Goin' back to Cali. Yep, that's right. Last year's Lake Tahoe California/ Nevada trip was nice: all sun, beautiful scenery. This year we drove past Tahoe and the roads were dry and clear all the way into Mammoth Lakes, CA. The sun was casting a nice redish hue on Lake Mono. Closer to Mammoth, we noticed the evening clouds on the horizon, and they seemed harmless enough. Good, we might have some cool, fresh 'der to ski on.
The mechanical failures started when the mechanic dropped his wrench into the America West engine, forcing us to duck and cover when it smashed through the concourse window in Phoenix. Dan's laptop was out of the line of fire and was safe. "We're going to have to get you a new plane", squaked the airport PA system. Their 2-hour layover in Phoenix had now become 3.5 hours. They were in need of a power-pole. The gaming on the laptop had drained the energy reserves to near-zero. The Phoenix airport provides convenient columns, 2.5 feet in diameter, every 200 yards or so, made of concrete, with one electrical plug in them, and no seats nearby, for those that need to recharge laptops. Plugs are also conveniently located in the bathrooms, but playing Monopoly in a bathroom can be unpleasant at times. Especially if you don't have oranges.
Dan & Dave were in the critical path and they knew it. Taking a later flight than the rest of the Austin crowd, in the shameless pursuit of frequent flyer miles, they were sheduled to land in Reno five minutes after Adam's. Thank you Murphy, for delaying one of the flights that didn't need it. Upon arriving in Reno, "That's why I don't fly America Worst", Larry jabbed. Yeah, sorry guys.
Most of the others had left already, leaving the Van-boys: Adam, Larry, Andy, Dean, Dan, & Dave to head out for Mammoth as the late crew. Someone: "Is that the check engine light?" Adam [driving]: "It's probably just the oxygen sensor because of the altitude." More time passed. No, they didn't check the engine, they were gamblers.
Arriving at dusk after a clear road condition drive up to Mammoth, they found Condo #20 at Chateau Sans June(*) , aka "Full house". Some were out purchasing purchasing at least a minimal amount of pop tarts during the first grocery run. First on the order of business was Jack. Room Jack. On the auction block were
1 room - double bed - excluded from Jack for Brian, Lori, & ClarkAndy moved up this year from loft boy last year to General this year. Phil & Dean acquired the room with 2 twin beds, and Steve gave up his slot in Phil's room to become "Quad Leader", in the room with 2 bunks. Upstairs were the commander in chief, Lori, the first gentleman Brian, and of course, Clark. Jeff requested the couch, and lived out his identity as the couch boy, or intern to the presidential couple, take your pick.
They system was different in the halfway house. The powers that be decided who got what room. "The powers that be" being June and Beth, wielding their power as half-sisters, or perhaps relying on ties with the CIA. Or was it that June was packing heat?
There were no warning signs, nothing that would have alerted anyone, as to how to properly operate the complicated piece of machinery know to all as the Full house. With set the thermostat on 75, everyone went to sleep. Dan & Dave were in the quad, in the top bunks. At least physics was constant: heat rises, and tends to seek out those who get warm more quickly than others. Full house had an interesting feature, in order to prevent heat from rising, it was generated directly in the ceiling so it would not lose any energy while rising. The downstairs was heated by hot water pipes in the _ceiling_. About 2AM, one of the quad members, Private Holloway, screamed out, "It's like a sauna in here!" and had to break formation: requiring the help of Quad Leader Mirra to move the mattress to the floor. Relief. That 75 must be in Celcius.
A booming voice said, it will snow for 40 days and 40 nights, and you should take two of every kind of pop tart into the house with you. It had started to snow Saturday evening, so there was ample 'der on the slopes Sunday, quite enough to make our turns (and sight) difficult.
Jay, Vince, Beth, June sat on a stopped lift for 20 minutes at the end of the day. All the images of recent ski news stories flashed through their minds. Would this be a repeat of the newsworthy event that happpened at Vail this year, where a lift operator had failed to clear a lift and some had been left hanging overnight? They called out immediately (at 4:05PM) to skiers below to tell the operator of the lift.
One can only imagine as to why it stopped. Was Jay actually swinging the chair back and forth enough to force it to get caught on one of the support poles, or was that just someone's tall tale that Steve bought?
