The Siren Song of Deseret

So we went to Utah because I heard they might have pretty good snow or something, forgetting that the last time I came through I almost didn't leave. It's a dangerous place, Utah. It's so easy to dismiss it because of the chokehold LDS has on every level of government, to scoff at the solemn silence of the big city on a Sunday, to be annoyed by the absurd and arbitrary rules hampering alcohol production and sale. We went to a tasting room without taps (no kegs allowed), had to purchase an entree each (no drinks without a meal), and could only have two tasters in front of us at any time. At the liquor store you can't buy "real beer" refrigerated or in six packs, and the walls are papered with morality literature.

And yet.

The Big and Little Cottonwood Canyons saw some light snowfall before we arrived but the locals bemoaned the conditions; at Snowbird, where Tyler's brother scored us cheap tickets, there's no chance of beating the powderhounds who ruthlessly track out every inch of the mountain with their fat plush skis.

And yet.

Best day of skiing yet. Ever. Words cannot express. Chasing Tyler and Ben all over a mountain that was all steeps, cliffs, trees, and all of it cloaked in deep, light snow that had me wallowing and falling and grinning. I was a better skier by the end of the day. Another day we went to Canyons, a massive Park City resort with practically none of the terrain or snow that made Snowbird so sublime. We rolled with a posse this time, having joined forces with Joh and Jamie, as well as a friend of the Nelson boys. Instead of pushing and progressing, we had a more chill day of bopping around, doing some sidecountry, ducking ropes, roasting groomers, and being generally pretty obnoxious.

Doing some light hiking with the JTs

And now on the drive home, as much as it makes me cringe to say, we've hashed out a plan to move to Utah next winter, because it's really hard driving back west without some intention of returning.

Update

I've worked at the coffee shop for a month now and have erased the wretched imprisonment of HR from my memory. I love the coffee shop. More than I expected, even. I had reservations, since we operate under the umbrella of not one but two evil empires. However, the influence of the coffee corporation is barely present, besides the monthly introduction of new cloyingly sweet drinks; Vail's sway is more obvious, between the Byzantine labor laws of California* and relentless rah-rah of the resort. All the employees have past experience in independent coffee shops so we all operate under the pretense that we still work in one, mocking people who order caramel "macchiatos" and ask for grande-sized beverages, and doling out freebies to anyone we like, corporate protocol be damned. I was expecting to serve only tourists, and while the staggering majority of our customers are out-of-towners, there is a solid and loyal contingent of locals, regulars, and year-rounders. Everyone that works in the Village takes excellent care of each other; the us-versus-them mentality is really strong here.

The tourists that pour in are the most cosmopolitan crowd I've ever seen. At least fifty percent of them are wealthy foreigners, skiers and boarders from Perth and Bern and Santiago and Lima and Seoul, decked out in the most expensive snowgear and eyewear imaginable, showing no reaction at being charged upward of four dollars for a single beverage. Everyone is stoked on the sunshine, the scenery, and the snow. Most people that come in are very friendly and not nearly as high maintenance as I had expected, although the entitled Bay brats wielding their parents' plastic can be pretty abrasive. Overall the vibe is great, the tips are generous, and I'm excited to go to work each day. What more could I ask?




*To clarify: California has very pro-employee labor laws, to the point that it's absurd. We the peons benefit, but on the other side of the desk in HR I saw how obnoxious the rules are for employers. 

On Skiing, Part II

Now that I can get off the chairlift without thinking about it, now that I know how to carry my sticks and how to ratchet my boots as tight as they'll go and how to easily navigate the entire mountain and name every lift on sight, it's on to the real stuff. According to EpicMix (the Strava of the Vail people) I've gotten in 25 days already, which means enough substantial hours on the slopes to have this thing sort of figured out.

What I'm convinced of already is that a: I'm spoiled rotten, and b: groomers suck. We had a snowless, warm week and I had to drag myself up the hill, convinced the snow would be just terrible. Tracked out and bumped out and scraped down to a mean layer of cement. Never mind that there were still feet upon feet of the good stuff, and still caches of untouched powder hiding in the trees. The last couple of days brought wicked cold temps and a nice dusting up top and everything was better again. So yes, a couple months of Tahoe snow has ruint me. And taught me unequivocally that groomers suck. Groomed runs are to road biking what tree skiing is to mountain biking; groomers are very fast and covered in people who are making unpredictable and potentially dangerous moves. The trees are hushed and underpopulated and challenging, and I love to explore every possible option and turn, making my untrammeled way between boulders and treewells. It's nice to go out alone and listen to music and chase new lines and to be distracted only by the litany that plays in my head: torso downslope, poles forward, flex into your boots, feet together.  

Every pause is worth a gasp
Pic courtesy of Will Snaith 

I think I could get better at this than mountain biking, because I don't feel limited by the same fears that plague me on two wheels. This new obsession is alarming in the context of larger life though, because the last thing I need is another criterion limiting my choice of locations and jobs. I got a resort job thinking ski-bum living was a whimsy to mark off the list, but this might be something I need every winter, and that makes me nervous. And strangely exhilarated.  

