For almost everyone, Aspen conjures up thoughts of mink coats, Uggs and luxury vehicles. For us, that night, though, it was a destination -- the glorious, powder-filled, blue-sky'd Aspen. It filled our minds. The energy in the car was almost unnatural for a Friday night; an eager, pregnant kind of energy. We wanted to ski! My friend Josh handled the wheel as Barb screeched around corners and I chewed on Angie's chocolate-chip cookies. The five hour drive seemed unimportant compared to what awaited us the next morning.

It was going to be the weekend to remember. As a United 1K, I had received two US Ski & Snowboard Association (USSA) Gold Passes to use for a week. These are the bling of the bling -- valid at 260 resorts in North America with no blackout dates. Who could ask for anything more? Celebrities pay $6,000 a piece for these things. Psshhh. With ski passes in hand, we bid on a one bedroom condo at The Gant in Aspen for a pittance ($150). With our fate determined, we set out on the adventure.

Aspen is the headquarters conspicuous consumption. Here, mind you, the cops drive Saab squad cars. SAABS! Texans fattened by the good life, lumber around with bowl hats on their heads and petite, blonde women in tight jeans and requisite fur coats stringing alongside. I'm talkin' about Aspen, "a place where the beer flows like wine, where the women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano," as one infamous movie describes it. Every other vehicle has an animal for a logo -- a stallion, a jaguar. The make of our SUV is only represented by five letters. Not very chic, I guess.

Two poddy breaks and one gas stop later, our Isuzu finally rolls onto Main Street. It's snowing harder now and beginning to accumulate. This is the good stuff, light and fluffy. Even though we can't find the condo, we still smile at each other because we know the promises of tomorrow. After a few wrong turns and everyone shouting out suggestions about where to go next, Josh turns us into the lobby of the condo-hotel. Everything about The Gant, from the antler-chandeliers to the stone fireplaces, reflects its Colorado roots. The one-bedroom condo was plenty large for the four of us, and we wearily changed into our PJs and crawled into bed.

It's hard to sleep when you're excited. But it's easy to sleep when you're tired. Average the two out to make for a so-so night sleep. I woke up a few times, and tossed and turned, before dozing off again with one eye on the red neon clock. 3AM. 6AM. 8AM. TIME TO SKI!!! I jumped out of bed, ran into the bedroom and shuffled the girls until they woke up. TIME TO SKI!!! Not everyone was as excited as me for some reason. We threw on our hats, plastic pants and nylon coats, jumped in the shuttle and before you can say "black diamond" were at the base of Snowmass Mountain.

According to their website, Snowmass has something for everyone. This is perfect for us since we all enjoy different level of difficulty. Josh is more the ski-upside-down-until-you-almost-die kind of skier. Angie will go along with that, perhaps with a bit more caution. Barb and I, tempered by the love of having our bodies in-tact, are content with blues and blue-blacks. We usually avoid runs with names like "Devil's Crotch", "Hellhole" and "Inferno." Luckily, just as they promised, there are over 3,100 skiable acres at Snowmass, most of it blue and black (just like us when we were done!).

A few fluffly clouds blotted the rich Pantone 300 blue sky. Five inches of fresh powder sat on top of the packed snow. There were no lift lines and few skiers on the slopes. The afternoon couldn't have been more perfect.

Which is more than any of us could say for the morning. Upon arriving at Snowmass, we headed directly up to the top to escape the dangerous bunny hills. Unfortunately, a huge cloud hung over the mountain. It was bitter cold and we could barely see five feet in front of us. My head began to spin, not knowing which was up, which was down, what was fog, what was snow. When I tried to stop, I just kept going because I was pointing the wrong way. I could not tell where I was or where I had come from. It was a complete whiteout! This called for an early lunch.

"Hey, that guy was on the Bachelorette," I pointed to a lanky guy about to get on our bus. "Whaaatttt?!?!" said Barb, glaring at me over the top of imaginary glasses. As Ben walked past us, she blurted out, "Hey!! Were you on the Bachelor?!" He mumbled with the shock of someone who had been asked the question a hundred times, "Yes, I was" and shuffled by. I don't think he even looked at her. Well, proved my point.

By the end of the day, we were convinced that skiing could not be much more enjoyable anywhere else on the planet. Of course, as we were soon to discover, this was wrong. On the advice of some locals, we ate some BBQ and burgers at Little Annie's Eating House -- a classic Aspen tavern. Then we piled in the car for another five our ride; our energy somewhat dampened but our spirits still high. The destination? Crested Butte.

We foolishly bemoaned leaving Aspen-Snowmass behind.