04/29/17 – Bed, Fort Badass. 5:40 AM

The alarm clock fills the room with FM radio, waking me up–It’s time to get dressed quickly, I have a ride to Tahoe picking me up at 06:00 AM. It’s my friend and co-worker Rachel, someone who tells coders what to do. As expected, she’s on San Francisco time…that is, she’s running late. I’ve anticipated this, one of the many characteristics you develop after moving to California.

She arrives around 06:30, and she’s overshot it a little down the block–no worries. In the mean-time I have eaten breakfast–Siggi’s plain skyr style yogurt with a handful of almonds. I lug my board, boots, backpack, and duffel bag down the sidewalk, loading it into her boyfriends Gray Nissan Altima. There’s an extra California license plate in the trunk, caked with years of accumulated dirt. We’re both tired, loading my gear in the back.

“I forgot my pass, we need to swing by my place” says Rachel, looking sorry. I don’t mind, I always expect delays in SF. I direct her to Townsend Street via the ol’ under the freeway 13th Street route and once we arrive, her boyfriend drops off her forgotten items. Time to rock.

We hit the road, and soon we’re over the Bay Bridge and headed east to Tahoe. The sun’s rays streaks through the girders on the outsides of the lower deck of the bridge, hitting the car like a strobe light as it’s rapidly obscured by the girders. I search Rachel’s pack for her sunglasses, finding a hip pair with wooden arms–nice.

We’re getting close to the Carquinez Bridge when we realize we need coffee. “Pull off here” I say, quickly getting us lost. My sense of direction is pretty awful sometimes. I pull up Google Maps, and navigate back to the freeway, driving through some farmland and past some sort of carbon plant–whatever the hell that is. We’re in the boonies.

“You’re not bringing me out here to kill me, are you?” asks Rachel, somewhat joking but not 100% certain. Five minutes later we’re rolling through the Starbucks drive-thru for some joe–two black coffees. Rachel offers me some of her croissant as we motor on east–it tastes delicious.

I cringe as we drive past Folsom, realizing that I’ve just missed the last Chic-Fil-A on the way to Tahoe. Fuck. Placerville is the next and only stop for decent chow. We try to stop at the In-N-Out besides Schlotzysky’s Deli–the one on Hi-Lo Drive–to find both sadly closed. Sad!

We settle for the Carl’s Jr. in the strip-mall across the freeway, where I grab a jalapeno thickburger. Rachel branches off to grab a veggie sub from the Subway across the parking lot. There’s this cool motorcycle with a sick sidecar parked in the lot. I emerge with a Carl’s Jr in hand and return to the car, but find no one there.

I walk up to the Subway, swinging to door wide open. My nose is blasted with an assault of the dreaded ‘Subway smell’ of yeast particles floating through that place like some sort of bread power particle accelerator. I quickly switch to mouth-breathing.

Without shame I sit down and start chowing down on my thickburger as I wait, but I only got two bites in before she approached with her sandwich in hand. “I don’t mind if you eat in the car” she says tactfully, so we jump back in the Nissan and hit the road, the foothills coming upon us as we clear through “Old Hangtown”.

All there is to see is pine trees on either side of the road as we drive up up up into the mountains. This is the all too familiar ride to South Lake Tahoe on US-50. Soon, the majestic beauty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains would be upon us. The air thins out as we climb up into the mountains, the speakers of the Nissan filling that empty space with the sounds of house music.

Some more banter and office politics talk, and next thing you know we’re driving through the mountain pass, a steep drop-off over the side to a forest of pine trees. Snowy mountain-tops span off into the distance. We round a curve on the pass to behold the beauty of Lake Tahoe in the background, and an airstrip down below near the foot of the lake, surrounded by a forest of pine trees.

“I’m gonna get my wings soon. Someday I’ll be landing on the airstrip” I remark, blue eyes wide as I dream big and talk bigger. No joke though, I will land there someday.

We get to South Lake and park in the back lot of Harrah’s. I put on this amazing silver morphsuit my roommate Jonny lent me, and then start to gear up. We walk over to the gondola and wait 5-10 minutes to get on a gondola up the mountain. It’s me, Rachel, some raver chick, two other raver dudes, and some older guy wearing a Heavenly uniform that is an off-white shade–I’ve never seen this uniform before.

PSssscchhhh, the sound of a beer being opened echoes through the gondola a few seconds after we lift off out of the depot–raver dude has cracked a beer.

“Hey, come on. You can’t drink that on the Gondola.” says the old Heavenly dude.
I notice his uniform again, it’s such a different color than the Helley Hansen jackets, and it looks barely worn. His name tag says Pete and he’s been ‘serving great experiences’ since 1984. He’s gotta be about 50, looking clean-cut with a cleft chin, helmet, and brand new white ski-boots.