Best Year Yet

on the facespace everyone is chit-chatting about what his or her 2012 entailed, stuff like learning, loss, personal growth, and travel, or crazy shit like marriage and babies. all this reflection triggered in me a weird euphoric revelation: 2012 was by far the best year I've had, to date. permit me to quote myself, circa december 31 2011:

Whether or not I do something drastic in the coming year, whether or not I race bikes or change jobs or meet life-altering people or move somewhere or buy a house or just cheerfully maintain status quo, I do sincerely hope it is a happy 2012 for us all.

well, lo and behold. most of those things happened. i shook up my life pretty drastically and was a very happy person for it. in 2012 i accomplished almost nothing athletically speaking, but some years are just like that. instead, i ventured very far south of the mason-dixon line for a variety of shenanigans, picked up and moved across this grand country, found a job in a place that takes my breath away, established myself quite contentedly in a new town, pursued a new sport with a pigheaded determination to not suck at it, and fell head over heels in love, despite my previous conviction that i was too cool for such nonsense.

no complaints here.

and a most excellent 2013 to everyone, as well.

The Holidays

This Christmas was my first away from the bosom of Brevard, but circumstances convened to make it a very special one. On one snowy night the roommates gathered to decorate the tree and listen to the Nutcracker Suite. My folks sent me a loaf of stollen so I could nibble it and drink tea and miss the frenetic rush of holidays at the bakery. 

East coast love

Just so quaint

The weekend before Christmas brought a mind-blowing quantity of fluffy dry snow and I had three days off to enjoy it. Even better, Thad and Jenna arrived with arms full of Trader Joe's goodies and all manner of skis, and we went out and played hard every day of their visit. Thanks to them I felt like I progressed a lot in a short time, chasing Jenna through the trees and goading Squirrel onto the black runs. We spent the evenings stuffing our faces and drinking Old Chico and hanging out with my favorite people, and Thad proudly did his first shotski. On Christmas after a full powder day at Kirkwood we celebrated by having a taco tequila Tecate Tuesday, as tradition dictates.

Just so dorky

I even found time to see the Bay clan; Tyler and I ventured out of the highlands for long enough to enjoy a holiday meal with the Nichols and Ryans, and go riding for the probably the last time this winter. Now the year is coming to a close in the best way possible. The HR job ended on Saturday and I've already started training at the coffee shop, which has been non-stop inundated with cold tourists desperate for their candy-cane mocha lattes. And I love it.

On Skiing

It dumped snow on Wednesday and this evening brought more flurries. After spending a couple of days on the mountain last week, with sunny skies, 45 degree weather, and lots of people out to scrape the top layer down to a glassy slick, I finally understand why everyone gets so dang excited about fresh snow. Even better, the lodge where HR is located FINALLY opened lift access to the mountain today, and I hurried out mid-afternoon for the premium perk of resort work: the ski break. It was way easier returning to the desk after being wind-blasted and snowed on at 10000 feet.

Because no new sport is fun without some extensive craigslist trolling, I scored a pair of pristine used chick skis with real nice bindings at a killer deal. They are so fast and smooth and I'm learning how to haul ass without too many consequences. Good form, cool tricks, difficult terrain? That'll come eventually, I hope.

So pretty! And not girly at all. They are named the Queen, naturally

On Monday Elen and I (and to some extent Tyler) spent the whole day at the Heave and I finally reached the point where I was experiencing more exhilaration than fear or frustration. It's really tough learning a new sport when I'm so comfortable with the sports I know. It reveals my sometimes intense narcissism: I hate not knowing what to wear, how to talk, what company makes the coolest gear, what immediately gives you away as a total fred (except in winter they're called darrells).

Definite darrells

Fortunately I have several friends willing to aid me in the quest for legitimacy, and ruthlessly heckle me along the way.

An Addendum

this weekend it was raining at lake level and i was antsy as hell so i dragged tyler and katie and bert the dog up to luther pass and ran around in my new snowshoes while they skiied and it was too beautiful to articulate.

The In-Between Season



Saw this on the way to work
Pic courtesy of Merrill

South Lake is a weird and not unpleasant place. Despite being (sort of) a resort town, the kitsch is kept very isolated in the actual Heavenly village, and the rest of town isn't at all precious. It's kind of gritty and trashy and low-income, but it's beside the point to focus on the all-night wedding chapels, the conflagration of neon, the proximity to that classiest of states, Nevada, when towering over us on every side are the Sierras in all their craggy majesty, and at every sunrise and sunset the lake is awash in pink. South Lake doesn't feel very "California" in the accepted sense, because even though there's kombucha sold at gas stations and Bay Area Asians flood the town during the holidays, it's still a slow-moving, blue collar kind of place. It keeps growing on me, especially during the most recent mountain and cx bike forays, when I keep finding more pockets of national forest land sandwiched between neighborhoods and honeycombed with trails.

The view from the backyard trails...ignore the bike
Pic courtesy of mtbr

Meanwhile all my friends are stricken with snow fever. I learned how to ski last week at Kirkwood, the nearby resort beloved for killer terrain and crazy snowfall. Weather and time have prohibited more slope action but this weekend heralds snow and most likely the end of my late-season cycling.

I've fallen back into the routine of normal life, so different from camp life: going grocery shopping, forcing myself to ride to work at least once a week despite the cold, going to the library, trail running with a headlamp after work. The inhabitants of LA Ave managed through the power of Craigslist to create a very cozy home on a very limited budget. It's a pretty quiet household but the five of us sometimes convene for movies or card games. My "other house" is a lot more lively, with dogs underfoot and frequent potlucks and a group of really close-knit friends.

Now I just need this late-autumn stasis to end so I can see if I actually like this winter sports thing.

This bodes well.
Pic courtesy of Heavenly