Being Single Other Tales From The Slopes
Down the hill I go, weaving through less skillful mountaineers and blasting puffs of powder on fallen snow victims.
Racing, racing to the end, leaning through the final gate like I’m in the Olympic finals. Up I rise out of my aerodynamic crouch and out go the hips to slow my speed to a comfortable glide while I scan the lift line for the perfect opportunity to shout out my skiing situation. “Single!”
Ah, single at a ski lift. Is there any bigger advertisement in the world regarding one’s relationship status? Available ski bunnies perk up, turning quickly around to see if the caller is a handsome prince who has just arrived to sweep her off her skis.
Is this tailor-made for meeting members of the opposite sex, or what!?
So it is with great expectation that each winter that I hed to the slopes, seeking the thrills, chills and spills that only skiing can provide.
And yes, I am a skier, not a ‘boarder. I refuse to try snowboarding until I can at least understand a third of what the shredders are talking about in the lift line. They speak some kind of incompressible language spiked with a lot of verbal exclamation points designed, no doubt, to leave us skiers on the outside.
It’s at the bar where I leave them in awe, mixing and mingling with old and new friends late into the evening.
There’s something about the energy of a skiing environment that’s warming to the soul. The comradeship of the people, each one proud of the way they personally conquered a part of nature earlier that day, makes for an intoxicating environment.
My favorite spot is Mammoth, less than a six-hour drive from PubClub.com World Headquarters in Southern California (far less if CHP is nowhere to be found on Highway 395). It’s easy to get to, fun when you get there, is full of single people and has enough trails to make every day a great adventure.
Having grown up in the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee, snow adventures come natural for me.
As an adult, things are taken to a whole new level. The party starts the minute the bags are dropped in the condo and doesn’t end until the late breakfast on the way out of town. In between it’s non-stop activity. After the skiing, it straight to the hillside pub, the onto the jacuzzi then out to the bars. It may take half of a week to recover all the missed sleep time when I’m back home, but the adventures gained more than compensate for the lack of shuteye.
But don’t blame me. In this case, I am simply a product of his environment.
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• How I Learned To Ski At Mammoth Resort
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