Fresh Powder At Brighton

We’ve been coming to Utah one week a year for a decade, racking up eighty-something ski days in the process. To choose a single “best” day from such a crowded field would seem a Herculean task. And yet we can state, with absolute certainty, that the day we spent at Brighton in April 2008 has a firm grasp on the #1 spot.

For this day to claim the top spot was the result of a perfect convergence of four factors:

1. The Crowd (or lack thereof)

Geographically, Brighton is located just past Solitude resort in Big Cottonwood Canyon. This has metaphorical significance because, on this particular day, there was, literally, NOBODY there. So it can be accurately stated that Brighton is, in every way, beyond Solitude. 

2. The Snow 

Utah’s tourism revenue increased exponentially when they changed their slogan from “Take My Wives, Please” to “The Greatest Snow on Earth.” To the uninitiated, the latter tag line might seem hyperbolic, or at least arrogant. But it isn’t. 

3. The Crew

In 1997, Güzo and Schlüz’ discovery that a mutual love of speed and bumps and trees, and an “unsafety first” attitude, negates any skier/snowboarder bullshit. This marked the genesis of an annual pilgrimage. Five years later, Charity arrived and quickly demonstrated the same recklessness in her skiing as she did when she married Güzo. And thus was born an unholy trinity – one knuckledragger and a pair of two-plankers (“I smell a sitcom!”) – and we’ve been pushing our luck together ever since. We’ve been out with lots of different people over the years. With groups large and small. With skiers and riders of varying abilities and diverse philosophies. And good times we have had. But every year as the herd is trimmed to three, we are once again blessed by God and Saint Michael and Saint George with the right to shred bumps and the power to rip powder. And it is good.

And of course the terrain was kick-ass. Brighton is considered relatively small by Utah standards. Which is to say, it’s fucking huge.

So there we were with the whole place to ourselves. We started our day soaking up the knee-deep freshies under the new Milly Express high speed quad. For east coast kids, we acquitted ourselves pretty well. But enough words. Check this out:

Snowbird

In a way, each of us has his own Snowbird to face. For some, shyness might be their Snowbird. For others, a lack of education might be their Snowbird. For us, Snowbird is a big, dangerous mountain that wants to kill us.

Snowbird is a HUGE resort, full of rock outcroppings and cornices and cliffs and chutes and, surprisingly, large predatory cats. (See below)

Fresh off our monster powder day at Brighton, we were dragging ass a bit as we rolled into Snowbird. But the sunny skies and lingering freshies (sun-baked but still relatively soft) got us in the mood in short order, and we spent most of the morning working out the kinks around Mineral Basin. After that we moved over to the front side and found some nice steep soft groomers to play with and occasional powder stashes to callenge our happily-fatigued legs.

There were two noteworthy events which transpired on this day. The first, of course, was meeting the local wildlife. (See below). The second was our first ride through the Peruvian Tunnel, a 600-foot shaftway dug straight through the mountain enabling access to Mineral Basin from the front side without having to take another tram ride. Movement through the tunnel is accomplished by means of a conveyor belt and the experience is not unlike that of a gallon of milk making its way through the checkout (only with more bad 80’s music). Check it out:

Kurt 2.0

Before we begin, we wish to note for the record that we like the old Kurt. Nice guy. Swell fella. But he’s a JINX.

For 8 years, we went to Utah with Kurt every winter. And those years started out promissingly enough: tons of powder, face shots all around, and, as a bonus, the chance to witness the bizarre phenomenon of Kurt’s intelligence declining proportionally to every foot of altitude he gained. (‘You see, the thing about Beam and coke is, you’ve got Beam AND you’ve got coke.’) But, as the years passed, we noticed a disturbing trend: No Snow. In Utah! How could this be?

We searched the heavens and the earths for an explanation, and, like Archimedes in the bathtub, the solution suddenly presented itself. Every time Kurt left town, the snow started falling. And kept falling. Until he returned. And then it stopped. And kept stopping.

