My life deflated!

I love riding my bike. Feeling the wind on my face as I coast downhill or listening to the birds chirp as I pedal brings a smile to my face on any day. Even just watching the drivers with whom I share the road, because missing their silhouettes in parked cars could result in an accidental dooring, makes me somehow feel just a little more in touch with minutia that often goes unnoticed.

However as I walked home through the rain last night due to a flat tire, I felt a little… deflated. When I borrowed my partner’s bike to ride to the local adventure tours storefront for a spare, I was informed they didn’t carry the correct size inner tube for my wheel. Argh! That let out even more air from my love affair with bikes. I hit up the neighboring café for a much-needed, spirit-rising latte and contemplated the logistics of commuting to work for the next couple of days without a bike. You see, my boyfriend and I choose not to have a car. There are a multitude of reasons; we move between a ski town in Utah and a beachy island every six months. In the ski town, avalanches threaten cars. And who wants to pay to ferry a car on and off an island twice a year? Furthermore, we try to live a green life with a small carbon footprint and use few natural resources like fuel or electricity.  Not to mention how every co-worker seems to be constantly complaining about their cars; insurance prices, gas prices, resale value, car payments… Therefore, a bike for the six months we live near the beach usually works perfectly.

However, when it’s the Sunday before the Fourth of July, and you have two work shifts a mile away, a flat tire, no spare, and few alternatives for finding one; a little planning is necessary. Then, as the caffeine from my latte (in a reusable mug that I brought from home) started to kick in, a smile crossed my face. This smile was a result of more than just taking in the beautiful mountain views of Kauai as I navigated my borrowed bike. I had been smacked by my father’s old-fashioned common sense. Of course! Why didn’t I think of that sooner?!

I called the local True Value to confirm that they were indeed open on a Sunday and then pedaled in their direction. The counter lady pointed me towards the bike section and I found a patch kit. I felt a little guilty about the internal eye roll I had given my dad the last time I visited him and we needed to patch a bike tire. In my defense, it was the third patch that we were putting on an inner tube, so I think the eye roll over his frugalness was somewhat warranted, but this patch was going to be my savior for the next couple of days!

Following the instructions of the back of the patch kit and recollecting the motions my dad had used on the side of the road four months ago, my bike was back in commission in no time. (I also gave it a good cleaning and corrosion treated my chains while I was at it. I mean, if my fingers were already getting greasy, may as well!)

I still intend to get a spare to keep on hand for the inevitable flat of the future (I will not put THREE patches on my inner tube!) But my love affair with bikes is back in full force! How much more of a hassle would this have been if it had been a flat tire on a car? How much would it cost and could I get it done on a Sunday? To fix my flat I paid $4.63 (half of which was for the anti-corrosion lube that I put on my chain and will use over the next several months). I put about 30 minutes of time into my trusty, not-so-rusty, sidekick and now I can enjoy life behind handlebars once again.

Main Chute Mission Accomplished!

I did it!!! My goal for the season has been accomplished. I successfully skied Main Chute. What a rush!

Me about to drop into Main Chute

As I mentioned in this morning’s post, the conditions were perfect. My buddy Andrew had just returned from an early morning hike up/ski down Superior (This is my next goal but, since it requires new gear, will have to wait until next season). He said the conditions seemed good for possibly opening Baldy. We agreed to meet at 10:00 am and see if it happens.  Then I plucked away at this morning’s post and threw water and some beers in my pack.

As we rode up the Collins lift we saw no signs of anyone hiking up or skiing down the area in question. We were about to move on to Plan B when we arrived at the top of the lift and saw the first hiker starting to climb Baldy. Our timing was near perfect. We just zipped down a groomer to ride up the Sugarloaf lift to position ourselves at the start of the hike. If we moved quickly we could hike to the top of the mountain before the fresh powder got skied off.

Just crested the steepest part of the hike, but plenty more to go.

