Valle las Trancas, Chile
It took long enough to pair my twin loves of travel and skiing, but this jaunt to the lower vertebrae of South America was well worth the wait. It is exactly what I would have expected had I been cruel enough to set expectations.
Heard your news report, you knew you're falling short
Pretty soon won't trust you for the weather
When that ship comes in, you won't know where it's been
You got to try to see a little further
I made a one week reservation back in April, which may as well have been a dart at the calendar as far as conditions go. There's no guarantee of fresh snow and even, so I've learned, the mountain open and lifts running. As was my great fortune, after confinement to the slushy, lower pockets on Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday's storm brought about a foot of fresh powder. Wind speeds died down Thursday night, allowing the upper lifts to open and the patient and fortunate among us to access the great fields of snow just below the volcanoes at Nevados de Chillán. My decision to extend my stay was very well rewarded.
My time coming any day, don't worry about me, no
Gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so
Seems so long I've felt this way and time's sure passing slow
Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go
So, yeah, sure, the snow fell. That made a lot of us happy and my own contentment was probably the least tied to the climate among those I met. At the hostel, in the lift lines, at the bar, the other voices belonged to some serious powderhounds. It seemed like everyone was trying to find some new line yet untouched or get even further away from what was not a very considerable crowd. This could have been insufferable, and some sailed pretty close to those rocks, but nobody was a dick. Instead, the general onda was one of some very simple people with one particularly high standard, but even if that was unsatisfied, life still marched on and was, in fact, pretty good.
Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers aplenty in the bye and bye
Talk about your plenty and talk about your ills
One man gathers what another man spills
And the accoutrements, did I mention them? The cute shops lining the faux-Bavarian village at the bottom of the mountain? The high speed chair lifts and gondolas outfitted with wifi access and television screens? Cause there was none of that. There was a mountain outfitted with orange chairlifts that, though lacking in padding and having a few squeaky wheels, offered more assurance than a cheap import from a former war torn Soviet backwater. Skiers and riders were outfitted for performance, not as ostentatious reflections of purchasing power.
Got to settle one old score
And one small point of pride
As for me, well, I believe I fit right in there. I was a very tall man in a yellow jacket cutting some
tight turns on the groomers and traversing the thick stuff when the visibility got too low or couldn't
trust myself or the rental equipment. I was in my own space and time.
Gonna get there I don't know
Seems a common way to go, get out and row row row row row
And if I'm getting back to any overarching theme here, and I'm not sure I ever was but at this point
the omission doesn't particularly matter, it is that I discovered I really like to shred some
fresh pow pow while listening to the Grateful Dead Live at Barton Hall (5.8.1977). I'm a casual fan, not a purist, but there's just something soothing about the artistry, the improvisation, the rhythms, the synchronicity, and the graceful elision of these musical giants. It fits the terrain.
Come to daddy on the inside straight
I've got no chance of losin' this time
I did not exactly have the best of years recently, though extraordinary in several respects, and have really just been looking for ways to free my thoughts and pivot my perspective from rear view to windshield for the next. I've been so careful not to put too much pressure on this trip; no epiphanies, no need to return with some new frame of mind or perspective or grandiose self-improvement projects. I really just needed to work on my Spanish, smell some trees, seize the occasional laugh, and point my skis down a goddamn mountain so I can free myself to move a bit more forward a bit more quickly once I get back. There are no elevators or quick fixes toward a restorative space of self, but there are the simple realizations, their sudden seizure, and a handful of healthy moments to get you back on track.
Long distance runner what you standin there for?
It took long enough to pair my twin loves of travel and skiing, but this jaunt to the lower vertebrae of South America was well worth the wait. It is exactly what I would have expected had I been cruel enough to set expectations.
Heard your news report, you knew you're falling short
Pretty soon won't trust you for the weather
When that ship comes in, you won't know where it's been
You got to try to see a little further
I made a one week reservation back in April, which may as well have been a dart at the calendar as far as conditions go. There's no guarantee of fresh snow and even, so I've learned, the mountain open and lifts running. As was my great fortune, after confinement to the slushy, lower pockets on Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday's storm brought about a foot of fresh powder. Wind speeds died down Thursday night, allowing the upper lifts to open and the patient and fortunate among us to access the great fields of snow just below the volcanoes at Nevados de Chillán. My decision to extend my stay was very well rewarded.
My time coming any day, don't worry about me, no
Gonna be just like they say, them voices tell me so
Seems so long I've felt this way and time's sure passing slow
Still I know I lead the way, they tell me where I go
So, yeah, sure, the snow fell. That made a lot of us happy and my own contentment was probably the least tied to the climate among those I met. At the hostel, in the lift lines, at the bar, the other voices belonged to some serious powderhounds. It seemed like everyone was trying to find some new line yet untouched or get even further away from what was not a very considerable crowd. This could have been insufferable, and some sailed pretty close to those rocks, but nobody was a dick. Instead, the general onda was one of some very simple people with one particularly high standard, but even if that was unsatisfied, life still marched on and was, in fact, pretty good.
Did he doubt or did he try?
Answers aplenty in the bye and bye
Talk about your plenty and talk about your ills
One man gathers what another man spills
And the accoutrements, did I mention them? The cute shops lining the faux-Bavarian village at the bottom of the mountain? The high speed chair lifts and gondolas outfitted with wifi access and television screens? Cause there was none of that. There was a mountain outfitted with orange chairlifts that, though lacking in padding and having a few squeaky wheels, offered more assurance than a cheap import from a former war torn Soviet backwater. Skiers and riders were outfitted for performance, not as ostentatious reflections of purchasing power.
Got to settle one old score
And one small point of pride
As for me, well, I believe I fit right in there. I was a very tall man in a yellow jacket cutting some
tight turns on the groomers and traversing the thick stuff when the visibility got too low or couldn't
trust myself or the rental equipment. I was in my own space and time.
Gonna get there I don't know
Seems a common way to go, get out and row row row row row
And if I'm getting back to any overarching theme here, and I'm not sure I ever was but at this point
the omission doesn't particularly matter, it is that I discovered I really like to shred some
fresh pow pow while listening to the Grateful Dead Live at Barton Hall (5.8.1977). I'm a casual fan, not a purist, but there's just something soothing about the artistry, the improvisation, the rhythms, the synchronicity, and the graceful elision of these musical giants. It fits the terrain.
Come to daddy on the inside straight
I've got no chance of losin' this time
I did not exactly have the best of years recently, though extraordinary in several respects, and have really just been looking for ways to free my thoughts and pivot my perspective from rear view to windshield for the next. I've been so careful not to put too much pressure on this trip; no epiphanies, no need to return with some new frame of mind or perspective or grandiose self-improvement projects. I really just needed to work on my Spanish, smell some trees, seize the occasional laugh, and point my skis down a goddamn mountain so I can free myself to move a bit more forward a bit more quickly once I get back. There are no elevators or quick fixes toward a restorative space of self, but there are the simple realizations, their sudden seizure, and a handful of healthy moments to get you back on track.
Long distance runner what you standin there for?
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