The Mount Everest of morons

I've always dreamed of climbing Mount Everest.

Mainly because I thought I might actually get decent cell reception up there. (I have AT&T.)

But as the years went by, I slowly began to realize that my dream of conquering the world's most perfect place to yell, "Yankees suck!" probably wasn't ever going to happen. That is until last week. When I found out it definitely wasn't ever going to happen.

That's because while skiing out in Colorado (NOTE: In accordance with the Pompous Columnist Code of 1984, yearly ski trips out West are mandatory.) I got an opportunity to do some back-country skiing with a guy named Kevin.

Now before I go any further, I should probably point out two things about Kevin: 1) He's so comfortable on a pair of skis he actually drives while wearing them, and 2) he likes shooting things with his crossbow. So there you go. That's Kevin.

Anyway, while skiing with me and my buddies, Kevin got the bright idea to take us skiing on what is known as Bald Mountain. What sets Bald Mountain apart from the surrounding mountains is that it doesn't have a lift to take you to the top. Unfortunately for Kevin, what sets me apart from people living in the 1930s is I prefer to use a ski lift. So as you can see, we had ourselves quite the dilemma on our hands.

But somehow, Kevin persuaded me, Tyler and Tucker to climb the 1,000 vertical feet to the summit so that we could ski down Bald Mountain, which is about 12,500 feet above sea level, roughly a third the height of Everest.

After just 60 seconds of climbing in ski boots while carrying my skis and poles (giggle), my lungs were absolutely on fire. My legs felt like they were made out of lead. I even started to hallucinate, imagining some crazy guy was pointing a crossbow at me yelling, "You'd better get up that mountain or I'm going to make you ride in my car while I drive with my skis on!"

But the worst part? Not only is Bald Mountain 18,000 feet lower than Mount Everest, we even started 35 percent closer to the summit on our climb. All told, it took the three of us nearly 45 minutes to make it to the summit (I say three because Kevin, who is apparently half Sherpa, made it to the top in approximately three minutes).

As for the trip back down, well, it was considerably easier because the three of us were able to safely ride Kevin's corpse down the mountain (We ended up killing him for taking us up that stupid thing.). And as for my dream of climbing Everest, well, I think it's safe to say it's over.

There will be no standing on the rooftop of the world. No planting a South Carolina flag in the crusty snow overlooking Nepal and Tibet. No Guinness record for being the first person to rock a Snuggie at 29,035 feet.

Instead, my dreams are going to have to change. So in the future, instead of saying, "I'm going to climb the world's tallest peak alongside a bunch of supermodels," I think I'll go for something a little less ambitious.

You know, like remembering to flush when my wife has friends over.

Bryce Donovan is pretty sure he got frostbite once when he got some ice cream out of the freezer, so maybe aborting this dream is a good thing. Reach him at 937-5938 or bdonovan@postandcourier.com.