As Las Vegas’ seedier, grimier younger brother, Reno, NV is not a city of high repute. With a recent urban revival—plus boundless nearby skiing potential and cheap everything—it could very well be skiing’s gaudy new paradise.
Words: Tom Winter
The steakhouse is lush, with heavy drapes and rich carpeting and polished wood. Guys in suits at the next table eye us warily. We don’t have suits. The porterhouse is excellent, the waiter tells us. I believe him, and order all 1.3 pounds of it. The wine comes, and it’s excellent as well. We didn’t choose it—that honor fell to the guy next to me. But he can’t drink it. He’s off the booze for Lent. I take another sip and let the spicy burgundy explode across my tongue while I admire his discipline.
The guy next to me isn’t wearing a suit either, but he still radiates the kind of class and charisma that you only get from 1920s actors like Gary Cooper and Douglas Fairbanks. Franz Weber could have been an actor, with his burly good looks and piercing eyes. But the Austrian didn’t go to Hollywood. He ended up chasing elusive fragments of velocity around the world...