Jeff, in the traditional after skiing, pre-dinner manner was off jacuzzing that Sunday. He turned out to be a lightweight in the sauna (the real one, not the Quad room), lasting only five minutes. But, that five minutes was enough to slow the brain down. What happens to beach bums over a period of two weeks in the sun, had happened to Jeff in only several minutes in the sauna. His usual good sense of cross country direction was gone, and that walk back from the sauna to full house was taking a bit longer than expected. Pantsless, the search turned to desperation. Which was condo #20? "There was snow on the roof of it, right?", he thought, though obviously not clearly. The occupants of full house heard a light rap on the door. Jeff, with ice encrusted hair and swim shorts now frozen solid, stepped back into the land of the living. He would be fine, and would take a guide next time. Steaming hot lasagna would soon revitalize him, making him better, faster, stronger. Later in the week his mental powers would leap back into action, in a dream.
Back by popular request was spinach lasagna. Lori again brought the recipe that satisfied millions (well, we ate like that) last year. Again, quite a good treat. Some witnessed or performed the magic of spinach reduction, but not oxidation.
After dinner was cake. Not the group. A cake for June and a cake for Adam, as we celebrated their birthdays, which are on either side of groundhog's day. June had just had to sign up in a new age bracket that morning for ski school lessons. The upper end of that bracket was age 45, so the cake must have tasted a little bittersweet. There was much rejoicing, and a nice hot fire with turbulent flames in the wood stove.
Snow...more snow. Since Saturday night there were two new feet of snow. Everyone was getting back into the tough morning routine: sleep, wake, pop tart, sandwich construction, free shuttle bus. Taking the free shuttle bus that ran right by the condo made it extremely easy, so the two mounds of snow outside in the driveway would only slightly resemble a Blazer and a van in a couple days time.
The turns, hidden under at least several inches, making the morning quite a workout. Lunch. The Mammoth lodges were quite hospitable: free water, free cups to go with said water, no crowds, and no anti-picnic signs preventing them from opening up their picnic basket and spreading out the red & white checkerboard cloth on the floor. They felt welcome.
Finally they headed out, in search of more adventure in the afternoon. A run here, a run there, we were over by Canyon lodge somewhere. The constant snow showers made the runs that much more tranquil. One could almost say that the silence was almost deafening. Suddenly from the back of the group:
"Guys, are these my skis?"They left him in the snow, moaning in pain and meditation, to think about what he'd done. It was better to rectify the situation in our own group, rather than let the stranger whose skis he was using find him. That stranger proabaly wanted to boot some head, too.
Certainly, in a group this large there was bound to be some friction, espressed with or without a boot. Perhaps it started Sunday night, when full house came to the revealation that the cupboards were bare and there was no bone for the dog -- in terms of pop tarts. So the requisition went out to halfway house, where the main stores apparently were: "Please bring us half your pop tarts." Half meant they'd be keeping their fair share, plus some, and they knew it. But the request must have hit a nerve.
The insult turned to hatred, and then to loathing. Little beknownst to full house, and what was later to be discovered, was that the plans for "Operation Pop Tart" were underway. Details are sketchy here, since the CIA double agent informant, to full house, risked her life in providing this information for this historical document. She only revealed the first initials of two of the ringleaders: operatives V and L. The plot, however, never took shape, and full house, for the entire week was unaware. The attempt must have fizzled for fear of the military might, from the commander-in-chief and General Thomson, all the way down to Corporal Punishment(*2) and Buck Private Jain, who would have given their lives. Still, the lack of military intelligence at full house should serve as a wake-up call.
Henrik was up as usual on Tuesday, pumped and ready to go. Some of the full-weekers were taking Tuesday off, but Henrik, always first down the slope when skiing in formation with others, was ready to hit the slopes again. It was his last day. And the half-week credo is "ski hard, ski always." Phil and Jeff joined him.
Everyone else got off to a slow start, the rest of the full weekers. Sleeping in a bit to regain enough energy to participate in what was soon to become game central. Last year's house was equipped with Monopoly, so we overplayed that. This year, Scrabble and a several Cheapass(TM) games (*3) were the games du jour.
When you can't look up a word in dictionary, you've got to establish some ad hoc system of throwing out words. The system evolved into a trial by jury, then consulting the ultimate source of information -- the Net. The jury (whoever was on the couch) would declare a word as legal or not. Then, depending on the mood of the group at large, the web would be consulted for definitions of words. Who was on the couch at a particular time could drastically affect your fate as a player. As in Nagano Olympics, if the English judge liked your use of the word "Ta", you had a chance. On this day and the next, the Scrabble gods favored Dan and Beth, allowing them to become established as Scrabble experts. In addition to Scrabble, Balderdash, where one makes up fake definitions, was also played. Maybe that's why some players had difficulty in Scrabble.
