Should I have chosen differently?  

The question springs to mind atop Keystone Resort’s Independence Bowl. Sure, it would have been sensible to start the 2017-18 season at a smaller eastern hill. With my new Epic Pass stashed in my left glove’s zip pocket there are several I could have picked. Woulda, coulda, shoulda.

My gelatinous desk-job quads and lack of big-mountain prep make the 250 vertical metres of Colorado powder below me almost as daunting as they are thrilling. Almost, but not quite: Excitement inches ahead of trepidation during the snowcat ride up, then takes full control midway through my first turn.

Five heady descents later I spot the self-proclaimed “World’s Largest Snow Fort” as Keystone Adventure Tours’ cat-ski excursion returns to the top of Dercum Mountain. Suddenly I miss the brood back home, and the feeling lingers as I ski past the H&H Mining Camp, one of six Kids’ Adventure Zones where bridges and tunnels turn the slopes into a snowy playground.

An hour’s drive west of Denver, Keystone bolsters its family-oriented reputation with the annual Kidtopia festival, 3,000-plus condos in five slopeside villages, and wintry superlatives such as the turreted snow fort, a five-acre skating lake billed as the largest in the U.S., and a six-lane tube park that, at 3,548 metres above sea level, is said to be the loftiest on Earth. All signs point to a stellar 2018-19 season, with the resort opening early — on Nov. 7 — for the first time in nearly a decade thanks to nearly four feet of snow since the middle of October.

By the time I arrive at the Keystone Ranch for dinner, I’m pining more for my spouse than for my offspring. Housed in a 1930s log cabin with a soaring stone fireplace, the steakhouse and lounge is about as cosy and romantic as it gets. And on this evening, there isn’t a chicken finger in sight.

As the ski season unfolds, it starts to resemble a “Choose Your Own Adventure” novel in which I am both decision-maker and protagonist. But instead of turning to Page 47 and being transformed into a newt — or some such bizarre fictional outcome — my Epic Pass compels  me to hop planes to Colorado, Vermont and British Columbia, where I am transformed into a snow-clad, grinning blur.

To find out how the rest of my inaugural Epic winter unfolded, check out the story in the Globe and Mail...

Until the 14th day of March, oh great and robustly suspendered Nigel, my 2018 sacrifices to you had gone unanswered. I dined upon everything that pleased you in the past -- nachos, cinnamon buns, poutine -- but you favoured me not with heavy snows upon the slopes of skiing.

With each failed sacrifice I turned to fresh sustenance. Would chicken wings curry favour with you? Apparently not. Would curry curry favour with you? Again, not a single flake fell. Oxtail rotis? Sushi? Oxtail sushi? Sushi rotis? Try as I might, your new culinary predilections remained mysteries to me.

It was with a heavy heart that I dug deep into my freezer for something, anything, that might please your too-tightly-trousered magnificence. It was the Monday of March Break, after all, and my family was about to head to Stowe, Vermont.

That’s when I saw them, sheathed in plastic and bundled together with an elastic band. The wieners were quickly defrosted in boiling water, grilled in a pan, and served “à la Ikea” between two equally freezer-burned buns. It wasn’t much, oh fickle and surprisingly stout Nigel, but it was worth a shot.

Fat flakes fell furiously as we neared the self-proclaimed “Ski Capital of the East,” and I began to joyfully suspect that I had satisfied your latest craving. We all ordered hot dogs from the kids’ menu that evening, and lo and behold, we awoke to more than a foot of fresh powder. When I fist-bumped a complete stranger on the hill that day, oh yellow-mustard-preferring Nigel, it wasn’t only because of the sublime conditions. It was also because I had made my way back into your blessed favour.

Needless to say, before heading to Fernie Alpine Resort in early April, I joined my daughters in sacrificing half a pack of franks to your glorious, duosyllabic and relatively common name. Upon arrival, I witnessed a great omen -- Fernie’s annual Eighties-themed Hot Dog Day -- that foretold of many snowy days to come. It also foretold of some serious hangovers and vintage-store remorse, but that’s another story.

You again unleashed your powers of precipitation that night, compelling me to hike up Snake Ridge and glide down into Cedar Bowl the next morning. If that's what dining upon tube steaks gets me, oh munificent and elastic-waistband-requiring Nigel, I’ll renew my Epic Pass ASAP and see you at Nathan's Hot Dog Eating Contest in July.

Love,

Adam “Kobayashi” Bisby

Hello, race fan(s), and welcome to Mostly Amazing's exclusive coverage of the National Family Vacation League's Myrtle Beach Triathlon! 

Next in the starting gate we have the Bisbys, who are taking part in the MBT for the first time. Veterans of the Big White Marathon, the Great Wolf Lodge Ultra-Marathon and the Disney World Ultra-Ultra-Marathon, this foursome is more than familiar with the funnel cake-fuelled highs and expired sunscreen-induced lows of the NFVL.
 
Today's swim leg consists of three elements: Wave Hurdles, the Lazy River, and the Hot Tub Time Trial. Conditions here on the Grand Strand, the 90-kilometre-long stretch of gorgeous white sand upon which Myrtle Beach sits, are ideal for today's competition: Winds are out of the southwest at 4 knots, humidity sits at a comfortable 48 per cent, and water temperatures range from 78 degrees F in the Atlantic to 101 degrees F in the hot tub. 

And they're off! All four Bisbys are charging toward the surf, which in Myrtle Beach is neither too large to intimidate youngsters nor too small to be dismissed as "sooooo lame." Dad clears the first breaker with ease, his legs churning, his arms windmilling, his board shorts struggling to stay in place. Two inches lower and that would be a major deduction! The two Bisby daughters dive in next and...wait for it...there it is: The trademark high-frequency scream that strikes fear into the hearts of NFVL athletes everywhere. Last but not least comes Mom, whose penchant for "easing in" is immediately shattered by a frothy rogue wave. We'll see that again on the highlights at 11!

They're all in the water now, and here come the scores: A 9.1 from the Norwegian judge, 8.4 from the Russian...yes, the Bisbys have to be pleased with a combined score of 8.7. (They must also be pleased with their ludicrously cheap Spirit Airlines direct flight out of Niagara Falls International Airport. $580 Canadian, round-trip, for a family of four? You're not in Canada anymore, Bisbys...)

Now they're out of the saltwater and sprinting, gazelle-like, toward the Lazy River in the Carolina Winds condo complex. These ring-shaped pools are everywhere around here; it's a good thing Team Bisby did their homework and picked one with plenty of fully-inflated inner-tubes and a steady current.

The kids are out in front as usual, with Mom a few tube-lengths behind and Dad bringing up the rear. He's really struggling back there with his undersized tube. All the girls have now completed the circuit and are waiting by the pool stairs. If Dad doesn't hurry his performance will surely be dubbed an "epic fail," but here he comes and, yes, he's out of the water after some heroic flailing. 

A hush falls over the crowd lining the pool deck as the squad approaches the hot tub. After spending exactly 7.42 hours on the beach yesterday, the same question is on everyone's lips: Did Team Bisby tan, or did they burn? 

Down the stairs they go! The sunscreen clearly missed a few spots, what with all the gritting of teeth in the hot, frothy water. But the Bisbys are nothing if not resilient, and in just a few more seconds Leg 1 of the Myrtle Beach Triathlon will be in the books. 

Five, four, three, two, one...and there you have it! Team Bisby is through to the second leg: The Putt.