The beginning of the hike is the steepest.  With my skis strapped to my back, outer shell tied around my waist, and poles in hand I scurried up.  Luckily the guy behind me was a little slower than me so I didn’t feel like my pace was too slow for the line starting to form behind us. At one point the hike was so steep that I felt uncomfortable using my poles for balance because it required me to stand straight up. Scurrying like a squirrel was preferable because than you could lean into the mountain. Remember, we’re wearing ski boots for the hike and hard plastic on snow isn’t the grippiest of materials.

After the initial steep part, we just hiked along the summit to where the chutes begin.

Hiking to the summit of Baldy

The top of Baldy offered some amazing views from 11,068 feet (3374 m) of elevation. It was also perfect for throwing back a beer.

Cheers with Beers (and my buddy Andrew)

While up there, others also completed the hike. One guy recognized me from the bar and called out that it was appropriate for the bartender to be found on top of a  mountain with a beer in hand. We also met an 81-year old man who had just completed the hike and told us he tries to do it at least once a year.  Everyone on top of Baldy was psyched to be there.

Still, the point of hiking Baldy is to be able to ski some awesome terrain.  So we strapped on the sticks and swooshed over to the top of Main Chute.  With Ellie Goulding playing in my ears (of course I need a strong female voice for this virgin run) and flashed a quick smile at my cameraman and dropped in before my nerves could set in.

The snow was great! My guide was great! (Thanks Andrew!) And when we got to the bottom we banged out a Baldy shoulder run before hitting up Alta Java for celebratory hot beverages.

Main Chute on my Mind

OMG, Today might be the day… I might hike Baldy and take my virgin run down Main Chute today!!! Main Chute is the aptly named primary chute on the side of the imposing Mount Baldy. To reach the chute, one needs to hike up from near the top of where the resort boundaries end. The edge of the resort is marked by bright reddish-orange ropes but after a new snow (yesterday we got close to a foot) on the first couple of clear days with little wind, the resort will open gates within these roped-off sections that allow skiers to pass through. The gate to the top of Baldy is open only a few days each season, therefore the average skier who only skis the mountain for one or two weeks a year, rarely gets the chance to ski Main Chute, even if they ARE good skiers. Earlier in the season, one of our guests came into the bar with a gigantic grin on his face. He had first skied Alta in the ‘70s and looked toward Main Chute with awe. He made it a goal to do Main Chute back then and it took 30-some years before he was physically and mentally prepared AND had the timing right to actually be able to do so.

As a winter resident of Alta, I’ve been around for plenty of days when Main Chute opened up, but I haven’t felt confident about my ski skills until now. Ever since I skied Eagle’s Nest and High Boy, I’ve been sizing it up, practicing my turns in bumpy terrain, and mentally preparing for the run.  It helps that the friends I’ve been skiing with are stroking my ego and telling me that I’m ready. The run is apparently wider and less steep than it looks, but here’s a few pix for inspiration. Main Chute is the chute on the looker’s right (and yes those little things are people skiing the traverse across the middle of the photo. Hopefully that helps with perspective).

And this picture looks up the mouth of the chute from the traverse:

Ok, I need to get geared up. Hopefully they open it… but if not, I guess I’ll practice turning around more bumps and mentally preparing for my scariest run yet.

High Pressure Fun

What do ski bums do after 100+ days of skiing and ho-hum conditions set in? We play.

One of the various types of skis locals amass on the mountain are ski blades. A fad from the 90s (I think?) these skis come out during periods of high pressure; a weather phenomenon that results in warm sunny weather and no new snow. Since the resort and the back country is tracked out and crusty in places the regular skiing and touring looses it’s appeal: hence fun must be created on the mountain.
Based on pure speculation and  no scientific evidence, blades went out of vogue because they are really only good for going fast (read: dangerous) and doing random tricks for which longer skis become cumbersome. I usually avoid the crazy ski bums who veer towards such shenanigans, but when your coworkers /roommates/friends ARE those vary people: sometimes you can’t hide from them.