“Ahhh..Come on man, it’s already cracked!
“No.” the Heavenly guy responds.
“Ah man…Hey, what do you do at Heavenly?”
“I’m the Chief Operating Officer here at Heavenly” he says, nearly deadpan.
“Oooohhh shiyyyyyeeeeetttt tighhhtt helllaa” say the raver kids, laughing at their dumbass friend.

I realize I was onto something with that peculiar jacket. The situation is somewhat awkward, but we get by, asking questions about Heavenly. Myths were shattered on that ride. We were sharing a six person gondola with who could be the true king of the mountain for all anyone could be concerned.

“Yo this is the last weekend because it’s a lease from the forest service right?”
“No, we close in May because that’s just because people stop coming” responds The King.
“Oh shit ok, but then that’s why Bo Real closes”
“Bo Real…Oh Boreal? Nope, that’s not why they close.”
“Oh man I thought that’s why”
“No, people just stop coming…”

Well that settles that myth. We also find out after some probing that electricity is the biggest cost on the mountain–cool. We’re making our way up the face of the mountain now and the raver chick is totally enamored with the view. Raver dude seems to see his second chance.

“Ah so man, lemme drink this ya know, so it’s not looking like I’m coming off the gondola with a full beer you know.”
“Dooonn’t Do it! chimes in one of his friends”
“No.” responds The King
“Come on man, it’s the _mountain_ man” says raver kid, bringing the can up to his lips
“Don’t do it” he says, the seriousness echoing through the gondola.
“Ah ok…”

The gondola comes up to the sky deck lookout point, and the King encourages the troublesome trio to check out the view if they’ve never seen it. Sly. They disembark, and I have a little freak-out as I can’t find my snowboard. Luckily I look behind our gondola and see it’s just in the one behind us–phew.

As the gondola pulls out of the sky deck stop and hurdles towards the top, we all breathe a collective sigh of relief to be rid of those three. “Some people don’t think. They just do. And unfortunately it’s usually those people that end up getting into trouble on the mountain” remarks the COO.

A few minutes later the gondola cruises into the station, and we disembark. I’ve really got to take a piss now. I walk into the bathroom, shuffling over to the urinal and opening the fly of my snow over-alls. I try to pull the dragon through the fly and then realize that I’m wearing a morphsuit. There is no fly. Fuck.

I can’t reach the zipper on the back of my morphsuit, hanging out in that awkward space between your shoulder blades. I ask a stranger to help unzip my morphsuit for me. I laugh at the oddity of this situation. I’m taking a piss now in the toilet as my newfound assistant is unloading a gnarly shit in the stall beside me–time to get out of here. Can’t even wash my hands with this suit on.

Okay, ready to rock. We descend the tall metal stairs from the gondola station, our boots making a sweet slushy crunch sound. I’m back on the snow. We go up Tamarack lift, ride down to Dipper. The snow is a little icy right now. I end up going through this shitty icy bowl near the lift. I realize I’ve entered the yard sale corridor, an area you often see skiers losing their skis as you ride up the lift.

I get some good air on some jumps in the woods, and I realize it might already be time to ditch the jacket and pants and just go full silver body suit. We go up dipper and I take the sleeves off my jacket. We do milky way bowl and it is just OK. Rachel has skis and is definitely faster than me. The only way I can remember to recognize her is by her orange socks. After a few runs on Dipper we go down Comet like 4 times.

Snow is soft, conditions are good. I’m doing lots of jumps, fuck yeah. We take a break to ditch some layers down at East Peak Lodge, and find the scene electric. There’s a snowcat mobile DJ booth set up, and they’re playing the hits of the 90’s. Tons of people hanging out in deck chairs in the snow, many people tanning… It’s gotta be like 65 degrees Fahrenheit. At this point, we both realize that we want a beer.

Naturally, there’s a big line at the bar. No beers on tap, three bros tending to the bar.

“What do you have on tap” asks a patron

“Mmm…” says the bartender, kind of looking quizzically at the taps, and then with a sweeping motion of his hand over the handleless taps and a coy smile he says “None!”

These lads were having a grand ol’ time. I get a Guinness while Rachel gets a dirty snowman, the bartender saying “Okay, but there’s no snow for me to go roll around in outside”. The next bartender confirms her order, asking “One inappropriate snowman?” What a bunch of jokers.

Finally, we’re back outside. The tunes are pumping, and there’s like fifty or so plastic deck chairs just hanging out in the snow, full of people drinking, tanning, and generally being merry. We grab two chairs and then cheers, taking that first sip of that sweet alcoholic nectar–ahhh. So good. I take a taste of her dirty snowman and realize that it’s fucking awesome, my new favorite hot drink.

