Sure it “did great in the snow back in Boston/Chicago/Wisconsin,” but I’ve got two words for ya: sell it.
Epic Pass? Check. Steamboat-Copper Mountain combo? Check. Winter Park? Sure, why not? Loveland four pack? Definitely! Couple days at Monarch? Might as well buy them online now. Once you do the math next summer, you’ll realize that one pass is probably enough.
I know everything is awesome, but pace yourself young Padawan; it’s a long season and you’re going to need a functioning liver come closing day.
Ski. Every. Damn. Day. That’s why you’re here. Just because you have a master’s degree in microfinance doesn’t mean you’re too good to wash dishes at the slopeside greasy spoon.
It’s November and rooms are going faster than pancakes at fat camp. You don’t really care if “it’s technically a closet” or “the walls aren’t insulated” or “burn marks from the hash-making explosion are still visible.” You just want to know where to sign and to whom to make the check out.
Come March, you’ll have half a dozen or so planks in the quiver — powder skis, groomer skis, rock skis, a backcountry setup, and a couple “projects” you rescued from a dumpster.
And you’ll end it without one. In this small town, you’ll understand the meaning of the phrase “You don’t lose your girlfriend, you lose your turn.” Probably after that boys’ weekend in Silverton. Or after all those late nights washing dishes.
And you’ll have one (or two or three!) by March. The ski town male-to-female ratio is somewhere in the neighborhood of 8,000,000:1 and those gorgeous Argentines here on a visa have the sexiest accents. But remember ladies, there’s a wise saying for this one too: “The odds are good, but the goods are odd.”
The correct followup to hello is: “So, where’d you ski today?”
Whether it’s for the rental condo whose owners only visit in the summer or to dig your Civic out of a snowbank, you’ll soon learn that we all need a snow shovel of our very own.
Are you trying to die?
I said the same thing…eight years ago.
Ok, we all still do that. There’s just no getting over it — the crisp morning stillness, the whiff of chimney smoke, the pull of gravity as you float through a fluffy blanket of satin snow, and the whitewashed world contrasted against a crystalline bluebird sky. It never gets old; and so you decide to stay…for just one more season. But first it’s time to hang a For Sale sign on that Civic.