Yay Powder - March 2018
It’s funny: you forget how much you really love snow. That snow itself is actually what brought you here in the first place. And then it comes again in heaps and bountiful buckets and it’s like you’re a child lost in a winter-wonder reverie all over again.
“Time to go skiing, kids!” I announce.
“Yay!” the chorus of cheers ensues.
“How much powder are you going to find today?” Wifey asks.
“60 millions powder!” Michael exclaims.
When I was a child growing up on the east coast, we’d drive for an entire day to get to a resort and then get a couple days of skiing and then drive home. To have skiing right in your backyard still blows my mind. Unfortunately, my daughter is less awe-struck.
“What was your favorite part of skiing today, Jane?” I ask.
“Nothing, because it was so cold.”
“Skiing in a blizzard is fun.” I say.
“No, Daddy. It’s just cold.”
“Come on. I saw you having fun.”
Jane looks at me with a scowl that seems to display an inner 6-year-old cost-benefit analysis, i.e. ‘what can I get out of him if I admit that I had fun.’
“Okay.” She finally says, “the one thing I liked was the jumps on the side, but I need new gloves.”
After $50 at Sports LTD we were both happier.
The Heavenly Ski Development Program has been amazing for our kiddos again this year. The main reason that we signed Michael and Jane up was so that Wifey and I could get ski dates again. During the last storm, we hiked up Monument and got first and second tracks on the Minden Mile. We brought our shovel-beacon-probes and waited until after a freeze thaw cycle when the Sierra Avalanche Center dropped the danger level to “Moderate.” It was definitely memorable.
“I think that might be the most consecutive powder turns I’ve ever taken,” Wifey says and then promptly collapses into the snow.
“Yeah.” I agree while catching my breath. “That was one crazy long descent.”
The other crazy thing about winter storms in South Lake Tahoe is the giant car-eating snow serpent that occupies the center of our main thoroughfare.
“Wow Dad, that is one big fat snow snake,” Michael comments as we head out to our 2nd awesome powder day.
“Yeah, it is,” I agree. “Almost as big as last year.”
“It can barely move because the snow plows made it… and then they crushed it up way super high, but it’s like still alive and ready to eat cars.” Michael gesticulates enthusiastically.
“I wonder how many cars this one has eaten,” I ponder.
“A bunch. I bet… Hey, Dad.”
“Yeah.”
“Has the snow snake ever eaten you?”
“There have been a few close calls back in my younger and more foolish days of snow snake adventures. But now, I know it’s not worth the risk of total public humiliation via devouring.”
“Yeah, totally. The snow snake doesn’t have a head or a tail. It only has mouths all over.”
“You are wise beyond your years, Michael.”
Powder, Do:
Go get some.
Know how to use avalanche gear.
Powder, Don’t:
Be afraid of skiing in a blizzard.
Get eaten by the Snowsnake.
Return of the Snowsnake - January 2019
“Do it, Dad!” Michael jeered from the back seat.
“Cross the Snowsnake,” said Jane.
“Oh no.” I shook my head. “Not here, anyway. Did you see that Prius back there?”
“Yeah, he was like totally getting eaten,” said Jane.
“Nom… Myawm… Nom…” Michael pretended to chew a car and we all laughed.
“Why do we have a Snowsnake anyway?” asked Jane.
“That’s a darn good question, my Dear.” I answered.
Winter is back and the Snowsnake has returned once again from its summer slumber to occupy main street and to deliciously devour vehicles attempting an ill-fated breach.
Winter also brings the soul-extinguishing Meyers-chain-control-tourist-gauntlet, ensnaring our roads and our lives in a godless stream of red taillights.
There has to be a better way to handle the huge influx of powder-chasing out-of-town passholders. There has to be a better way to handle snow. Like so many things these days, what we are doing is not sustainable and not a good use of our resources.
Crazy idea #1: Tunnels. When I was in Hokkaido, Japan for a ski trip, roads went through and not over, sometimes for miles at a time. It was less detrimental to wildlife and dramatically better for commuters. We need a hole, a big one at that, all the way from Meyers to Strawberry. And we need to figure out how to get Vail Resorts to pay for it. They’re the ones bringing everyone in; therefore they should contribute to the solution.
Crazy idea #2: A Train. I commute about once a month to and from the bay area for my “real” job. When I can, which is about half the time, I use the Amtrak Connector Bus that picks up at the Y and then I transfer in Sacramento by just walking across the platform and hopping on a train. It costs me about what it does to drive. Other perks are that the bus actually has wood floors and tables with cupholders, I get work done, have a beer at the end of the day if I want, and it saves me the aggravation of sitting in traffic. It’s pretty great and all I lose is the autonomy of my vehicle.
Skiers who want to ride at Winter Park in Colorado often take the train from Denver which has its own tunnel through the Rockies and is part of Amtrak’s regular line. Maybe Vail would be interested in this option? Haha.
Crazy idea #3: Make Traffic Worse. Make South Lake a two-lane town in the winter. Push the snow to the side and plow out a designated pedestrian and bicycle lane. We’d quite literally save millions, and in the process we’d piss off the visitors so badly that they may not come back. Wooo Hooo. Unless, of course, crazy idea #1 or #2 was also implemented.
“Dad, I made up a song for the Snowsnake!” Jane announced.
“Snowsnake, Snowsnake. She won’t eat candy bars.
Snowsnake, Snowsnake. Her favorite food is people and cars.”
And… in other family comedy:
“What is that horrendous noise?” I asked.
“That’s Michael,” Wifey responded. “He’s practicing to be a siren when he grows up.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure and tell his guidance counselor.”
And…
“Drums! Wow! I got drums for Christmas!” Jane jumped up and down. “I know Santa forgot last year when I wanted them, but this time when I asked, he remembered.”
“Yup.” Wifey leaned over to me. “That Santa, I was hoping he could see it in his heart to keep forgetting.”
And…
“Dad, I rode this ride at Gilroy Gardens that swings up and down. It’s called the Banana Split and when you’re like way up…” Michael lowered his voice. “Your peepee tingles.”
“Okay.” I raised my eyebrows.
“That doesn’t happen to girls, right?”
“Probably not.”