For instance, take skiing in Colorado. I went down to Steamboat Springs a few weeks ago with Sage, an undergrad in the lab. Don't let the "undergrad" thing fool you: he has a good five years and two kids on me. As we drove down, I noticed one of those little things. The "farmland" that we passed between two mountain ranges was... dry as bone. Any spot that flat in Sweden has most assuredly been farmed for the last 500 years or so, and is probably located in Skåne anyway. But up above 7000 feet, which is higher than any point in Sweden including the top of Kebnekaise, flatness just guarantees a lot of wind. Sage guessed that they might be able to grow alfalfa there, but he sounded doubtful -- mostly they grow cows.
Aside from agricultural concerns, the Colorado mountains are absolutely beautiful. The dramatic terrain, comfortably familiar pine forests and endless views of snow-capped peaks deliver a whole bunch of "Woah..." moments as you stop during between ski runs. Wyoming can be a bit bleak during winter, because it's mostly flat and brown, and my last post demonstrated what Sweden looks like this time of year, so going up to the mountains was a breather for the soul. After just one visit, I'm seriously considering moving there. I wish I could show you some pictures, but in my haste to get out of the house (at 6 AM!) I forgot to bring the camera. Check out Flickr's Colorado pictures for a glimpse of what it might look like.
Now, the little detail that makes all the difference between Steamboat and a place like Sälen is spelled "P-O-W-D-E-R". Not only do these mountains get obscence amounts of snow -- 22 feet fell between Christmas and Jan 14 -- but by some bizarre twist of fate and meterology it tends to come down as a very fine powder. Even though we came in several days after the last heavy precipitation, we could still frolic in knee-deep "pow" and wipe out (while giggling, I might add) into huge piles of the soft white stuff. If you went off into the forest you could find lots of medium-difficulty tree runs: exciting enough to be interesting, with lots of untouched terrain, but enough space between the trees that you didn't actually crack your skull open every five feet. Even the blue runs were moderately amusing due to the sheer amount of snow. We only stopped when our legs were giving out and the sun was going down. It was easily the best day I've had skiing in the last five years, if not ten, and I'm definitely going back... but not too soon. The cost of a day pass is nothing short of highway robbery, and if you're renting skis your wallet will be bleeding green at an alarming rate. This time, though, it was way worth it.
Sticking with the theme of skiing, Joe (of transvestite Halloween fame) lured me out into the cross country tracks this weekend. I'd planned on climbing, but since the wall was only open during The Big Game (Superbowl XLII) that wasn't happening. Going up to Happy Jack and logging a few miles would at least get me out into nature, so I jumped on the chance. In the last few years I've only stood on skinny cross country skis twice, so I was somewhat hesitant to strap them on. But again, the little things come into play. My normal mode of cross country skiing involves bamboo poles, four feet of fresh snow and a pair of skis that are effectively very long snow shoes. The Swedish Army came up with an excellent design sometime in the early 1900's, but I'm not sure that Vita Blixten (lit. "White Lightning") really lives up to its name. For one, I've never actually been able to glide while wearing them, and the fact that you lubricate them using tar and a blowtorch gives you an idea of how well they perform. In comparison, Joe's skis really were "little things". However, my initial skepticism quickly melted when I discovered that you can go reasonably fast without risking a heart attack if your skis weigh less than 2 kgs a piece. In fact, I had a really good time up there, and somehow Joe talked me into actually doing a race next weekend. Fortunately, I have access to a secret weapon -- spandex! I'll no doubt be absolutely invincible:
Finally, a series of little events recently alerted me to the fact that the brainwashing is taking hold. "Brainwashed?", you ask. "Certainly", I reply. If you're in a math-heavy part of the sciences (like engineering), a brutal regime of calculus, algebra and statistics will ensure that you never look at any value statement without going "Where are the numbers to back that up, and are they significant?". For those of you not in the know, I have a Masters in Bioengineering -- in other words the decay began long ago. Grad school, then, is designed to further enhance the indoctrination to the point where you not only ask for statistically significant results, but also start to question the motives, methods and general sanity of whoever did the experiments. They call this "critical thinking", and it is one of the key ideas behind the curriculum in much upper-level education in the US (and probably elsewhere as well). Working on lab stuff 12 hours a day doesn't exactly help your attachment to The Real World either, and before you know it you'll be busting your gut laughing at stuff like ballads about thermocyclers. And even as I cracked the joke in lab meeting about the Kitlg gene causing pleiotropic effects like increased pants length, I knew I was going overboard. If you even know what a "thermocycler" or a "pleiotropic effect" is, you might be in danger yourself. But as luck would have it, some things still keep my mind from floating off into space -- cooking and good friends, for instance. Below you can see an attempt at the former, and two of the latter. Joe certainly does look better with his clothes on, and I'm sure Johnny wouldn't be caught dead without them:
