Here’s a unique town, unlike any place else in the American West. It’s a cocktail of cowboy grit, Euro panache, Hollywood glam, Ivy League brains, fresh powder, live music and lots of money. It’s the kind of place where no matter the season you can bring on a head rush in countless ways. Perhaps you dropped into an extreme vertical run, or stomped to the crest of Buckskin Pass in under three hours? It could also come while relaxing at the local music festival, peering down into the bowl of a superpipe or climbing an ice wall. It’s possible the horse-drawn sleigh took off too fast for you while you were peering over at yet another $10 million estate, or that cycling to the top of Independence Pass has left you exhausted but smiling. Then again it may have been that way-brainy conversation with a slurring but extraordinarily literate barfly.
Whatever and whomever you’ve seen, heard or done, there is a common Aspen cure-all. One that has served every Olympic champion, gonzo journalist, world-class musician, thinker, artist or actor that has ever arrived in this athletic, cultural, intellectual, artistic, absurd ski town. Simply take your body to the frothing hot tub under the stars and leave the head behind. But do bring the bottle. After all, Aspen is nothing if not a place of excellence, extravagance and, most of all, indulgence. Just remember, whatever you do, don’t stand up too fast.