Peter Shelton

Chooglin’ On Down the Road

Posted in Confessions of a Grandpa, Personal History, Watch columns by pshelton on December 30, 2011

Don’t you know it’s gonna be – all right. Shoo-bee-doo-wah. – “Revolution 1” by The Beatles

It’s not always easy these days to believe the John Lennon of 1968. Is it going to be all right? I’m not sure he believed the lyric himself. Despite what the Maharishi was telling him. (more…)

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Christmas Tree of Life

Posted in Confessions of a Grandpa, Watch columns by pshelton on December 24, 2011

Cecily showed me a picture of their Christmas tree, a scrawny little thing with branches on just one side. It’s so crooked it won’t stand up on its own, so they attached it with monofilament line to a hook in the ceiling. “It kind of rotates a little bit now and then on its own,” Cecily said. “But it’s good; Boden can’t pull it down.” (more…)

Send Lawyers, Guns and Money

Posted in Road Trips West, Watch columns by pshelton on December 16, 2011

My friend Pat and I sat in the back seat of his parents’ sedan as we approached the border in Tijuana. We had cherry bombs stashed in the trunk, in our duffle bags with our bathing suits and wet towels. (more…)

Turning Back the Skiing Clock

Posted in Ski evolution, Ski history, Watch columns by pshelton on December 8, 2011

My mother says she doesn’t always “get” the things I write about skiing. Full disclosure, Mom: Look out! This one’s about sidecut and turn radius, and what some World Cup skiers – most notably outspoken Americans Ted Ligety and Bode Miller – see as an attempt to send ski racing back to the Hickory Age. (more…)

The White Ribbon of Death

Posted in Ski history, Watch columns by pshelton on December 1, 2011

I liked Brian Scranton from the moment I heard him say the words “white ribbon of death.”

This was a couple of years ago, very early in the ski season. He was talking about making the long drive across the divide to Loveland Basin for their opening day. It might have been the first day of lift-served skiing in Colorado that autumn, sometime around Halloween.

Scranton knew it was ridiculous to make the 275-mile one-way drive from Ridgway just to ski a lonely strip of man-made snow. But he couldn’t help himself; it was without question going to be worth it. Giving the ersatz ski experience a mock-terrifying sobriquet only made me like him more. (more…)