Of beavers and creeks

We left the Liar to have a big sleep in the nice hotel room in Avon and drove over to Beaver Creek, where we had been told we could hike some pretty trails and take some stunning photos.  Both proved to be true.

The Talk, and the village of Beaver Creek.

From the village we headed uphill, walking trails when we found them or straight up the ski-runs when we couldn't.

The Hammer running up that hill

What surprised us was how cold it wasn't.  While there was a noticeable difference between being in the sun and the shade, it was quite a warm day made warmer by the exertion of heading up hill.

We were not very high up at this stage

We were even lucky enough to see a bit of wildlife; mostly birds, but a few mammals as well.

Dear oh deer.

And it was worth spending the morning heading up to see the Rockies stretched away to the north.

Oh, those mountains.

The Talk got the skiing itch very badly.  It was all he could talk about for most of the walk down, and the next few days.

The Talk informs me this is some 'sick free-styling.'

The empty ski runs felt strange as we stumbled and slid down them.  It would be curious to see them covered in snow and rich, white people.

Empty chairlifts are eerie.

That night we ate at a hamburger place in Edwards and went to bed early.  In the morning we would drive for at least 10 hours and cross two state borders.