I spent the day skiing with a silly grin on my face. In fact, when I looked around, everyone else had a similar grin. We had all thrown off the shackles of work and headed west to the ski slopes.

I’m skiing one of Colorado’s best kept secrets. In fact, at 2 p.m. today, I stopped midway down a long slope, then looked up and down for traffic. There was none. I was the only one … for those few minutes … skiing near-perfect, packed snow.

My ski buddy had injured his shoulder working out at an indoor gym and called to cancel. Too bad. I’ve been skiing daily now by myself, on days when there is no wind, no new snow, and temperatures in the high 20s. Tuesday, the sky was robin egg blue, and on the ride up the lift, I couldn’t help imagining that this must be what a billionaire feels like.

For the day, the ski area was mine. With a few exceptions, I had the slopes to myself. And there was all these smiling lift people working to keep me happy. Tilting my head back to catch a little more sunshine on my face, I am happy. This is what wealth feels like: fresh air, wide open slopes, and skis to speed me down the hills.

What else? Oh yes, the weekend is coming up. It’s going to be another great football weekend. And everyone (except me and a few other pleasure seekers) will be sitting in front of the TV set. It will be another two days of great skiing. We’ll have the ski slopes to ourselves, … and with new snow predicted for later next week we will be able to keep up the pace.

With Eldora only a 35 minute drive west of Boulder, I break up each work day during ski season into four blocks. Some days it’s work, work, work, work. Other days, it’s work, play, play, work. It takes me 35-minutes to drive to the slopes. I ski mid-day for two hours, then return to work. Those days, it’s work, work, play, work.

Check tomorrow’s webcam on Eldora’s website, I’ll look like a black spot, soaring like a lone eagle down the untrammeled slopes.

(See more of Alexia Parks’s writing on her blog on Huffington Post.)

Watch the Eldora webcam