I had been back in ‘Merica for five days. Two days of salted caramel ice cream and playing at Joaquin Miller Park in the Bay Area and I was jet-setting to spend Christmas with my family in
St. Louis, Missouri. Two days later, I had packed up all of my ski gear and was off to Keystone, Colorado  for a few days of Rocky Mountain goodness with my father, younger brother and
his girlfriend.

A 2-hour flight from Missouri to Colorado? Of course not! What better way to reconnect with your family than to spend some 13 hours and a little over 900 miles cooped up in the car traveling across the county?

By the end of the journey, I had Cheez-Its coming out of my ears and had exhausted all efforts of igniting a blood-boiling debate of American politics with my counterparts. Buddy Holly blasting most of the way, it was a fantastic way to reconnect with both my family and ‘Merica.

The middle-of-nowhere gas stations complete with confederate-flag-bearing folk, the larger-than-life slurpees and the vaguely pornographic magazines complete with leather-clad women on motorcycles all seemed refreshingly familiar. As I stuffed my face with salami, pretzels and, I’m a bit embarrassed to admit, jalapeño deer jerky, I felt strangely comfortable and relaxed. Is this what it felt like to be home?

Traveling across middle america and into the Rockies was beautiful. After almost 3 years of not skiing, it was remarkabley easy to hop back into the saddle, per say. Keystone, Colorado was
the home of many childhood memories. For years, I had attended ski school and charged down
the slopes as a youngin’, just a few feet beyond where we were currently stationed at the base
of the mountain.

Complete with the unique opportunity to night ski, you can literally ski for 12 straight hours at the great Keystone Resort. Capping it off with an IPA at the end of the evening was like a thing of dreams. Colorado left my wheels spinning with fantasies of throwing down some roots in the Rocky Mountains.