And so, relucatant as we may have been, we put out a call across the land, seeking a replacement Kurt.

We had low expectations (see: Kurt 1.0) but were delighted when we found an ideal substitute in our very first candidate. Kurt 2.0 has all of the features as the original, but with a few important upgrades. First, and most important, he brings snow. Lots of snow. Acres of fresh white inches. The guy’s a damned rabbit’s foot. Also, he can cook. And, he’s got a medical background, which could come in handy if we continue to push ourselves beyond the limits of our collectively decaying physicality. 

Alas, poor Kurt 1.0, we knew him well. But now he must be relegated to the scrap heap of history along with the other famous jinxes such as Babe Ruth, that stupid Wrigley Field goat, and that douche who said God couldn’t sink the Titanic.

White Inches Poster

Suitable for framing

Because We Care

Most of White Inches’ community service is court-ordered and involves an orange jumpsuit, trash bags and the BQE. But recently, in a rare display of altruism, we decided to give a little something back to the community by serving as chaperones for an 8^th grade ski trip. For the students, it was an opportunity to benefit from our life’s wisdom, socio-political insights and, of course, our vast knowledge of skiing technique. For us, it was a free day on the hill.

Our destination was the frozen tundra of Windham Mountain. And despite the enormity of the resort and its myriad challenges (chutes, cornices, tree wells, mogul fields, etc.) we are happy to report that all of our charges emerged unscathed. The snow condition forecast - morning ice with a chance of afternoon slush - proved accurate, so we spent most of the day dragging the kids around looking for decent turns. The snow gods rewarded our efforts when we made our way over to Wolverine and found a powder field of untracked, ankle-deep, man-made freshies. Of course, we spent the rest of the day there soaking up calf shots until it was time to pack the kids back onto the bus and retire to the Chateau for beer and jerky.

Two noteworthy tidbits from an enjoyable-but-otherwise-uneventful day: (1) Much to Schlüz’ chagrin, and Güzo’s delight, all of the kids in the advanced group were two-plankers. Maybe all of the knuckle draggers are new school and chose to spend their time in the pipe or the terrain park. Or maybe they were just intimidated by the Windham steeps. (2) The girls VASTLY outclassed the boys. Fellas, we suggest you take off your skirts and step up your game before next season.

Ask Roy Stalin

Today we debut a regular feature, "Ask Roy Stalin." Ask Roy anything! Skiing questions, relationship advice, health & wellness tips -- you ask, Roy answers!

Dear Roy,

There's this guy that I really like in my office. I know that dating someone at work is risky, but he is totally cute and I think he likes me too. How should I find out if he does and then should I pursue it? We're both pretty new in the office and I would hate for this to blow up and for everyone to think I'm a total slut...

Thanks!
Debbie
Pasadena, California

Debbie, my favorite name...

Drop this zero and get yourself a hero.

Seriously... why don't you come over and give me a massage? Your massage will be gauged along with a rating of one to ten on your style, judged solely by me and my vast expertise of massage technique.

The Birth of "White Inches"

White Inches was born several years ago while drinking beers on a deck in Park City, Utah... the monstrous brainchild of two friends who had been skiing together for years and felt the ski industry was missing an important demographic -- the extremely witty, frequently drunk, always ready to drop everything for a powder day, usually gainfully employed but not monstrously wealthy, music-loving, beer-drinking, red-blooded American male.

The kind of guy you would want to hang out with; might not let date your sister but, over time, might become okay with it and then keep in touch with him more than her when they inevitably broke up because he forgot her birthday because he got drunk and watched football with you.

The kind of guy who doesn't really care about what wine goes with his lift pass.

The kind of guy who enjoys ski movies but is realistic about the fact that... Honestly? He's a really good skier, but leave hucking 60 foot cliffs to the pros because he does have to get to work to pay for his passes and that would be difficult if he crushes his spine.

The kind of guy that the big glossy ski magazines ignore.

Essentially, you. And women like you.

And so... White Inches was born. And it was good.