Cheapass games were played (acquired from some grunge-type early 20s guy in Seattle - not Larry, though) and are now a blur. Kill Dr. Lucky and Bleeding Sherwood were the games played on game-fest day. Bleeding Sherwood - have you spent your wad, yet? Steve and Dan were the best at spending their hands the quickest, though it's probably not the best of all possible strategies.
Outdoor activity. For several, the call of the wild did call. At least enough to get out and walk around in a city park. Only with several feet of snow having fallen, that meant snowshoeing. Dan, Brian, Larry, Vince, and Jay went for it headfirst, literally.
Rules for snow-shoeing:
1. Never take off your snowshoe.Brian straddled a tree. Dan ran down the hill, describing the experience as sort of floating on the snowshoes. (What?!) Jay, seeing Dan, just lunged face forward into the snow going down the hill.
That evening, a group decided to go out to eat for Adam's birthday. The walking adventure led them past the movie theater, which Phil pointed out was serving popcorn and warm, was showing Scream II. The choices they'd selected in the warmth of the condo were both closed. Is the city of Mammoth Lakes shut down on Tuesday night? That left returning the Japanese restaurant Shogun, where they'd eaten Monday night (except this night it was Caraoke night), returning to Mammoth Bar & Grill (where a handful had eaten Monday), or going to see Scream II. The choice was obvious: no scream and no caraoke.
"Sing me the song again, Mommy. Pleeaaase," little Clark Snider begged. He knew it would work, too. It always did. As Clark snuggled back under his covers again, Lori smiled and started to sing,
"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale..."
"Not that one, Ma. You know the one. Helmet Boy. Geez, do I have to spell it out for you?" This was part of the routine. After repeating it so often in recent months, mother and son had it down to an art form. Of course, Lori knew which song Clark meant and so she started to sing again, this time of that famous ski trip of '98. The lyrics went like this (sung to the tune of that Chumbawumba song):
He films a green run,The song had by now attained the status of a classic. The Stones had "Satisfaction", Led Zeppelin had "Stairway to Heaven", and Chumbawumba had "I Get Knocked Down". As Lori sang, and Clark dozed off, she thought back to a day at Mammoth back in '98.......
For a change, the sun rose that day. After snowing for three consecutive days, El Nino finally took a breather. Downstairs in the Quad Room, Dave awoke with the helmet cam already strapped on to his head. The helmet cam was a video camcorder bolted to a bicycle helmet. Dave's own invention.
As he rose from his top bunk-turned floor mattress, Private Holloway glanced at himself in the mirror and commented, "Boy, is this going to look funny."
Corporal Punishment didn't like what he saw. "Non-regulation uniform," he observed sternly. "Permission to administer justice, sir!" he asked the Quad Leader.
"Ordinarily, I'd say go to it, but Private Holloway has special permission from General Thomson on this one, Corporal. Let it go."
Reluctantly, Corporal Punishment withdrew his complaint, but he announced defiantly, "If Private Holloway can wear that, I'm going to ride my snowboard using the goofy stance."
Private Jain thought that's the way the Corporal always rode, but he didn't say anything.
The skiing that day was tremendous. The fellow who writes the Mammoth Mountain snow report might have even called it epic. All the fresh snow was packed down just enough so that it wasn't in their way, but the members of the group could still feel it crunch satisfyingly beneath their skis as navigated down one trail after another. And of course, Dave was wearing the helmet cam.
"Helmet cam. Sweet." The words of a lift attendant summed up the feelings of many. Dave filmed the skiing exploits of several in the group that day, capturing almost as much footage of actual skiing as he had of people looking into the camera to check for the "little red light" which indicated that the thing was on. "Woo-hoo!" Dave exclaimed to himself during one particularly good run. In another segment, he could be heard exhorting Danny, "Show me some moves, Dan!" Danny managed a triple Slachow, triple toe loop combination but ironically, the cam, being off Dave's line of sight axis by 5 degress, was pointed over Danny's head and capturing clear blue sky, thus failing to record Danny's remarkable stunt. Of the feats captured on tape, Adam's textbook snowboard run was the highlight of the day. Gliding effortlessly down the mountain, Adam displayed the skills reminiscent of a dude surfing the waves off Malibu.
