Ski Town Paradox

February 2nd, 2008 at 06:14am Keith Hemstreet 8

In this piece, I hope to dispel a wildly held belief about life in a ski town, which is, if you live in a ski town you ski all the time. The fact is, for me at least, you ski less. I moved to Aspen six years ago and have yet to surpass the number of days I skied each year when I lived in Florida.

Half way through the season, I have logged a grand total of two days on the slopes. If I maintain this impressive pace, I will log a season total of…wait, let me get out my calculator…four days. Keep in mind, I live within walking distance of a chairlift and work one block from the Aspen Mountain Gondola.

Growing up in West Palm Beach (average daily temperature of 84 degrees), our family would take a ski vacation each year to escape the heat, which, by the way, happens to be the leading cause of road-rage and random violence. Below, I’ve transcribed police records of an incident that illustrates heat’s impact on human beings:

Two Priests stand under the blazing sun, awaiting the bus to the children’s hospital.

Very Sweaty Priest (wiping forehead): Jesus H, it’s hot.
Less Sweaty Priest: You can say that again.
Very Sweaty Priest (angry): What did you say to me?
Less Sweaty Priest: Nothing, Father.
Very Sweaty Priest: Bullshit. You were mocking me, weren’t you?
Less Sweaty Priest: No, Father. Just relax. I can see the heat is getting to you.
Very Sweaty Priest: You better watch your lip, Padre!
Less Sweaty Priest: Please Father, drop it.
Very Sweaty Priest: That’s it! I’m going to kick your ass!

Year-round heat may sound appealing to northerners and people so old and frail they wear button up sweaters when the mercury dips below 85, but to the average person it can be maddening, not to mention, dangerous. I’m well aware of the dangers of cold, but heat is a much greater hazard. Last year in Florida, 639 people melted. For illustration, another police report, slightly dramatized.

Two men, Tom and Dom, make the mistake of walking, instead of driving in an air-conditioned vehicle, to their favorite eatery.

Tom: Why the hell are we walking in this heat, Dom? We should have taken your Mercedes.

Dom does not answer.

Tom: Dom? Dom?

Tom looks around and notices a puddle of melted flesh on the sidewalk. He can tell by the eyeballs, which have not melted, that this is Dom. Dom had such pretty eyes. People always told him so. Tom kneels by the puddle and runs his fingers through the fleshy goop.

Tom: Oh, Dom. You had so much life left in you. Why? Why, oh, why?

I haven’t even broached the problem of humidity, which, on a normal winter day, is serious enough to draw all of the water out of your body within a matter of seconds. Just the thought of stepping outside each morning would cause my underarms to sweat. By the time I’d finished the commute to school, my slacks were damp enough to grow mold.

Growing up in such heat had me dreaming of the mountains. The night before a ski trip, I could hardly sleep. On the flight, I’d press my face to the window, scanning the earth’s geometrical patterns for the first sign of snow. When I first spotted snow, I’d get so excited that I’d press the stewardess button “BING!” and order a celebratory drink.

Stewardess: How old are you?
Keith: Why does that matter? I’m a Floridian and I’ve just seen snow? That’s cause for celebration. In fact, make that whiskey sour a double.
Stewardess: I’m telling your Mom.
Keith: Please don’t! She’s already upset that I’m failing fourth grade. Something like this would just send her over the top.

So excited were we to be in the cold, my friends and I did irrational things, such as jumping from the Jacuzzi and running barefoot through the snow. Whoever ran the furthest won. The prize, bragging rights. This game led to cracked and bleeding feet, as well as other ailments, but we didn’t much care. We simply bandaged up our feet and went skiing the next day.

Our ski trips would typically last 8 to 10 days, of which I skied every one. Not only did we ski every single day, but we were waiting in line before the first lift ran and kept skiing until they closed that afternoon. Today, when I get a chance to hit the slopes, it’s usually after lunch, say one o’clock. Because my days on the mountain are limited, my goal is to have a well-rounded ski experience, which means logging a few top-to-bottom runs and drinking as many beers as possible après. By two o’clock, I’ve already claimed a bar stool at one of the local taverns. It isn’t that I don’t want to maximize my time on the slopes, it’s just that drinking beers après is every bit as enjoyable, and, I might add, an essential part of the Aspen ski experience.

So, why is it that I have so little time? When you move to a ski town, you’ll find that things are more expensive than you’re used to in Anytown, USA. And I’m talking a normal ski town, like Steamboat Springs or Breckenridge. As for Aspen, you can accurately calculate the price of an item by taking the cost of that same item in Steamboat and marking it up 900 percent. It’s not uncommon to spend $500 on quick run to the grocer. What will that get you? Milk, bread, cheese, toilet paper, and the latest copy of Men’s Health, give or take. Because things are so expensive, most locals have multiple jobs. Myself, I have three, and I’m considering a fourth. Throw in a family with two young children and there you have it.

I’m not saying I would trade any of this for life in suburbia. The Aspen experience is well worth the price of admission, even if I never step foot on the slopes. I’m just saying that if I ever want to get back into skiing, I’ll have to move back to Florida.

Entry Filed under: Skiing, Snowboarding, Aspen, Colorado, Comedy, Outdoors