I had a blast in New York City and was awed by the magnitude of the skyline!
What’s Your Path?
When your day begins, and you take off for your next adventure, your next goal, your latest dream, or that new relationship, what route do you take?
When your adventure unfolds, where do you find yourself? What path do you prefer? What line do you follow?
It’s not just about where you’re going, but the road you take getting there. Our navigational tendencies are as unique as our personalities. And the path we choose illustrates how we like to experience life.
So…. where do you like to walk?
Along a cliff’s edge?
On thin ice?
Or on pins and needles?
Would you walk on the path of least resistance?
Or on the road less traveled?
Maybe the long and winding road?
Do you prefer to dance on your enemy’s doorstep?
Or walk on the edge of fear?
Vail Mountain Closing Day Celebration (“4 at 4”) – April 23, 2017
Vail’s 2015-’16 Closing-Day Summit Gala
Vail’s Closing Day 2015 Mountaintop Celebration & Pond Skimming Event
Another stellar season at Vail. Not the best year for snow, but the endless parade of activities, events and excitement took the Vail Valley to a new height. The 2015 World Skiing Championships put Vail and Beaver Creek on the international map — again. It was the third time Vail/B.C. hosted these races.
April 19, 2015 – Closing Day was chilly and snowy, so costumed characters were bundled up. But it did not subdue the spirit that only Closing Day can bring. Bittersweet fun and celebration as usual.
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“Reading is FUNdamental” and Trees Really Do Fall in the Forest.
Did anybody see this happen?
I’ve been on a delightful and very gratifying book-reading tear for the past decade or so. This new-found hobby ties in perfectly with my mid-life-crisis goal of spending as much time as possible in the glorious outdoors of Colorado and elsewhere, both in business and free-time pursuits.
For most of my life this usually translated into some on-the-edge physical sport, adventurous endeavor or work project, with all the inherent insurance risks. But with advancing age, I’m finding that injuries are less prevalent when sitting in a chair. Reading in the outdoors, in some secluded, peaceful, scenic place is one of my new joys. And my State Farm agent loves me for my latest outlook on life.
A more recent goal has been to find ways to escape the clutches of my beloved iMac computer. But, drat, dang nabbit, digital photography, writing, research, news consumption and social media silliness are all so addicting, so I’m still working on this goal.
Having finished my last book weeks ago, I was getting restless for another literary meal, a mental escape, my next life diversion. Anything so I don’t go near a TV. Or in some instances, people. So I just ordered a few more of Tim Cahill’s classics.
Tim is the author of several books, most published years and decades ago, but timeless nonetheless. His titles include “Road Fever,” “Jaguars Ripped My Flesh,” and “A Wolverine Is Eating My Leg.” He is a founding editor of Outside magazine and writes frequently for National Geographic Adventure and other national publications. He lives in Montana.
I discovered his writings when I happened upon a book at a yard sale a decade ago. It had this close-up photo of an odd-looking, forlorn duck on the cover. This was before the Aflac commercial craze, but I had to buy it when I saw the title: “Pecked to Death by Ducks.”
Cahill’s book titles are randomly and oddly selected, and have nothing at all to do with the content, but then, in strange ways, perfectly explain his adventures and written masterpieces in concise and twisted ways. Some might even call Tim twisted. I’m sure all his friends, and his publisher, do.
One critic explains Tim this way: “Cahill is great! He is the P.J. O’Rourke of the outdoors! Fearless and hell-bent on overcoming all obstacles in his path, Cahill takes us to the oddest and scariest adventures nature has to offer.”
If you have read any Cahill, you will find a slight irony in the fact that while I was comfortably ensconced in my camping chair in the White River Forest of Colorado this past week, with no mortals anywhere within miles of me, halfway into “ A Wolverine is Eating My Leg,” I was jolted from my chair upon hearing a tree–a very large tree, no doubt–topple over and crash in the forest clear across the valley. In the middle of the afternoon. And there was no wind.
No one else heard it. Just me. And how often does that happen?
But I heard it. And so it did indeed fall.
Thank you, Tim.