That evening, over leftover lasagna, the group viewed the footage Dave had recorded that day as they relived the greatest skiing day of the trip..................
By the time Lori finished repeating the chorus for the eighteenth time, Clark was fast asleep. Although not necessary this evening, she could have sung the chorus another eighteen times. How she loved Chumbawumba!
Phwump! If anyone had ever embraced a mogul, it was Dean on Thursday morning. After cartwheeling for 30 yards at more than 40 miles per hour, Dean had finally found a mogul he could call his very own. And so he did. With authority. Luckily for Dean, a mammoth dump of snow in the early part of the week cushioned the mogul enough to absorb his wildly out-of-control body as it slammed into the ski obstacle. Dean's skiing partner this day was Dave, who had become accustomed over the past 30 minutes to Dean's horrific-looking, but otherwise harmless, wipeouts.
"Judges give that a 9!" shouted Dave as Dean picked himself off the mogul. Dean's skis were 25 yards up trail, and as he trudged to fetch them, Dave struggled for words of encouragement. "This trail will submit to the Dean-meister! No trail makes El Deano fall thirty-four times without living to regret it!" Dave shook his head to clear it but was unsuccessful. For now, at least, his skiing conciousness was enveloped by a vivid tapestry of falls woven by Dean.
The name of the trail wreaking such havoc on Dean was Haven't the Foggiest. And Dave was not exactly escaping its wrath, either. It's just that his fourteen falls paled in comparison to Dean's record total. Dave knew he had been the lucky one on this day (as lucky as anyone who fell fourteen times can be). Next time, it could easily be his butt wiping the side of the mountain thirty-four times. Now as they headed in for lunch, Dave recalled ruefully how the two of them had exchanged "Woo-hoos!" at the beginning of this run on Back for More, thinking, oh so wrongly, that they had owned this mountain.
While the rest of the group skied on Thursday, taking advantage of a second straight day of skiing under snowless skies (at least until later in the afternoon), Jeff ventured into the art of snowboarding. There was no question Jeff had mastered skiing, and he caught on to snowboarding rather quickly, too. But perhaps his choice of dress was the most memorable aspect of his brush with the surfing dudes of winter. In a flash of brilliance that Ralph Lauren himself would envy, Jeff ensured the warmth of his rear end by taping socks to both cheeks. As he later explained, "Butt socks appeared to me in a dream. I felt it was my destiny." It was either destiny or some strange way to pick up chicks. He confided his secret with one of the snowboarding babes in the class, and was encouraged when her response was "That's a good idea, I wish I'd done that."
Back with the skiers, Steve distinguished himself in the afternoon when, after becoming separated from the rest of the group, he rode lift five up to the top of the Solitude trail. With so much snow having fallen, the upper mountain lifts had remained closed most of the week, so this was a rare opportunity and Steve took full advantage of it. Later, Steve sheepishly admitted he had gotten on lift five by accident. Coming from someone who had skied for an hour on someone else's skis, this revelation came as no surprise to the others. In any case, Steve turned out to be the only one in the group to ride lift five that week. He had stumbled into this small glory, but nonetheless, the Quad Leader had shown the way.
That evening, dinner was served at the Matterhorn, an elegant Swiss restaurant. Following a delicious meal, desserts were served to the few whose appetite still remained. Unaware of what Jeff had ordered, Phil panicked - too much wine perhaps? - when he saw what was placed before Butt-Sock Man. "Ohmigod, we're all gonna die!" cried Phil. It took coaxing from the rest of the group to assure Phil that a burning pile of ice cream was a good thing.
"It's a f___ing whiteout." The poetry of these four simple words, uttered by a nearby snowboarder, was not lost on him. Perched high on Mammoth Mountain, paused briefly to buttress his courage for yet another daredevil descent down Broadway, Danny wept uncontrollably. "It's true, man... completely and utterly true," he sobbed. His skiing buddy this Friday morning was Steve, who could only look on in bemusement as the once proud Dan-man threw his inhibitions into the 40-mph winds and bawled like Clark Snider. As he watched this display of raw emotion, Steve admitted silently to himself that Danny and the snowboarder were right on target with their observations - the weather was bad and getting worse. And yes, it was difficult to see amidst the low hanging clouds and swirling snow.
