When Fred Phelps (aka the “God Hate Fags” guy) got wind that Judy Shepherd (mother of slain Matthew Shepherd) would be the keynote speaker at a fundraising dinner at the Telluride Gay Ski Week, the bigot threatened a full-on protest at this normally mellow Colorado mountain town.

Telluride, better known for its stunning scenery and upscale log mansions, was all abuzz with seldom-seen controversy. Fred and his ilk never did show up (can they even ski?), but a colorful counter-protest did occur, with guys in fur coats and swim trunks holding signs that read “Because we can’t hate ourselves, we hate celery!” and “Celery: Just a vehicle for ranch?” The perfect absurdity of the celery protest was a big hit, making the front page of the Telluride Daily Planet. The locals loved it, proving just how gay-friendly this liberal, hippie-loving town embraces its queer visitors and their ski equipment.

I’ve been to gay ski weeks in Canada, Europe, and the U.S., but what felt so great about Telluride this year (lasting from February 20th-27th) was its living-room, come-on-in-and-put-your-feet-up atmosphere. This gay ski week, now in its seventh year, has blossomed from about 150 participants to nearly 1,000, and every night there was an event. Not the glow-stick, shirts-off, look-at-me kind of passé circuit events, but cozy get-togethers on intimate dance floors – some next to roaring fireplaces! After just two days, I knew everyone and felt like I was bumping into old friends swapping stories about the best runs and views and cutest guys.

“I think what sets our gay ski week apart from others is that it’s laid back, which reflects the town of Telluride,” says Scott Barretto, one of the organizers of Telluride Gay Ski Week. “It’s not pretentious, and not a circuit party. Really, it’s more about skiing. Most people don’t come here to pose and party, but for the camaraderie.”

That’s not to say that booze and boys took a back seat to the powdery snow. Heck, I enjoyed gazing across the room at a gorgeous and tipsy Reichen Lehmkuhl at every après ski (or was it I who was tipsy?). Or the stunning DJ twins Doug and Derek Perry gyrating shirtless behind the turntables. At the ski week’s apex, the White Party on Thursday night, a drag queen on stilts looking like the White Witch of Narnia loomed above boys in wife beaters and tons of local gay-loving straight kids who knew this would be the party of the year. And yes, I was handed a small glow stick.

Telluride itself was really the main star of the week. This tidy, historic mining town of less than 3,000 is nestled in a box canyon with the towering Rockies all around it. Classy restaurants and unique boutiques line the vintage Western storefronts. The entire place runs like clockwork, with modern gondolas whooshing you back and forth from town to the slopes, and barely any lines for the lifts. And once you get up on to the mountains’ dramatic ridges, you ski along some of the most incredible panoramas in the entire West.

Telluride is known as the “Festival Capital of the Southwest,” and besides its much-heralded film festival, the town hosts more than 30 summer festivals and events every year. For the first time in 2010, the organizers of the gay ski week will be putting on the Haute T: Telluride Gay Summer from August 12-15. It’s going to include outdoor eco-activities, a small golf tourney for the ladies, food and wine tastings, and an arts show (it will coincide with Telluride Festival of The Arts). There will also be a two-day gay film festival for those who don’t have the lung capacity to do the eco stuff.

When we checked into the amazing 32-suite Inn at Lost Creek, my fellow writer friend Bill asked, “You mean this is where we are living for a week?” He looked around and simply stated, “I don’t think I’ll be going home.”

We waltzed around our roomy two-bedroom suite, complete with a full state-of-the-art kitchen, balcony overlooking the gondolas, and even a steambath in the enormous shower. A gourmet basket of top-notch wines, cheeses, and spreads greeted us on the counter.

Needless to say, we stayed in and soaked it all up in front of a large flat-screen TV for the first couple of nights as we acclimatized to the altitude (or at least that was the excuse). Every now and then, a handsome young chap named Chad would come and knock on our door to ask if he could do any shopping or errands for us. Well, we did need to book our spa and massage appointments at the Inn’s world-class sister property, The Capella, and a tender steak dinner at its spectacular Onyx Restaurant. Would he be so kind?

With a gorgeous smile, the door gently closed and Bill and I looked at each other. We were pretty certain we had died and been transported to a powdery white gay-friendly heaven high above the Earth. Wasn’t this how life was supposed to be?