A few months ago I won a weekend stay at a condominium on Brian Head Resort, a place Jason and I had never snowboarded before, at a charity auction. We were excited to try out some new slopes, especially since these new slopes could be accessed just by walking out the front door of this condo. We decided to use our Brian Head getaway a couple weeks ago and that turned out to be very advantageous timing. A storm dropped 13 inches of fresh powder on the resort in the 48 hours before we arrived and another one threw down 8 inches while we were carving it up. Those delicious flurries made our weekend amazing but complicated. Here is the thrilling tale of our adventures at the Head.

Brian Head is a little over 3 hours away, which is why we’ve always opted to hit one of the closer resorts rather than head south to its peaks. But, now that we’ve been to this secluded mountain, I think we will be returning again. Brian Head’s base elevation is actually the highest of any Utah resort at 9,600 feet and its extensive terrain satisfies boarders, skiers, snowshoers, and snowmobilers. Plus, it’s got a cool tubing hill. My favorite thing about this resort though was its lack of patrons. We didn’t have to constantly check over our shoulders for other riders as we cruised downhill. Yes, I believe we’ll be going back.

Thanks to those previously mentioned storms, and the lack of people present, the snow at Brian Head was fabulous! The powder was deep and heaped. It was glorious! Our one concern about the mountain’s conditions was the potential presence of blow-me-over air currents. The weather forecast indicated that the resort would be very windy, with gusts up to 26 MPH, all day Saturday. Not only would that much blowing make boarding cold and miserable but it could also cause the lifts to close, which would halt our fun altogether. Good thing Mr. Weatherman was incorrecto. While it was a touch breezy, the day was much more pleasant than expected. We didn’t see a lot of the sun but the constant flurries formed another thick blanket of snow by the afternoon. We were overjoyed about that extra layer of powder but, judging from the number of riders we saw stuck in the fluff after lunch, I think it may have been a vexation to the lesser skilled. When 4:30 hit and the resort closed for the day, Jason and I couldn’t believe it was already time to call it quits. Time flies when you’re flying down a mountain.

That snow wasn’t all fun and more fun though. It piled up on the roads quickly and made it impossible for us to drive into town to get dinner that night. Luckily, the tasty local pizza joint was happy to deliver. Later that evening those expected winds finally gusted in. Both of us were woken up several times during the night by the bedroom’s shrieking windows as the storm whipped about them.

And our drive home the next day was intense to say the least. Those of you who have wound around the steep climbs of State Route 143 that lead to Brian Head can understand why any amount of snow would be extremely hazardous on that twisted narrow road. Upon leaving the resort, we had to wait about half an hour at the top of the pass with a number of other cars while plows attempted to remove the remnants of the night’s blizzard from the highway. Once we were allowed to proceed, our convoy of vehicles crept down the canyon going only 7 MPH. Even at that sluggish speed we were all still sliding precariously, the 4WDs included. Our antilock brakes got some serious use and it took us about two hours longer to get home than it should have all thanks to just 11 miles of slick drops. That fluffy powder beast may look friendly but its wagging tail will knock you off your feet.

Even with its scary moments, our weekend was terrific. Being able to just grab our boards and walk onto the runs was fantastically convenient and the quantity of powder on those runs was excellent, especially since we had so much of it to ourselves. Brian Head was a finer resort than we expected. We won’t wait until we win another bid to go down there again.

Jason and I have been home even less frequently than usual as of late. Between mini-vacations, Sundance films, work trips, and all that regular stuff, the last few weeks have flown by in an awful hurry. But that didn’t stop us from somehow squishing yet another weekend getaway into our schedule. Our friends, Cam and Jim, are involved in a business together. They, along with their wives, were going to spend a couple days at a cabin up at Daniels Summit as a corporate retreat. Jason and I are not connected with their company in any way but they extended an invite for us to tag along nonetheless. We are usually the ones offering the free stays so this was a reversal of norms. I guess sometimes karma does give kickbacks.

The cabin turned out to be monstrous. I think our house would probably have fit in it a couple times over. Its cozy living space quickly became game central. Jason and I taught the gang Saboteur and then tried to teach everyone Bang. The concept of Bang is apparently more elusive than I thought, which explains why the team Jason and I were on slaughtered all the others effortlessly.

After our gaming that first night, Jason became a rabble-rouser. My hubby is an instigator, as many of you know, and he was in true mischief-maker mode that evening. He prompted a few juvenile pranks and soon pillows were flying everywhere. Before long, that ringleader and I found ourselves barricaded in our room by a wall of couch cushions. Good times.