Here are some friends/coworkers performing “a lotus”:

Side note: ski bladers (on this mountain at least) will also likely be sporting ridiculous get-ups. In this case, we’re talking onsies.

Cherry Poppin’ Trails

I didn’t plan to have an epic ski day today, but that’s exactly what it was! Today is Monday and, due to an unfortunate turn of events, it also happens to be my only day off. (The guy who formerly gave me 2 days off each week hurt himself skiing, thus leaving us short staffed. Such are the hazards of ski bum living!) In any case, after a leisurely reveille of reading in bed and a breakfast of grapefruit, tea, and cheesy eggs and bacon in a toasted frame (made on a George Foreman, of course!), it was time to plan the day.

Originally, the plan was to check out a Freeski competition that had been delayed after a slide ruined the intended ski course two days prior. The resort was having a difficult time rescheduling/rerouting the event because the avalanche had been so damaging. Therefore it was unclear whether-or-not the event would be taking place. My back-up plan was to leave the ski canyon, rejoin civilization for a few hours, and catch a movie.

During breakfast in the EDR (employee dining room), fellow ski bum Andrew and I proceeded to formalize our plans. After calling the resort’s information line and learning the competition status was still undetermined, we decided to head out for a few runs before calling back for updated information. As often happens to be the case when dining in the EDR, another co-worker overheard us talking and joined in the fun.

After two easy warm-up runs, we called the info line and learned the competition was postponed for another day. Still, I was having such a fun time skiing with these two co-workers/housemates, that I decided to continue skiing and forgo the movie option. That’s when I brought up the idea of poppin’ some cherries. Since the beginning of the season there have been two spots on the mountain that have intimidated me: Eagle’s Nest and High Rustler. One is wooded with unmarked cliffs. The other is open for the whole world to see disaster. Both start on a mountain peak with a steep descent.

Since my two co-workers were both superior skiers with a nurturing rather than competitive nature, I asked them if they thought I could handled the “Nest” and “High Boy.” They were certain I could and eager to make it happen.

Part of the difficulty with this terrain is it’s accessibility, or lack thereof. One must cruise along an ungroomed traverse which entails leaning into the mountain and following a set of ski tracks that, through constant use, become a series of bumps. There is much to be said about this traverse, but I’ll wait and devote an entire post to this “High T”.

Upon successfully traversing the mountain, we arrived at its summit. We tackled Eagle’s Nest first. I asked Gwyneth to lead and Andrew would be sweeper behind me (just in case any pieces needed to be picked up). Here’s the view from the top, just before we crushed it! That building at the top of the picture is the lodge where we all work. 🙂

Next it was time for High Boy. The entry point for this also required cruising the High T and, since I was a High Rus virign, they opted have me enter it from the side rather than just hucking myself over the top of the mountain. I’ll save that for when there’s fresh powder and I’m more familiar with the terrain. Even though we took the rookie entry-point, I had to cross a series of big dips over sparsely covered granite. Luckily, my awesome guides demonstrated two options for dropping in and then talked me through the side stepping from below. (Thank you, both!!!)

Once I actually arrived at the summit of High Rustler, the rest was fairly easy. It was more open than Eagles Nest had been and, while it was somewhat bumped out, my guides/new friends were full of support making me know “I’ve got this.”

The high from accomplishing these two goals kept me smiling all day. And for keeping me safe I treated my friends to some poolside margaritas. What an epic day!

Skiing makes me smile!

My mountain 2/26/2014

And then there are days like today: blue skies with puffy clouds, no lines, and a top coat of soft snow that makes carving easy but not sloppy. All smiles with a sassy soundtrack and swift skiing 🙂

Riding Solo

Sometimes I wish bar tending wasn’t so socially draining. As an introvert incognito, I seem outgoing and socially competent. However, I need more quiet downtime than the average 30-something. And because I spend 5-6 shifts each week making small talk with strangers, I seek solace during my free time.  Bearing this in mind, I usually ride the chairlift that is less popular on this mountain so that I can ride solo, contemplate life while listening to my playlist du jour, and occasionally tap out blog entries that are twitching in my fingers.

