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.
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