The First Annual Wasatch Biathlon

When life gives you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade....so we've been squeezing lemons out here.

As noted yesterday, we're suffering through a difficult start to our ski season.  There's been some snowfall, but the wacky warm temperatures have precluded further snowmaking.  It's perhaps not as critical for a certain flatlander looking to find his sea legs, but the natives are getting restless.  The situation has been mitigated by our ability to use our passes next door at Park City, but we desperately need snow in the next few weeks.

My ski posse includes a Core Four of FNBF* Bob, Mitch, Lee and yours truly, and has been dubbed the FOGs, and I'm guessing the reader can intuit the source of that acronym.  The boys were good enough to assemble for an opening night dinner when I first hit town on Thursday, and from the get-go Mitch, Official Community Organizer of the FOGs, was suggesting that we play golf on Sunday.  I of course declined, having no golf clothes, shoes, clubs, yada, yada, yada...

But Mitch apparently has trouble taking no for an answer, perhaps a job requirement for his community organizing gig.  On Saturday he hit on the path to "Yes," suggesting that we ski in the morning then drive down to the Valley to tee it up.  It happens that playing in jeans is accepted practice out here and we share a shoe size, so plans were hatched.

We met at the base of park City at 9:30 and took about four good runs.  FNBF* Bob came along for the first stage of the Biathlon, though due to logistics it resulted in a short ski-day for him.  

Mitch and your humble blogger prepare for the second stage of the biathlon.

FNBF* Bob leads the pack, a usual.

Two thirds of the posse.  I just realized I'm the only one without facial hair.

Then it was time to throw the skis in the boot and head down to the Valley.  Our venue was a track called Cedar Hills, tucked in against the Wasatch range.  Mitch's friend Nate joined us, and a great time was had by all.  I'm not a big fan of winter golf, but, as noted above, lemonade.  And with borrowed sticks and in jeans, expectations were suitably low and enjoyment of the weather and vistas was maximized.

Did I mention vistas?

The first tee features a 150' drop making club selection speculative.

Nate rips one with the Wasatch range as backdrop.

Mitch and I demonstrate poor situational awareness. 

Nate strikes a dramatic pose, while, for the record, searching for Mitch's errant tee shot.

A wacky panorama, above, giving a sense of scale.  Mitch, mugging as usual, bottom.

The short but oh so tricky 14th.

My one moment of glory: reaching the Par-5 18th in two.  Oh how I hate those 3-putt pars...

A great day wa shad by all, and we can check this off the bucket list.

* Former new best friend.