But today I was forced to sit next to a talker. It’s a Sunday so, per my normal weekend/holiday routine, I waited until lunch time to hit the slopes (the thought being that I’ll get in a a few runs while everyone else is eating indoors somewhere). Apparently the main lift had been having problems and since it is directly adjacent to my unpopular lift, some traffic was opting to detour onto my secret fast tack up the mountain.

The guy who partnered up to me looked less harmless than normal. Good skiis and a somewhat used jacket/ski pants combo usually means a local, or at least someone who goes out enough that you can have a meaningful conversation about a mutually interesting topic and not just a repeat of what I do, how long I’ve done it, and where I’m from. I understand the appeal of this conversation, but I tend to expound upon these topics at least 4 times per day, 5 days per week. I love my life and the narrative I’ve created for myself; but remember, I’m a closeted introvert.

So this guy proved my theory about appearances right and my strategy of shunning chairlift conversation wrong. He got the “local skier” confirmation out of the way from the beginning. And then we could engage in authentic conversation. Turns out he’s a former civil engineer who, after the recession reduced the number of positions in his field, turned to the outdoor gear industry and is currently working in cycling. PERFECT, I asked about my road bike’s problematic derailleur and got a few hints about which local dealers are the most reputable.

Maybe chairlift conversations aren’t THAT bad… But I’m not gonna hold my breath on that and will likely still be found (or hopefully not found)  solo on my secret seat in the sky.

Steazy or Not

I have two ski set-ups (a.k.a. outfits): one for when I want to be seen and one for when I’d rather blend in with the local scene. The former is what i call the steazy set up. It’s my new one, well…. kind of new. The ski pants are actually several years old. I bought them in the off season and later found a pair I liked better, so they were only worn once by a friend who borrowed them for a day. Before I made skiing a daily life activity, I (unsuccessfully) tried to recoup my money by selling them in craigslist.  Now that the other pair of ski pants are beginning to show their age and loose their water resistance, I’m thankful to have this original pair is reserve. The other part of my ski-suit combo is new to me… and I think fairly new in general. I bought it at the early season ski swap. Since this mountain resort attracts many professionals skiers with sponsorships, ski swaps up here tend to have lots of nice shwag! It’s a bright pink and purple North Face and pretty hard to miss. I noted before that I wear it when I want to be seen; its pretty impossible NOT to notice this jacket. At the beginning of the season, I didn’t feel comfortable wearing this set-up because it was too flashy; something my ski skills were not. I would bring out the steazy set-up for safety reasons: snowy days with low visibility. But I must admit, I’m feeling more comfortable showing some steaze now that my skills have improved significantly.

When I want to blend into the local scene, this is what I wear:

The colorful square polka-dotted ski pants are a little faded but bring an element of fun to the combo. The jacket fits nicely but despite my efforts to stitch up the rip on the side (I think from predominately carrying my gear on that side), the green duct tape has proved to be a better fix. This duct tape is also what subtly hints to other local skiers that I belong. The other day when I stopped at a mid-mountain cafe for some Italian Hot Chocolate, one of the local ski school instructors nodded to me and said to his clients, “That’s how you can spot a local skier on the mountain; the presence of duct tape.”

From beach bum to ski bum… I love my life

Sunset from ski lodge

When I moved to Hawaii 15 month ago, I was so moved by how great life was, I started journaling about it. I realized that I may have figured out this thing called life. After two summers in my paradise on the beach, I’ve returned to the origin of my self-reinvention and, wow, I love it!