Although the ski trippers had been granted a respite from storms on Wednesday and Thursday, Mother Nature had reasserted herself today. Now it was nearing lunch and Steve had had enough. Perhaps he was still a bit haunted by the pounding he had taken on Haven't the Foggiest the previous day. "This is my last run of the day. Of the vacation, in fact. I can't see what the heck I'm doing anymore," Steve announced. "I'm smack-daddy done for, home slice," he rapped to Dan. Dan nodded knowingly. Composing himself, vainly attempting to preserve a trace of dignity (too late), Danny sniffed, "Not for me. After lunch, I'm coming back for more."
And so it was that Steve and Danny skied down Broadway towards the Main Lodge and a welcome lunch break, joining the others who were already assembled in the Club Room. Reservations were not required, they were regulars.
As it turned out, many in the group chose to return to Chateau Sans June early that day. But Danny was not among the faint of heart on this day. Summoning courage from a reservoir deep within himself, Danny tramped outside to rejoin the battle against the elements. Inspired by this display of courage in the face of reason, other courageous souls in the ski party - Brian, Jeff, Andy, Adam, and Phil - also stayed to ski in the afternoon. Dave, Steve, and Dean headed back to Chateau Sans June to join Lori and Clark.
Later that afternoon, as the skiers arrived singly or in small groups back at the condo, Dave, Steve, and Dean learned that much of the mountain had been closed in the afternoon due to low visibility. Undaunted by the closings, they learned that Danny had simply hopped a shuttle and made his way from the Main Lodge, where all trails were closed, to Canyon Lodge and skied until 4 PM. Heroic to the end! That was the Dan-man they all knew and loved.
As it turned out, due to the inclement weather and resulting trail closures, the ski resort distributed rain checks (snow checks?) worth $37 towards the purchase of a lift ticket in the next year. Unfortunately, Phil was the only one among them to become aware of this fact before he left the resort for the day (he later passed this ticket to Beth, who lives in Reno and may be able to take advantage of it before it expires).
That night, as they wolfed down BBQ delivered from a place called Angel's (minus some cole slaw out of which the party was shafted, to Steve's dismay), the ten skiers recounted the glory of Danny's heroic day as they basked in the warmth of the tumultuous flames which flickered behind the glass of the wood- burning stove. Danny basked in the warmth of the onion rings he consumed. He must have downed something like half a pound of those things. The cozy scene (minus Danny's downing of the onion rings - mind you, it wasn't pretty) was captured for posterity by at least four self-timed cameras mounted on the TV set.
Tensions rose on the last day, in memory of what the half-weekers had to do on Wednesday, drive south (away from Reno) and then head into the desert as they found a five and a half hour (instead of three hour) route back to Reno. On Friday, the full weekers bought chains and installed them on the non four-wheel drive van. The two Texans, Andy & Dave learned a lot about tires, tire sizes, and putting on snow chains on Friday. One, they make ones hands very cold as you put them on. Two, they make a lot noise once they're on. And on Saturday, three, that noise means you're destroying the wheel well.
The roads were well plowed north on 395 out of Mammoth Lakes, which had been blocked earlier in the week due to an avalanche, still had signs that said "chains required". After removing the chains, for fear of creating more than just small black plastic pieces of wheel-well debris for the Blazer behind to dodge, the group decided to forge ahead northward.
There was some commentary, to try and make the trip a bit easier.
Adam: "Those snowbanks are a hell of a lot softer than trees."The roads did indeed turn out to be very clear, and very well plowed, so we had no problems getting back to the airport in plenty of time.
The quad boys: Steve, Adam, Dan, & Dave elected to stay a night in Reno, to see if we could lighten the expense of the trip. They met up with Beth and had dinner in one of the restaurants in the casino. Eating and playing more Cheapass games in the hotel room saved the quad boys from losing some money at the tables. The boys were happy (well, maybe not that happy) that at least Beth was benefitting from no real estate taxes (funded by in part, some of their losses). They had stuck through it until the end remembering that your duty is to Unit - Core - Quad - Country, in that order.
---
(*) Actual condo name was Chateau Sans Nom, but we changed the name, since June was in the "halfway house"
(*2) Corporal Punishment: Adam
(*3) Cheapass Games Web Site www.cheapass.com
---
"Rumor has it I asked the Quad Leader to help me move my mattress onto the floor during the night. I wish to debunk that myth." - Dave
Sunday: "Let's go down Wall Street, even though the market is closed." - Dave
"I've never had to pole down a black face before" - Andy, on Solitude
Commenting on some who was going to get the leftover lasagna in the fridge, Henrik proposed: "We'll have to have lasagna jack."