In 1985, Chris (my ex-wife) and I went skiing for the first (and only) time at Steamboat Springs, Colorado. My sister Barbie and her husband had a time-share condo. My brother Mike also came. We flew into Denver and they picked us up at the airport. Steamboat is about the farthest west of the popular ski resorts in Colorado that you would get to by flying into Denver. It’s far enough up into the mountains that it’s slightly colder than most other resorts.

We went in February. I fully expected to be thrilled with the trip, but the problem was that there hadn’t been much snow in quite awhile and the man-made snow just wasn’t doing the job. Much of it was icy. But, that was the least of my concerns.

It was so cold that it was almost impossible to keep from freezing when skiing. It was bad enough sitting still. Imagine the wind chill coming down a mountain at 20+ mph. I remember on the Wednesday of the week we were there, we went to the resort at 9AM when it opened. There was a huge time/temperature display outside where you pick up your passes. It read -33 degrees.

Later that day, we found out the low that night in Steamboat Springs had been -47. Consequently, icy slopes and arctic temperatures made it a somewhat miserable experience and I vowed never to return. I did return twice, but during the summer – where it was a slice of Heaven!