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Warren Miller

Warren Miller's World
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You can?t judge a skier by the gear

There are a lot of people who can?t afford the entry fee to the sport of skiing. I met someone the other day who had spent two years in the U.S. Army in Germany where he learned to ski. His introduction to the sport was on the steep ski runs surrounding Europe?s best resorts; however, he has spent the 15 years since then carving out a career as a journalist. During that hiatus, he kept his ski equipment stashed in his parents? garage.

We talked at great length about his first day of skiing in 15 years on 15-year-old equipment at a major destination resort.

With his heart pounding in anticipation after such a long layoff, he drove to what should become his favourite ski resort. Favourite, because he is working as the sports editor for a small newspaper in the heart of ski country.

This would be his first day of skiing in America, so he didn?t really know how the whole system worked. What follows is an account of how that first ski day turned out for him.

He drove into the parking lot at what he assumed would be a reasonable hour, but still ended up parking a 15-minute bus ride away from the chairlift. A teenager in a bright yellow day-glow vest made him park so close to the car next to him, that he had to climb out through the back of his station wagon.

He slid into his very high, stiff, black Lange boots and then grabbed his red-white-and-blue K2 Hot Dogs, wrapped the leather Arlberg straps around them and staggered toward the bus stop. Fifteen years ago, he was a fashion plate in his blue denim look, stretch western White Stag bell-bottom ski pants and his Sportcaster parka with the big zipper that kept him fairly warm.

With his 7-foot-3-inch skis, he really stood out from the crowd. By the time the bus came, he was the object of almost everyone?s gaze and the ridicule of others. He felt as though he had a bad case of the flu because no one would even sit with him during the long, cold ride.

As he stood in line to buy his lift ticket, he kept a tight hold of his skis, even though they were a foot longer than anyone else?s. He had learned a long time ago in Europe not to let expensive ski equipment lay around where someone else would steal it.

When he finally got to the head of the ticket line, he discovered it was for cash only, so he had to get into another line. By then, it was bathroom time, so he took a chance and separated his skis, putting one in a ski rack and the other in the snow a hundred feet away so no one could steal them.

As he wandered around in the lodge looking for a sign to tell him where the men?s room was, he was the subject of a lot of stares by the hip and groovy ski crowd, who were all wearing exactly the right kind of fashionable ski outfits. One man even snidely asked him what he planned to do on "his" mountain.

Returning from the men?s room, he zipped his Sportcaster jacket up around his throat, slid into his wool mittens and went back out to stand in the ticket line for credit cards. Ten minutes later, when he got to the head of this line, his credit card was denied. This was the day before Christmas and he had already used up all of his credit card float buying presents for his brother, sister, parents and friends. He didn?t have the $65 in cash to buy a one-day lift ticket. He did have enough money for a cup of coffee. At least, he thought he did, until he found out a cup of coffee was $2.25.

While he stood there alone in his outdated ski clothes, he pondered the final outcome of his return to skiing. He figured out that he would have to work one full week just to have enough money left over to buy a one-day lift ticket on his one day off. On his way back to the bus stop, he stopped in the ski shop to price some equipment. To be in supposed appropriate style with just the right skis, boots, clothes, hat, goggles, gloves, and thermal underwear would cost approximately the same as a down payment on a condominium.

After a 30-minute wait for the bus, he finally got back to his car and drove back to the small room he rented on the outskirts of town. His return to skiing was squelched.

The irony is that this man was busy getting ready for his upcoming sports editor assignment, which is to cover the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City. The same Olympics that Salt Lake City is spending $2 billion to stage. The same Olympics that have a $24 million budget to field the U.S. Ski and Snowboard teams.

This guy is essentially excluded from skiing, yet he is supposed to write about the winter sport scene and inspire other people to take up the sport? Something is definitely wrong here.