Gunbarrel 25 as a Family - April 2019

                “I think Michael wants to do Gunbarrel 25 this year,” I tell Wifey one evening about a month ago.  

                “Really?”

                “He has some friends from school that are already entered.”

                “I don’t know.” Wifey cringes. “It sounds kind-a brutal.”

                “It is an important tradition here in town.”

                “Some towns have harvest festivals, we have mass athletic masochism.”

                “Exactly.”

                “So does that mean we’re doing it?” Michael enters the room.

                Wifey and I look at each other and exchange dopey shrugs of parental acquiescence.  

                “Why not?” Wifey says.

                So on the last Saturday in March, along with another 196 other competitors, our little family of 4, safety-pinned our race trackers and numbers to our outfits and raced onto Gunbarrel Chair.

                For those that haven’t skied it, Gunbarrel, according to Powder Magazine is, “a 1,600-vertical foot run of the deepest moguls in Lake Tahoe.” GB25 is an event/competition to ski that same slope as many times as possible in one 6-hour period. The record I think is 53 laps. 

All the crazy outfits on the slopes made it fun too. Wifey wore a dragon costume, Jane a princess dress, and Michael and I went with Hawaiian shirts and leis. Our favorite costume in the competition that day was definitely the guy in a full business suit, with a briefcase full of beer, navigating the bumps on snow blades.  He stayed in character the whole time too. After one particularly brutal face plant, I called down some encouragement to him from the chair, “You can do it buddy, the office needs you.”

Without missing a beat, he looked up and said, “I gotta get back to work. I’m saving up for a minivan.”

“You got it, man. Go get that minivan.”

“I’ve always wanted a minivan.” He stood up, dusted the snow from his helmet and said, “See you at the water cooler.”

                The best part of the day was certainly this sort of comradery with the other racers; that sense of community built around collective suffering. Every time you’d sit down on the chair, you’d be with someone new swapping stories and just laughing at the absurdity of it all.

                “Did you see the lift-ops turn those tourists away?” I asked.

                “Yeah, that was pretty cool.” My fellow rider commented. “They actually asked if the chair could be slowed down, didn’t they?”

                “I think so.”

                “They’re running the chair above normal speed today, by like 18 or 20%.”

                “Funny,” I laughed. “I thought I wasn’t getting enough of a break each time.”

                “Yeah. No kidding.”  

Even with all the people and the added speed and adrenaline, I was blown away by how safe the event was. Most incidents and injuries on the slopes happen because someone is in over their head. Moving too quickly or launching some jump that was way out of their league. In this case, there were no neophytes. The mere idea of GB25 is kind of self-selecting. Sure, the water and food gauntlet at the base got a little crowded and rushed. And sure, there were some bumps and minor collisions, but by in large everyone was courteous, safe, and just out to have a good time. Well that might be a stretch—they were just out to survive the day.

My favorite laps were definitely with my kids. We split up so that we could each hit our goals for the day, and they could go into the lodge for sandwiches and cookies from Grandmom. But we’d meet each other at the bottom or along the run and ski a bit together.

“Oh, you brought me some of Grandmom’s cookies.”

“Here you go, Daddy.” Jane hands over some much-needed sustenance while we rode up the chair together.

“Are you having a good time, Kiddo?”

“The cowboy is funny,” she says. “And Wonder Woman. That’s cool.”

“It sure is.” I say. “How many laps are you on?”

“I think I’m at like at least, you know… 60.”

“Impressive. I’ve been out the whole time and I’m only at 20 so far.”

Around 2 in the afternoon, Grandmom took the kiddos to a birthday party at the ice skating rink and Wifey and I wrapped up our GB25 odyssey by hitting our personal goals for the day. I must admit that I did cry just a little when I took my ski boots off and I don’t think my middle toe on my left foot will ever be the same.

With the kiddos occupied, Wifey and I stopped for a celebratory date at Blue Angel Cafe. We had some fries and drinks and discussed how the kids were so independent and didn’t even crash or get hurt. As if on cue, Wifey felt a sudden and forceful sneeze coming on. With very little time until launch, she angled her head away from our food and sneeze-head-butted the chair next to her.

“Ouch! Are you okay?” I ask.

“I think so.” Wifey rubbed her head. “Oh man, I’m gonna have a mark.”

“You can call it a battle scar from GB25.”