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This post is a bit unique as I will be writing each day of my ski trip as a different post. Because of this, I will include links to the other parts of this story below once they are added.

After the exhausting travel day, I woke up from what was likely the worst bunk bed in recent history, completely disappointing considering how high quality the place we were staying at seemed, at around 7:00am. Now one may be asking themselves (well I mean you’re really not, but it furthers the story, ok?) Sharp, why would someone as exhausted and pessimistic as you wake up that early, wouldn’t you want to spend the least amount time possible awake in order to limit disappointment? Well, dear reader, as It turns out, when its one of the few times Sharp actually wants to accomplish things, we prepares promptly. I assumed that the plan would be to eat really fast, get dressed, and try to get on the mountain at sometime around 8:00 am, as that is usually what one expects on a ski trip. I got up, and immediately started putting my heavy snow gear.

All geared up

However, one must remember that this is a Queener trip, so it seems everyone else just wanted to flop on the couch and watch bad comedians for two hours. So I had to take off my ski clothes and wait as the disappointment welled up inside me. I decided to take A look outside at the snowy wonderland awaiting my arrival, but it only made me want to get out of the ridiculously small apartment.

Eventually I gave up on getting out early, but I was still able to force us to get out around 9 am. I ran up ahead to see if there was anywhere to get food, and was told there was a really nice buffet place within one of the lodges, Saint Bernard, which is named after a dog, so that’s a major plus. We sat down and found ourselves to be the only ones there, likely because everyone else was already enjoying the snow, because SOMEBODY didn’t want to get up on time. Nonetheless, the restaurant was really quaint and the food was really good even though I don’t have any images to prove it.

Katia, Shelby, and Joe at Saint Bernard

We quickly went and bought our lift tickets, which, as it turns out, were extremely cheap for a place as nice as Solitude. I strapped into my snowboard and accompanied by my father and my sister, we all hopped onto what was obviously the main lift from the village, the Apex Express, and stretched a bit before deciding to take a warm up run.

Me and Bae

After going down a nice steep blue and getting back into the rhythm of my turns, my father and I, not sure where my sister, a very slow and meticulous skier, was, decided to get back on the lift and see if we could see her as we went up. It was there the first Queener screw-up™ occurred. We did find my sister as we went up and called for her to take the lift below, and luckily she heard us and said okay. We got to the top and began to wait. After waiting 5 minutes we began to get really confused on how hard it was to get on the same lift and take it up. However, my sister didn’t have her phone, so we were forced to wait. In the meantime I decided to take a nice shot of the mountain during this surprisingly bright day.

My father also used this wasted time to call up Joe and tell him where to meet us so we could all do some runs together, but as it soon turned out, neither Joe, nor my sister, could follow basic inscriptions. Joe took another lift up the mountain, even though we told him specifically where to go, and my sister also took another lift, even though she knew what the lift we originally took looked like. After 25 minutes of growling and becoming increasingly pissed off, my sister showed up, and when questioned as to where in the ever expanding universe she went, she responded with the most garbage philosopher answer of, “places, I went on own adventure,” as she legitimately pondered up at the sky. Regardless he got back onto the slopes and made our way down to the Summit Express which would take us to, obviously, the top of the mountain. Since we were not completely warmed up thanks to that same SOMEBODY who now had us wait for them. Once we reached the top of the mountain we glared down a really nice steep blue that led straight into a long bowl. I found it quite surprising that this run was considered a blue as I felt in most places it was steep enough to be considered a black, not like that was a bad thing though, as it meant we would find a lot more advanced terrain in the future.

View from the top of the blue run

It is around here we encounter the most fatal flaw, not just of today, but of the entire trip, my inability to take enough photos. It seems that in a mountain environment in which you are doing actions that literally pump you full of adrenaline, you are more focused on whether or not you’re going to make it down then whether or not this or that will make a good photo. And thus, from here on out, there will be huge gaps in which I will have no visuals, mainly because of my own sheer stupidity.