So we sit there a while and have some banter, getting a pretty decent buzz off of just one drink–that altitude will get you. I peel off my morphsuit and just tan there bare-chested in the sun, laying back in the chair and using my goggles as sunglasses. I’m careful to keep the strap low on my head, so that I don’t get a weird tanline on my bald head. Rachel has a tank-top or something like that and considers going down to a sports bra but wusses out. I share stories about my former workplace and the moral dilemmas of working with 90% females. Whenever I went out to eat with them they never finished their meals, they would just push their half eaten plates towards me and expect me to finish them.

It’s like 13:45 now and I decide it’s time to shred the mountain full morphsuit. Now it’s just me in a full silver morphsuit, sparkling in the sun. People get a nice show of my butt as I struggle to get my feet back in my red riding boots. This old couple takes photos of me, and apparently a lot of people were doing the same. I was getting a lot of attention and I liked it.

Full silver surfer mode now, I stashed my jacket and pants behind the outdoor bar, looking pretty obvious. You tend to stick out when you reflect the sun. We go up Comet like five time, some nice runs down Comet, Orion, Aries Woods, and others. We meet some characters on the lift ride up. There’s two old Tahoe dudes who have a pipe, weed, but no lighter.

“Heyyy man, silver surfer!! Can you reflect the sun to light our bowl!?” says one, laughing in his old hippie way

They offer us some, but four of us were on a lift and none of us had a lighter. One of those moments that makes you questions just what the hell you think you’re doing with your life. I talk about motorcycles with them the whole ride up. Those guys were cool shit.

On the next lift up we meet this old salty dog, he’s got to be one of the most jaded people I’ve ever met on a lift. “Dating is more fun, I’ve already been married twice.” he says, looking off into the distance to ponder the Sierra Nevada Mountains. He goes on a tangent about having sex with the lights on or off. “You should have your own dating hotline man” I tell him, somewhat joking.

We shred some gnarly slush until about 15:00 and then decide to get one last epic run in and then call it. We ride over to the milky way bowl, and then decide to hike up to the top. I barely ride up it much before I have to unstrap and start hiking. I walk for ages, taking a few breaks. I look back to see an amazing view of Lake Tahoe, and a long row of footprints from what now seems like so far down below. We stop near the top where it gets all rocky.

I stick my board in the snow and start to pant a bit. Wow, I’m fucking exhausted. I hear a plane flying by loudly, and I look around trying to find it. And then I realize that it’s flying right by, but I’m looking up instead of down. We’re higher up than the plane is flying–how fucking cool is that. I sit down in the snow and just take it in, watching the plane cruise through the Heavenly Valley headed eastbound through Nevada.

True beauty up here. I get my phone, needing to lick my silver morphsuit fingers to let the haptic sensor register my finger–welcome to the future. I take a snap and see that I’m at 9,964 feet right now–wow. It’s breathtakingly beautiful up here. I realize that this is the most beautiful view of Lake Tahoe I have ever seen. You see the snow and that beautiful basin that is Lake Tahoe to the left, and then to the right it drops off all the way down to no snow and the flatlands of Nevada. It gives a true perspective of how Tahoe is just this weird big basin of water at high altitude. The Dipper lift runs off in the distance.

We’re sitting in the snow taking it all in, the beauty of Lake Tahoe, the snow, the Heavenly Valley. That idyllic beauty of it all. The sounds of the mountain–or lack thereof. Just a light breeze, warm sun, and sparkling blue lake. You can see the frost line visibly on the mountains right by the lake–it’s true beauty.

My silver bodysuit reflects the sun, and now that I’ve spent about three and a half minutes enjoying the beauty of nature, what else is there to do but have a photoshoot? You can take the boy out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the boy. Rachel gets some action shots of me as I pose in front of the lake.

“Work it, work it” she says jokingly, although I’m taking it quite literally. Goggles on, goggles off, board and no board, just generally having some fun with the four accepted wardrobe changes in the paradigm of snowboarding photos. I end with a blue steel pose, and then really jump the shark and put the morphsuit hood over my head and do some creepy zombie crawling towards the camera.  At this point Rachel’s had just about enough of my shit and gives me back the camera.

She clips in, I strap in, and then we ride down the huge bowl–it’s steep and crunchy. I’m still in love with the fact that my silver body suit is still providing me enough warmth. We get back down to East Peak Lodge and everything is closed up–what a bummer. I was hoping to listen to more 90s music and drink a beer. I run down to the outdoor bar and lean all the way over the counter to grab my jacket, snow pants, and other stuff I stashed. It’s all there–phew. We’re desperately in need of a beer at this point.

