From the Fire to the Freezer

My body was not ready for this. In two days, I transitioned from sleeping comfortably with the windows open and curtains down to curling in my twenty-degree sleeping bag watching the steam billow in front of my face. I guess this transition wasn't that significant of a phenomenon, considering I had just driven 10 hours directly north and gone up in elevation (slightly). That fact, combined with a little cooling trend in the weather resulted in some cold sleeping conditions I wasn't expecting. My one night in Jackson Hole Mountain Resort was somewhere in the high teens for temps. This made the decision to cook dinner inside the van (not outside) a very obvious one to make.

After brushing my teeth, taking one last visit to the bushes outside before curling up in bed, and watching another episode of Game of Thrones on my tablet, I fell into a shivery slumber. My subconscious toiled with thoughts of what my final day van-faring recreation would be like.

As expected, I awoke with frost on the ceiling and the extreme desire to stay in my sleeping bag where my toes could semi-comfortably wait out the morning chills and emerge when the sun finally decided to begin warming the van. I probably would have overcome this urge on my own, but it received a boost when two cars pulled into the Teton National Park trailhead where I spent the night and parked directly behind me with their lights baring down on Victor. I'm not sure what they were there for, but I left before any interactions were had.

Maybe my early-morning paranoia was showing, but one of the two cars immediately followed me out of the trailhead, onto the dirt road all the way back out to the highway, and then into the entrance for Jackson Hole. It wasn't until I turned into one of the parking lots that they continued past. Just a little weird having a random car follow you roughly three miles from a trail head in the woods back to a resort town. What a great way to start your day! 

Moving along, my flustered, groggy-eyed, self also managed to look straight past the ever-so-obvious parking lot barrier (a single strand of twine strung between sections of movable fencing) that roped off the parking area, corralling all drivers towards the parking booth and attendant. I slammed on the brakes to avoid taking out the "barrier" and continued on to the booth.

"Good morning! Is it just you?"

"Yup, just me."

"Ten dollars then."

"Parking isn't free?"

"Not for cars with less than three people. You're showing up at 6:30 AM and you don't know that?"

I never heard of this before, nor did I know what showing up at 6:30 had to do with anything. Avoiding a ridiculous parking fee for skiing solo at Jackson, I followed the attendants advice and drove several miles back towards Jackson (town), and parked at the nearest park and ride, where I could get a free shuttle back to the mountain.

Ignoring my frustration (which was also immediately doused by the complementary coffee at the bus stop hut at the park and ride), I gathered my ski gear for the day and hitched a ride back to Jackson Hole Mountain Resort.

Low temps overnight and in the morning along with the lack of fresh snow meant skiing groomer laps was the only possibility for the first few hours of the day.

I got to get back to basics and practice more skiing techniques that I otherwise ignore or can't focus on when I'm skiing backcountry laps or tree runs. Keep your shoulders square, facing down the fall line; lean those knees in to edge more into the snow; keep your body weight forward (or at least my body weight). I have the irrefutable habit of leaning too far back when I ski. Going backseat like this causes your turn-initiation to be weak. Not enough weight on the front of your skis lessens the force your leading edges impose on the snow, resulting in an insufficient bite. To much of this, and you'll find yourself sliding all over and not making those beautiful carve turns we all see on TV!

Part of the view from the top of the tram.

After, enough "practicing" and once the sun started to warm up the snow, I slowly meandered across the mountain to the tram, where I spent the rest of the day doing long runs from top to bottom (over 4000 vertical feet).

With the temps hovering at just below freezing at the summit and the sun warming the base all the way up to 50 degrees, I got to see a lot of variation in snow conditions. Every run was an elongated transition from choppy moguls and dust-on-crust all the way to mashed potatoes and corn snow at the bottom.

Between having the opportunity to keep lapping 4000' runs over and over again (unheard of in Washington) and the awesome views from the summit every time, riding the tram for the rest of the day was a no-brainer.

Looking south at Cody Bowl, from the summit of the tram.

Cody Bowl.

Four o'clock rolled around fairly suddenly and before long, I was sitting on my last chair of the day. Which meant this was going to be my last run of the day; which also meant that in about 30 minutes, I would be sitting in the van with my ski boots off and post-ski beverage in hand, mowin' down on some cheese n' crackers.

To my extreme satisfaction, I came back to the park n' ride to find Victor intact, containing all the possessions I left with him, and completely defrosted. Sheltering from the brisk, early-evening winds, I got inside to relax with some food and brew. Before long, I found myself ready to turn the ignition key and begin the long journey back to Seattle. From here on out, driving was all I had left to do. It was Friday night, and I wanted to be in Seattle to celebrate Easter on Sunday.

After one more semi-chilly night spent at a rest stop in Idaho, and countless hours going through the plains and passes of Montana, and driving back into Idaho again, I found myself staring down the eastern plains of Washington, awaiting for the Cascades to emerge from the earth in the distance. I was only a few hours away from the city I would call home, only for the next six weeks. This adventure was only a precursor to what awaits for me shortly down the road. On June 30th, after spending a few weeks with family on the east coast, I am leaving for New Zealand. What awaits there, I have no idea. Maybe a new job, maybe new friends, maybe the rest of my life, or maybe a few months of straight up fun. All I can say, this little van trip was the perfect reminder that going with the flow and not fighting to keep your itinerary intact is the best way to have a good time. Compare this map below to the original one I posted on March 26th in Gettin' Dat Chedda Before Desert. Not terribly different, but heading down to Moab and Indian Creek was obviously not a part of the plan. And doing so took me away from going into Canada altogether. Motto for the trip: Do what you want, when you want. That's the key to keep having a good time.

The other key to having a good time is making it back to Seattle in time for a little more bluegrass...because sometimes you just can't ever get enough. Nuff said.

The Brother's Comatose, at the Tractor Tavern in Ballard, Seattle, WA