Moving on, we soon reached the bottom of the run and hopped back on the Summit express. it was here that my father trusted other people’s judgements once again. He called joe, gave him exact instructions on how to get to us, and said, sadly, that we would wait for him. And so we waited. And waited some more. And waited for so long that we decided to call him again to get the response that he was on the lift now and was on way up. Following additional waiting we got a phone call from joe. Unsupringly, Joe was not where we were, he went into another lift. My dad, who was so triggered that he looked like he was about go into epliletic shock, stoop up, said an adiuable ,”F*** this garbage,” and decided to hop into what turned out to be the best part of Solitude, honeycomb canyon. It was huge bowl consisting of only blacks with a lot of opportunities to turn off into the trees.

The rest of the morning was mainly just my father’, my sister, and myself skiing down the canyon as well of a few other runs, non of which I have pictures off, at least not taken this day. We then stopped for lunch at a little lodge back at the village, where I had some really, really bad tacos. I mean they weren’t like meh tacos, they were absolutely rancid. Honestly it’s a good thing I don’t have pictures of them, as they will likely turn you off of tacos for years to come.

The rest of the day was not really that eventful, with their being only two more thing to discuss, and event deemed sharp rolls 300 ft down the mountain, and the other being deemed Dad makes poor decisions. After Lunch, we were miraculously able to meet up with Joe and Shelby and began to ski together (not that hard is it?). On what was likely our third run I dropped into the slope and looked left to see joe come flying into me on his skies. Since this was a black, once I started rolling from I couldn’t stop myself. So there I was rolling like sonic the hedgehog down the slope, with my mind either being like,”I can’t believe You’ve done this,” or like, “is this some kind of joke?” Eventually the friction from my body sliding down on rough compacted ice brought me to a stop. Apparently no one actually noticed me falling, as Shelby told me that one second I was there and the next I was at the bottom. “Luckily” I didn’t die or get remotely injured from this fall, so I was able to keep going.  The next event was when we had gotten bored of the canyon for the day and decided to seek out a new run. While going down a cat track to find a chute, my dad made us stop at a mogul run. Now being a snowboarder I refused because I actually like to have fun when I’m going down a run. Now my father also hated mogul runs and said that if we cut through a patch of trees he thinks it leads to a nice run. And so the queener clan cut across the mogul run into a steeper, icy, mogul run.


Soon afterwards we were done for the day and returned to our small room to get some much needed r&r before dinner. We mainly sat around, watching a ton of comedians and tv shows, with my favorite of this day being Michael Bolton’s Valentine’s Day Special on Netflix, or hanging out in the lodges hot tub and pool, both of which were heated.

Now the original plan for tonight was something entirely different, as we thought we would take a late dinner so that we could eat with our other friends, the Dimarcos, once they got here. All seemed well and good as they were set to arrive at around 5, around when we had recovered from skiing. However, as we found out during the day, the plane flight got delayed from 2, to 3, to 4, to 5, to 6, and finally to 7 (That what’s you get for flying united, you schmucks!). In all seriousness though, it seemed they had a much worse travel day then we could have ever had, as the periodic pushbacks forced them to remain at the airport from 12-7.

So in the end, the Queeners and the Proschs (Joe and Shelby), had to eat without our third party. The restaurant we decided to attend was called the Silver Fork Lodge, and had the outside appearance of a snow covered log cabin, which is, of course, quite fitting, and had an equally as quaint interior. On their menus was a big section exclaiming this special kind of italian beef they had with a bunch of, likely exaggerated, claims about the beefs qualities. But regardless, steak is steak, and after an exhausting day of ROLLING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN, one does need their protein.

The food, while not really much the look at, was actually really good and was exactly what I had hoped it to be. Once we got back to the lodge, the Dimarcos soon showed up, more exhausted than us. However we had a nice surprise for them, as at the restaurant we also picked up a box of ribs and a burger for them, and as you can see, they seem to be extremely grateful.

And for the sake of time and because no-one actually is reading anything I write, I hereby end my useless and utterly pointless rambling.

That is, until next week.


Let me know what your guy’s recent ski experiences have been like? have you had times of equally as poor situations?