The road goes on forever, and the poutine never ends...

Dios mio, man. La nina and me? We're gonna f*$# you up. The first entry from an Andean epic.

I am not a morning person. And yet week in and week out, season after season, year after year, I have no problem practically leaping out of bed in anticipation of a day skiing. It is as if I am a different person...

Baptism is the right of passage, a transformation if you will, in the Judeo-Christian tradition. Common to all of said ceremonies is one key ingredient; water. 

Quoth Warren Miller: “I do know that water freezes at 32 degrees Farenheit, and I like it when it falls on the sides of mountains.” 

Me too.

The past is more readily accessible behind the wheel of a westbound truck at night. Memories are closer to the surface. There is no history, in a linear sense, just right now and the promise of snow somewhere down the road...

...the narrow passages and steep fall lines of the Jane have never lent themselves to grooming. As a result, skiers have found that our pitches lead to the growth of a brand of mogul absent at nearly every other resort. We laugh at Vail’s “morale bumps” and thumb our noses at A-Basin’s paltry Pallavicini. We have exposed roots and double fall-line. And a trio of fixed-grip doubles to escort us there...

...Let the Wild Rumpus Start...