Love on the Rockies
What’s up, people of the ‘hood?In case anybody out there is still wondering, let me clear something up: Valentine’s Day sucks.Since my V-day date has gone to hell, it’s tempting to take my column this week and tell a wonderful love story then mangle it into a cynical attack on all lovers everywhere. I’d love to lead you on, make you think I’m cute and lovable, then rip your heart out, feed half of it to the dog and shove the rest into the garbage disposal.Not that that’s ever happened to me, of course.And I’m not going to do that, because that’s evil and people who do that are really, really bad and should be forced to eat those annoying, rock-hard candy hearts until they feel as sick as I do.But since I’m perfect and I’ve never, ever hurt anybody’s feelings, and since I’d never do anything mean (like ditch you on Valentine’s Day and go on a date with your best friend, for example), I’ve got a whopper of a love story for ya. It comes from right here in the middle of the Rocky Mountains, and here goes:Witness the lovely Marly and able Kurt, two seasoned locals who freed their heels, found love in like minds, and interwove their hearts at 11,880 feet above sea level.And they did the whole thing in the dead of winter while surrounded by more than 60 other couples.It was only Feb. 12 when the pair heard about the mass wedding atop Loveland ski area on Valentine’s Day at noon, part of the 12th annual Mountaintop Wedding Ceremony (aka, the “Marry Me and Ski For Free” event), where couples with a free spirit tie the knot wearing skis, boots, boards, snowshoes, hockey skates, or whatever other snow-type dealy they care to wear.”I just thought it was perfect,” says Marly.And why not? She’ll be on her telemarks, he’ll be on his telemarks, and then they can show each other their skins before skiing the day away.Plus, as Marly adds, “Since it’s last-minute, we don’t have to feel bad about not inviting people, and the shock of telling them, ‘Oh, we’re married’ well, that’s fun too.”Lucky bastards.But that’s not all. When it comes to honeymoons, there’s only one town that tops everyone’s list, stokes worldwide romantic fires, and whose very name blossoms like the great flower of love itself: Newcastle.That’s right, what could be better than going bowling with your buddies in a town that’s famous for coal-seam-fire parties, mullets and, well bowling.OK, that’s their thing and I’m not going to knock it. In fact, bowling with your brand-new spouse after a day on the hill is a lot better than what I’ll probably be doing.So when the bartender picks me up off the floor and tosses me out of the Brass Parrot this Friday, I’ll have to remember Marly and Kurt. And rather than head over to the next bar and order up another glass of heart medicine, maybe I’ll strap on the skis and skin up to 11,880 feet, where (if I’m as lucky as Marly and Kurt), I’ll find the woman of my dreams (and I’ll have at least a few months before she slices my heart into strips and feeds it through the juicer while laughing and kicking me in the groin).Tom Boyd is a lifelong loser and assistant editor of The Vail Trail. Look for him stumbling through the nearest gutter, send an e-mail at email@example.com, or call at (970) 390-1585.
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