Lo-Fidelity: Staycation — learning how to relax again

They say Aspen produces no tangible product. Au contraire, Aspen is one big stress factory. I say we’re a leading manufacturer of stress in Colorado. We crank out bales of the stuff. Our gutters run deep with cortisol, and our anxiety sweat smells like onions. I am by no means “above” the obligatory self-degrading art of groveling.

I’ve been licking ski boots for tips in the rutted trenches of customer service for so long, I’m starting to like the taste.

The social, emotional, physical, and financial highs here are stratospheric, the lows subterranean. Town rollercoasters uncontrollably up and down, side to side, from sonic-booming to a ghost town with dust blowing through the streets and signs ratting in the wind, reminiscent of an old western.

In Aspen we work hard, we play hard, we detox and re-tox hard. We ski hard, crash hard, and then rehab hard in an effort to hunt down the aura of our former self, like a dog chases its tail. We complain incessantly about tourists all winter, and then when the lifts close, we morph into one. When it comes to vacationing, Aspenites really know how to adjust their latitude.

Not me, not this spring. This off-season, I made a conscious decision to remain in Aspen. My goal? Try and learn how to relax again.

Besides, when you live smack dab in the flight path of one of the busiest little airports in the world, it’s best to take full advantage of the closure and stay put. Given the chaotic political landscape, I wasn’t necessarily chomping at the bit to travel abroad, either.

I’ve become a “See-sponge” soaking up the sights of Aspen, like the emerald plague of new leaf growth, slowly chasing the snowpack up the mountains. To me, the green camouflage foliage of lime, jade, matcha, sage, and avocado tones are every bit as striking as the fall colors. Spring in Aspen is defined by a fragrant potpourri of promise, hope, and rebirth, unlike that of the monochromatic, odorless hellscape of late fall and winters here.

I’ve really been leaning into the change of season by taking mental and nasal notes on the events that foreshadow the coming of summer. The first one is the dragging of the last remaining hay fields and the two-toned opposing striped lines that scream spring. Next, the burning of ditches and the plumes of woody-smelling smoke that sends a primordial wakeup call to your senses. The fruit trees around town are all ego, blooming without humility like peacocks, as are the perfumed white and purple lilacs. Springtime in Aspen is a real nose-full. Then there’s everyone’s favorite Colorado road-trip-smell game: “Dead skunk, or cannabis grow operation?”

The big one for me, the real harbinger of summer is when the Salvation Ditch starts flowing, the main-vein sending the microbe-rich water from the Roaring Fork below Stillwater to the fields, farmers, and friends downstream.

As a kid, I used to play-in and drink out-of the Salvation Ditch over at the figure eight motocross track at the base of Smuggler Mountain, where Centennial stands now. I’m still prone to go mountain biking and drink out of a creek or stream, but on a hot day, I’m a sucker for chugging from the fountain of my youth: an old garden hose. There’s something about the acrid taste of sunbaked, rubber-infused, fluoridated city water that Fed-Exes me straight back to my childhood. Ah, life’s simple pleasures.

I’ve had my eye trained on Bell Mountain every single day over the last month. The old-timers say that Bell Mountain is the “bellwether” of our spring runoff. When the snow is melted off of this mountain, the runoff is finished, through, kaput, done-dee, crocodile style. Each year, I thirst for an exception to this rule, an outlier, some contradiction — but alas, the peals of Bell Mountain always ring true to legend: When the last scab of dirty snow fades atop of Bell, the river ceases to swell.

This year, the snowpack on Bell already looks spotty and defenseless. I know the feeling well. The impending runoff is sure to be meager, but every time I begin to fret, I have to remind myself that Aspen is notorious for dodging weather-related silver bullets. We even don a bulletproof flack jacket (snowmaking) underneath all of our different ski wardrobes. Whether it’s rain, snow, fortune, or fun, Aspen always finds a way to prevail. Everyone’s concerned about wildfire. Frankly, I’m more worried about having a heart attack.

I’m really glad I stuck around this off-season. The valley floor has been putting on quite the show, as is the green infused, snow dusted, Cajun-blackened burn scar on Red Mountain. Next thing you know, the cotton aka “snow in summer” will be flying. I’ve seen it snow on the 4th of July here twice … maybe even three times.

Thank you, my dearest Aspen, for affording me a perfectly relaxing staycation. I feel like I got to know our town, and our residents just a little bit better than I had before. I may’ve even re-learned how to relax again. Enjoy all the spring gardens and bountiful wildflowers. We’ll see you out on the trails and travails of Aspen.

Contact Lorenzo via suityourself@sopris.net.