Robby, you’re totally right. No one likes to ski.
But . . . everyone loves apres-ski. Trouble is, you can’t get to the apres without the ski. It’s like in baseball: What team wouldn’t like to go directly to its closer? But you can’t do it. If your starter gives you six, and you’re bringing in your closer in the ninth, you need another pitcher to bridge that gap. Skiing is that bridge. It’s the only way to get to apres skiing.
Yeah, of course I’d love to stay in my cozy bed on a cold Vermont morning. Of course I’d celebrate if we got a call from Stratton Mountain saying, sorry, we’re closed for the day. I’d love to dive directly into my favorite ski-lodge lunch of chili-in-a-bread-bowl with a side of fries. I’d be only too happy to wrap myself in a plush white towel come late afternoon and jump in the sauna. I’d be thrilled to join the raucous crowd at the bar watching Jets v. Pats on the 746-inch flat-screen TV. I could really get into knocking back a bunch of Long Trails and bragging about those mogul runs I shredded. (I’m doing just that in the photo.)
But do you really think anyone’s gonna let me weasel in on these pleasures without making me ski first? That’s a negative, Ghost Rider.
Bottom line? Skiing isn’t always bathed in the sun-drenched glory you see in Warren Miller films — it’s true. But apres-skiing? Ah, now that’s something special. And until someone finds another way to get toapres, I’ll just have to keep on skiing.
-Hank