I have come back to my home at a Rocky Mountain ski lodge. Two years ago I was one of the more mature (read: older) ski bum servers. I roomed with 2 other girls in their 20s and worked 9-10 shifts a week serving breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As a returning employee with positive previous guest reviews, I was given a couple of positions to choose from; one of which was every ski bum’s dream job: bartender. In an environment where compensation consists of little more than room, board, and a ski pass; this job is a bit more lucrative thanks to tips. Even more importantly, it has afternoon and evening hours only.  This equates to optimum ski time and never a powder morning missed.

The slight downside to being the rookie bartender at one of only a handful of bars in this ski community is that everyone arrives at the bar smiling at John (the senior bartender) and are giddy with good tidings of reunion after a summer season away. Then, heads turns to me, smiles vanish, and a blank look of bewilderment appears with  “Who are you?” on their lips.

This one minor point aside, bartending here is wonderful! It’s in my favorite room of the lodge with panoramic mountain views and après ski, crowd pleasing sunsets (pictured above).

Another perk of this position is the people I’m meeting. For example, a few days ago the ski school instructors stopped by on their way home. The happy reunion with John followed by my awkward self-introduction ensued. Then over the course of their visit I explained that after a decade of snowboarding I was switching back to skiing. The ski instructors were happy to hear this and one invited me to take advantage of the free lessons canyon employees are offered and proceeded to give me his card. After the group departed, I told John about the offer to which he responded, “No one’s ever offered me a free lesson.”  Maybe I’m not the first person to put a smile on guest faces upon entering the bar… but I think I’m going to like my second season of ski-bumming.

 

Surfing at Sunrise

Today was the first day that I woke up before dawn to go surfing, sometimes referred to as “dawn patrol.” After 7 years of waking up early to teach high school, one of the best parts of my current lifestyle is never setting an alarm. I relish waking up at my leisure and knowing that I can stay in bed if I choose. This is also one of the reasons why, after a year of resort work (both ski and beach), I was unable to go back to an office job. Setting an alarm to wake up for a desk job made me cringe and I immediately started counting down the hours until my freedom at the end of the day. However, there’s something different about setting an alarm to catch the sunrise from a surfboard on the Southside.

The reason for my early reveille was to shoot some surf footage. My friend Jim is a hobby GoPro-ist. He has several GoPros and recently acquired a quadracopter to do aerial shots. A few weeks ago we had our first GoPro filming session. We got footage from various angles, with the GoPro moving from a board mount, to a head mount, to a chest mount. He also took some shots from the shore. (I’ll post that video footage sometime soon, but there’s too much backstory that would need to accompany it for this posting.)After this initial filming, Jim suggested shooting at sunrise to get better lighting; and I wasn’t opposed.

Thus I woke up at 5:50 this morning to eat a bowl of cheerios and then walk to the beach with my board atop my head. It was dark enough when I left that the motion sensors lit up my departure, but I could already see some gold and pink cloud linings during my rooster crow-filled commute.  Jim arrive shortly after me and within a few minute we were geared up; me with the head mount and he with the quadracopter.

The surf wasn’t great; there had been heavy rains overnight resulting is runoff water that smelled more potent than normal. Also, the waves seemed to be chasing each other, so it was hard to catch a solid single wave with so many double and triple waves surging. But what made this experience worth the early wake-up call was the lighting. Jim was right; the light at sunrise is gorgeous.

The eastern clouds were grey with gold linings while the clouds to the west glowed pink.   A giant puffy cloud obscured the sun as it rose above the horizon. This resulted in a beautiful golden cloud with an increasingly intense glow shining through its center. Jim’s quadracopter was swooped up by the wind for a bit. I think he had a few moments of panic while hoping his costly investment was not lost. However, for those moments where I was alone on my board with great lighting, I was thankful.

I’ve heard that sunrise is the best time for surfing and that many islanders will get up before dawn to catch those early waves. I always assumed the reasons were of a practical in nature; to get some waves before work or to avoid the tourists. However, after this morning, I wonder if surfers are more sentimental than I previously thought. Could these individuals, who are mostly guys, be as moved by the serenity and beauty of nature as me? Perhaps.