Low Snow = Less Dough

Where’s the snow?! All over the western half of the United States, this is the question plaguing the mind of every skier and snowboarder. While all you east coasters have been basking in the glorious gifts of Mother Winter, the rest of us have been scratching our heads and twiddling our thumbs waiting for the first big dump of the season. And with this being the first weekend of February, time is quickly running out.

These conditions have certainly put the damper on the visions I had of driving each Friday to the base of a mountain, skiing for two or three days, and returning to work with a rejuvenated soul. The weekend warrior van tactic hasn’t quite had its chance to materialize yet. But poor snow pack isn’t the only culprit for this. It’s hard to be a van-dwelling weekend warrior when you’re not around to live in your van. [Duh!].

My first day back in Seattle after coming back from Tokyo. Sixty five degrees
and sunny. No snow on the mountains. When I landed, it was 10 AM; seven
hours before our plane left Tokyo. The weatherthat day caused me to wonder if I
really did travel through time, winding up in Seattle in July. It was January 25th.

This weekend marks the start of eight weeks of having Victor for my primary place of residence, and it will only be the second full weekend that I have spent living in it. Since December 17th, The trip to SeaTac airport has become a bit routine for me. First, I flew to Iowa for Christmas, then to Utah, then I had a highly anticipated trip to Japan, and then a visit to Colorado. The amazing part of all these trips is that every one of them has involved some quantity of skiing (there’s a big contrast between the quality of skiing in Japan and Iowa, but it was still skiing nonetheless).

Overall, what this means is that my execution of the "successful bum" lifestyle has primarily been during the workweek. Almost every morning that I’ve woken up on my two-foot wide bed has begun with preparations for a full day of sitting in front of a keyboard. So why would I want this to be a good ski season in Washington? Why would I want nights in the van to be cold and wet? These warm temps have made for some astonishingly comfortable sleeping arrangements. De-cacooning myself every morning has not been as dreadful as it was at the beginning of this venture. While the entire ski community is in an uproar complaining about the low coverage and higher temperatures this past January, I'm reluctantly rejoicing. [Blasphemy!].

Looking down Miowa Bowl wondering where I should defile these
freshies with my skis. This was the only sun-break all day.

Obviously, rejoicing over the warm weather is pretty easy for a guy who's just returned from ten days of skiing pow in Japan. But all this traveling comes at a cost; a cost that more than counterbalances the savings I've acquired through rent-free living. And its got me wondering, am I spending my rent money too quickly?

Flights, lift tickets, and dining, have definitely got my funds feeling dry, which is why these poor conditions on the mountains are slightly (only slightly) okay with me. A weekend to recuperate my body and my wallet won't go unappreciated.

However, as this coming weekend approaches, I find myself wishing for a sudden drop in temperature in the forecast. [Shouts of agreement from the skiing crowd!] 

But wish I may, wish I might, the rain in the passes will last all night. 

And when the weekend comes to be, I'll be in the laundromat, sipping on tea.

The forecast is looking gloomy, everywhere. For the next week, I'll embrace these conditions. I'll keep my date with Ayn Rand going strong, climb indoors to my heart's content, catch up on worldly responsibilities, and comfortably put myself to bed each night without steam billowing from my lungs.

Hopefully the snow gods will catch onto my good attitude and reward me and the rest of the skiing crowd with some fluffy white manna from heaven sometime soon. We will strap on our boots and head for the trees, giving our offerings and thanks in the form of whoops and hollers.