
My friend Tom organizes mountain hikes here in Aspen, often assembling a dozen or so folks at a time so we can share rides to the trailhead and enjoy the experience together. Inevitably, someone in the group who has a fascination with wine seeks me out when he learns that I write about it for a living. On the trail, there’s plenty of time to have a long conversation, especially on the way down, when we have gotten to know each other, and are no longer gasping for breath.
This past year I got hounded by someone who hated the 100-point scale. I refused to get into a heated argument in a beautiful mountain meadow along Grizzly Creek. I let him rant, commented that I thought the meadow deserved at least a 97, got a laugh, and we went on amiably enough.
Last weekend I joined Tom and his ad-hoc gang for a climb up Upper Lost Man trail. A law professor wanted to get philosophical about our preferred beverage. I had made an off-hand comment about “our favorite art forms,” mentioning the music many enjoy here courtesy of the eight-week-long Aspen Music Festival and the food and wine purveyed in some excellent restaurants.
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