We’re the very last people to get on the chairlift out of East Peak–we closed ‘er down. There’s a bunch of Japanese tourists asking us to take yet another iconic Heavenly photo. They do a few poses, and then we’re ready to get that final run in for the season. I’ve balled my snow pants up with my H&M Hawaiian t-shirt, carrying this big bundle of clothing in my left hand. I try to do some tricks, but realize that it’s really hard to do that when you’re off balance. I have a nice ride down to the gondola.

The music is pumping outside of Tamarack Lodge, and everyone’s trying to get a last beer in. Alright, let’s do this. We find a slanted metal picnic table in the sun, and leave our stuff on the table. It’s a bit of a madhouse here, so Rachel gives me her ID and credit card and holds down the table while I order. “What is this, the East Coast? I’ve only needed multiple IDs in New York” I say as I walk towards the lodge. “I’ll have an IPA” says Rachel as I walk inside.

“Space man!!!”
“Silver Surfer!!”
“Take me to outerspace!”
“I love your suit!”

I’m known by many names at this point, but everyone inside is loving my outfit. They’re probably a little drunk to be fair. Three large lines snake out from the bar, everyone trying to get one last beer in. By the time I get to the front of the line, I realize that it’ll be slim pickings. All that’s left are some dark beers–a milk stout and a porter. I grab two of each, and I’m surprised to see that they want to see the other ID for the other two drinks–Rachel was right.

We enjoy the last drinks of the season out there infront of Tamarack Lodge. At some point an Australian comes up to the table and enthusiastically says “Oy! You’ve got a nice dick. She’s a lucky girl”. I nod my head and say “Thanks bud”. Not sure why everyone thinks we’re a couple, but I’ll take the dick compliment. I realize at this point that my tight silver suit probably gives a pretty good outline of my package, but I don’t really care.

Soon we’re once again the last people drinking. Everyone has left, but I resist the herd mentality and just relax and enjoy my beer. Eventually they shut the music off and we decide it’s a good time to bounce. In the meantime the gondola line has dwindled from a 30 minute wait to a zero minute wait, and I’ve got a nice altitude buzz again–that’s called doing it right. We’ve closed the lodge down–AGAIN. Infact, we closed the whole mountain.

I enjoy a nice scenic gondola ride down to lake level, and then we walk over to the back lot. Ahah, the shirtless hippie crew is hanging out by their shiny restored VW bus, drinking Sierra Nevada and playing guitar. A bohemian couple cuddles in the grass. It’s kind of weird to think that I was walking in the snow 10 minutes ago, and now it’s all lush green grass down here. One of them got me with a snowball earlier on the mountain–he had a great arc on it.

We pack the our gear into the car, and it feels nice to get out of the silver surfer suit. I could eat a horse at this point. Basecamp Pizza is like a whole five minutes walk away. “Would you judge me if we drove a minute to get that much closer to Basecamp Pizza” asks Rachel. I thought she would never ask. We drive down the block, finding an easy parking spot. It was pay to park, but the meter was broken–perfect.

The Heavenly village is fucking LIT. There’s a bunch of 18 year old couples walking around in Tahoe prom attire–interesting. We see the crew in the four gaper suits breaking it down on the outdoor dance floor of some bar Oh man, I just want to stay here and rage with the old people. ‘The craic is 90’ as an Irish person might say. Suddenly I worry that there might be a wait for food.

We wade through throngs of people, seeing a many lingering near the entrance of the restaurant. “I’m not completely married to eating at basecamp” says Rachel tactfully. Just then the White Sea seems to part as we walk up towards the entrance and it’s only a five minute wait for a table outside–fuck yeah.

Two beers in, both of us really need to pee. The quest for bathrooms begins, and we walk past some tables with absolutely delicious looking pizzas on them–man this is going to be great. After taking my first pee without a spandex suit on, I return to the hostess and our table is waiting for us–perfect. I order a ‘Java the Hut’ coffee drink, while Rachel gets the Deschutes Pine Drops IPA. Damn, I was thinking about getting that. I give it a sip and it’s pretty tasty, but I still think I prefer the Freshly Squeezed IPA. More hops, less pine drops. I guess that explains the name.

We split a small Greek salad and a medium veggie medley pizza. It’s fucking DANK. Rachel’s eating slows down, and I know what’s coming next. “Have some more pizza” she says, ever so slightly pushing the pizza towards me. “Aha, see! I told you, girls never finish” I retort. I had reinforced my story from earlier in the day.

We hit the road right after, getting back to San Francisco at 11:15 PM. I grab my stuff out of the Nissan and wave goodbye. I drop it all off in my room and them immediately head over to a housewarming on Sharon street. They had a bunch of cheese and crackers out–fuck yeah. No meat though.

I didn’t want to point it out, but you’re not supposed to eat fine cheese with crackers. It hides the taste and feel of the consistency of the cheese in your mouth. It’s better to use fruity or crusty bread.

It was a a pretty ‘epic day’.