The next day we spent all hours of light out on Daniels Summit’s many trails and meadows with our rented snowmobiles. The area has plentiful path options, some of which take as long as 2 hours to loop. For the most part we traveled as an earsplitting pack but Jason and I took a breather from the group midday in order to hit the Summit’s summit. Apparently, when the skies are clear the view is amazing from the top but we couldn’t see the blanketed valleys strewn out below us; we couldn’t even see a few feet in the distance. Although a cloud was taking a rest on the saddle, making visibility minimal and temperatures chilly, we still enjoyed checking out that misty peak.

When Jason and I were riding with the gang, we consumed a lot of time digging stuck snowmobiles out of the powder. Let me rephrase that, we spent a lot of time digging other people’s stuck snowmobiles out of the powder. (Turning my snowmobile upside-down does not count. That was easy to fix and didn’t require superhuman strength.) Some members of our group were more adventurous (i.e. foolish) when it came to taking their snowmobiles places they shouldn’t go. One particularly steep field seized almost every machine. Jason and I had to help push out mobile after mobile, none of which were ours. Boy was it tiring!

I can’t say that my day was incident free though. In fact, I definitely get the distinctive prize for the worst accident. You know those nightmares where you’re aware that something awful is about to happen to you but you are powerless to prevent it? Well, I had a real-life bout of that dreadful helplessness. Our group was cruising on the trail probably a tad faster than they should have been. (I prefer to go at a slower and safer speed when traversing wooded areas but some members of our bunch were a little impatient.) I came to a section of the road that angled right and steered my machine accordingly only it didn’t turn right but instead went left. What the what? Despite my forceful attempts to get it to go right, there was just no deterring it from its left bound course. A couple seconds later my opposite-than-planned direction of travel abruptly ended when I hit a tree. Although I’d like to think I braked or at least let off the gas in the middle of this, I’m not entirely sure I did either. It happened too fast and I was too confused about why my snowmobile wouldn’t go the way it was supposed to. A second of puzzlement was long enough for that tree to find me. I doubt you could have done better on a machine that you were not accustomed to driving and that was doing precisely the reverse of what it was intended to do. Besides, it’s unlikely that braking for half a second would have made much of a difference in the outcome of this scenario; snowmobiles don’t stop on a dime unless that dime is the size of a football field.

Even if I couldn’t fix everything in that second or two, I did do one thing brilliantly. When I hit that trunk I held onto my handlebars with a death grip that would have made Darth Vader proud. Since I was going about 25 MPH and was thrown from my seat by the impact, that tight clasp was the only thing that preventing me from smacking the tree myself or being tossed into the woods. I came extremely close to striking the trunk as it was, the group of friends riding in back of me thought I had, but dang if those stubby hands of mine didn’t hold on for all that they’re worth. Thanks to their unexpected strength, I came away from the experience with nothing more than black-and-blue knees, a bump on my head where it collided with my helmet, a little whiplash, sore wrists, and some understandable sketchiness. (Plus, a $165 fee for a bent ski rod.) Thank you little feisty fingers!

My hubby, for reasons unknown, really cares about me. He leapt from his snowmobile while it was still moving the moment I collided with that poor aspen. Almost instantly he was at my side checking my pupils and lucidity. (He was convinced that I had gotten a concussion or worse from body slamming that tree, which I hadn’t hit.)

What caused my snowmobile to suddenly get a rebellious mind of its own? Ice on the skis? Possession? Who knows. The guys at the rental shop did say that the snow conditions were just right for poor control and slow response time. You don’t say. I think I would count spontaneous oppositional travel as a little more than poor control. The mystery remains unsolved.

After our snow play, Jason and I treated everyone to dinner at the Spin Café, a yummy little joint we discovered last time we were in Heber. It was our small way of thanking our hosts. Everyone seemed to enjoy their meal and the housemade gelato was a hit. It sure was a hit with my stomach anyway.

More games awaited us when we returned to the cabin with full bellies. We got in a few rounds of Killer Oompi before some of the crew started losing Oompi oomph. Jim, Cindy, Jason, and I were the last ones conscious and playing. Which means no one else got to see Jason as a pony or Jim’s upper thigh revealed. Their loss.

It was an amusing weekend. I could have done without the tree incident and I wouldn’t have minded pulling a few less snowmobiles out of powder potholes but such are the hazards of fun. Plus, I guess we freeloaders need to earn our keep somehow. Many thanks to the kind souls that let me and Jason tag along on this winter escape; we would be happy to strain our muscles heaving your hefty snowmobiles from the mire anytime.