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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that feels like our legs are dried-up string cheese and somebody’s peeling the fibrous bits off one-by-one.

This is what two-and-a-half hours of racquetball can do to a daily column. How is it that we can ski all winter and still feel this way? We bet daily lumberjacks don’t have this problem.


Our comments about milkshakes yesterday got some quick responses in the morning. We received three phone calls (four if you count the mysterious mooing, which sounded like a cow, which makes milk, which you need for milkshakes, so, yeah, let’s count it).

First, Susie called and said Abbey’s, right down the street, makes milkshakes from real milk and ice cream. They’ve been serving them for about a year, she said, and if we’re really nice, they might even give us the leftovers in the mixing cup. Woo-hoo!

An anonymous caller left a message saying shakes are even closer than that. The Butterhorn Bakery makes delicious ones (“killer,” to use his words exactly), and the caller said he’d been enjoying them for about 13 years. That’s a lot of milkshakes.

And, yet another caller said there are good milkshakes in Summit Up Land, we just need to go over to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory in River Run, and “Rick’ll make you something good.”

Well, there we have it. Mystery solved. Where would be without our readers?


This Angel Alert!! Angel Alert!! actually got us all misty, because the caller was so sincere and seemed genuinely touched by the good deeds of others.

The anonymous caller, an A-Basin employee, said he was flying down the West Wall on his snowboard Wednesday – “I was doing about Mach 50,” he said – when he caught his front edge and did what was surely a record face-plant.

“I painted the snow,” he told us. While fantastic to watch, it hurt. He told us he suffered a torn ACL, torn MCL, got 18 stitches on his nose and has the kind of shiner Mike Tyson wishes he could claim.

An English couple came to his rescue, fortunately.

“I don’t remember their names,” the caller said. “The gentleman came running over and pulled every tissue out of his pockets. He held my face together until ski patrol got there. I’ve never felt that much kindness from a complete stranger in my life.”

Not even George W. and Tony Blair could be as proud as we are. A thousand karma points to all of you.


Who makes your butter? Is it better even though you buy it? We’ll philosophize on these and other subjects tomorrow. But for today, it’s Friday, and that’s enough to think about. Today’s password is “candle-powered tanning bed.”

We’re at, fax at (970) 668-0755 or haunting the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237 when we’re not out trying to get ahead on sleep before daylight-saving time …

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