no time at all. My dad read a book about moonshine in Appalachia and had to buy a bottle to try it. It was strong, to say the least.
Every Sunday for as long as I can remember, The Bag (one of the few restaurants at Sugarloaf and arguably the best), has been serving cheeseburger soup. As soon as I figured this out, I lived for Sundays. The thought of this absurdly delicious (and absurdly unhealthy) soup got me through many frigid days on the slopes.
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