And almost all of them have to do with skiing through dog-choking loads of powder.
So just because I'm jonesing to ski, let me tell you mine.
The first time I went to Wolf Creek I stayed down in the San Luis Valley, hoping for fresh snow. When I woke up the next morning, there was about a pinky nail's worth of snow dust on my car and none on the road. Damn.
Well, I thought, maybe there will be an inch or two up the pass. So my wife and I jumped in the car and cruised up, and the snow kept getting deeper, and deeper, and deeper.
And whoa, at the top there were 14 inches of fresh. And it kept snowing all day long.
My wife and I hiked one of the many choice ridges above the waterfalls area. At one point, we came to an untouched bowl leading down into some trees and both hit it on our snowboards full speed.
Now, there are a lot of people who say words like "face shot" and "bottomless" when they mean knee deep. I am not one of those people. I think if I had stepped out of my bindings, I would have sunk in to my cowlick.
But I have no idea, because near the bottom, instead of going in feet first, I overloaded the front of my board and went in head first. After a few seconds of wallowing in the dark, I righted myself.
There was my lovely bride, making turns down to me.
"Man, this is deep-ass snow," she said.
"Yeah, I know" I said.
"No, I mean this snow is so deep it literally comes up to my ass!" she said.
That's a good Wolf Creek day.