Pre-New Job Start Date Mini Road/Ski Trip
I began my 5-day half road/half ski trip in typical J.B. fashion; at the crack of dawn.
Last WEEK OF FREEDOM. What to do?”
My alarm sounded off at 5:30am PST. I did some last-minute packing then hit the road so I could make the 9:30am lesson I had booked at Squaw Valley Ski Resort. The ski area, located in the North Lake Tahoe area is about three-hour drive from my home base in Berkeley.
I made it right on time.
However, as “ski days” go, today was not much of a winner. Sunny yet icy.
It has not snowed for weeks and the mountain looks bare. By the afternoon the suns glow turned much of the morning ice into “sugar snow”. As someone who grew up skiing on the spare patches of ice that make up much of east coast ski areas south of Vermont the lack of powder is actually kind of relief.
Today; Wednesday, February 6, 2013 is my mothers 60th birthday. I called home en route to Tahoe and my father answered the phone. He sounded both upbeat (which I later realized was prolly because he has gotten laid, parental sex, gross) yet a tad irate. He asked how I was and where I was. I told him to which he replied, “well over here we are doing the Wizard of Oz”.
He went on, “I don’t know where we are and you’re mother; she has no clue where she is! All I know is I am in New York and I have to find my way back home”.
Wow. He was home. The onset of the disease that was quickly taking away his memories is becoming more obvious everyday. I was actually impressed by his creative aptitude there. While he may have lost memory his use of metaphor was spot on!
By late afternoon I had yet to speak with my mother. I called her cellphone several times and it went straight to voicemail. This worried me.
Given it was a Wednesday and horrid ski day the mountain was basically empty. After my lesson I rode the Funitel to the top of the mountain. Normally this lift is packed, however, today it was dead. I got on the 20 person gondola with one other person. The gondola behind us was empty.
During the ride up I could not help but think about a post I wrote about a while back, “The things the public wanna know … some of it is just straight wacky!“. Prompted by one of my blogs search engine terms “woman fucking in funitel”, the post describes a sexual fantasy Mike had while we were seeing each other last ski season. He wanted to, well, fuck in the funitel.
Likely inspired by the raunchy 80′s ski culture cult classic “Hot Dog…The Movie“, this was something that I kinda wanted to try too. However, it never went down; the season ended, the fantasy unfulfilled.
As I rode the gondola up to the top of the mountain, watching empty lift after empty lift pass, I could not help but think this warm wash of a ski day would be the perfect opportunity for funitel fucking. As these thoughts passed through my nostalgic mind I scanned my surroundings. My eyes briefly held their focus on the older gentleman sitting directly in front of me. He was at least 60 years old if not older. He had a white beard, wore a bright blue jumpsuit and had a fairly noticeable belly. No, he would not do. He was not funi fuck-worthy.
Tahoe is full of Mike “triggers”, which sucks, but hey that is life. If one avoided every place; every city, state, street; every store or sight you ever that triggered an unpleasant emotion you could probably never leave your house. Fuck it, my own room once served as such a trigger until I completely re-arranged the furniture and painted the walls.
All-in-all I would say it was a good day. After skiing I drove to Tahoe Hostel, my lodgings for the evening. The hostel is about a 30 minute drive from the ski resort. It is a magnificent drive. The road edges the lake and the views are nothing short of stunning. I stopped several times to take pictures, watch the sunset and simply just sit in awe of the beauty before me.
Sadly, while I felt the power of nature, understood and was thankful for of how lucky I was to be in such a gorgeous place, my nostalgic mind reared its evil head. I became overwhelmed with sadness and loneliness. Mike. He was everywhere. So I cried. I bawled. I hope somewhere in the unleashing for this waterfall of tears over the fond memories or associations I have with Mike flooded from my body too. Will they ever?
I arrived at the hostel at around 7:00pm. Checking in I was bombarded by a definite party scene. Laid back, chill backpackers or Bay Area season pass holders filled the main room.
I was given some paperwork to complete at registration which was smack dab in the middle of this light-hearted room. I sat on a comfy sofa, my clipboard in tow and before I even began to write my name a male voice with an indiscernible accent chirped “hey, how ya’ goin?”
I looked up and there he was; a mid to late 20′s dark-haired cutie, just chillen on the sofa directly in front of me. I was wiped out exhausted and also a bit drunk from the slugs of the cheap vodka and orange concoction I had prepared.
Slightly taken aback by his overt friendliness, I responded “pretty good, you?”. He went on to ask me where I was from, how long would my stay be, your typical backpacker questions. I took a stab at “guess the accent” and incorrectly predicted the UK. Nope, he was a kiwi. I also learned he had been staying at the hostel for two whole weeks already!
Before I went back to focusing on the task at hand, filling out the registration form, he made this comment “yes, you’re definitely gunna like it here!” Man I love travelers.
As I rose to return the completed form to reception I noticed a slim hipster chic had quickly slid in beside my kiwi. She sat so close to him she was practically on his lap. They had obviously formed a friendship during their stay fell easily into conversation. I found this humorous. This girl, watching the guy she had most likely been “cultivating” for at least a few days chatting up a new arrival! No way, no way was she letting this sheep-fucker slip out from her sharpened talons.
It was OK. She could have him what I needed was a bed and sleep. The fun would have to wait. I had not gotten much sleep the previous night, was exhausted driving, from skiing, from riding the emotion roller coaster and I needed to rise the next day at the crack of dawn once again for Day 2 of my trip. However, I have NO doubt that Tahoe Hostel and I have many fun nights ahead of us!
~ the road-trippen audacious amateur blogger