There is a grain of truth to every Aspen legend which subtly augments the unique mystique of this adulated mountain Mecca. Aspen is a collection of the notable and the notorious, the famous and the infamous, and those who live by chicanery while socially conscious tycoons surreptitiously ogle each other's jets. Extremes of habitation range from the sumptuous castles to the humble abodes yet all residents zealously imbibe the elixir of a blissful nirvana in a Cinderella setting. It is a perennial stage for mind boggling incidents of movie stars shooting disenchanted lovers, gonzo journalists shooting themselves, physicists grappling with sub atomic particles while writing cookbooks and divorced Red Mountain piranhas disciplining their wayward houseboys. Everyone has their favorite reminiscence which they have deliciously nourished and disseminated. There are many tall tales, hyperbolical exaggerations, mesmerizing myths, macho posturing; all heavily embellished during the many years of amusing, audacious spectacles and overflowing buckets of Red Onion frothy libations. Recently, this electrifying recollection of a lamentable Aspen episode was guilefully coaxed out of a reluctant, aging powder hound by his spellbound audience in the desolation of the Canadian Bugaboos after a memorable heli-skiing day caressing the crystalline fluff. Whether this story is fact, fiction or fantasy, a discreet mention of it in hushed tones still raises a few gray eyebrows of those from previous generations.