Well, it’s been a solid three weeks since I last visited this little world of virtual compilation.  I have decided that ski bumming and blogging are the two most difficult activities to simultaneously attempt.  So, whatever.  I’ve been in Vegas for about four days now, and boy oh boy, have the stories kept rolling in.  Some I can recall without fail; some have drifted away with the taste of last night’s final vodka-energy drink into the recesses of the casinos’ recirculated air vents.  What I do know, or can at least piece together from this run of excess is that our little industry is ever hopeful and even excited about the good times ahead.

Sure, the economy has tanked and everyone is worried about their sales figures or which product will get eaten up in last year’s failed trend, but the idea that a few turns on a familiar mountain are just ahead.  It is this understanding and acceptability that has continued, nay strengthened, the bond amongst us snowsports enthusiasts.  Word of recent snowfall by way of text messages and gloat-filled phone calls has spread like wildfire throughout the maze of displays washed in bright lights.  Yet, instead of jealousy raising its ugly head, the people of winter have been quickly reminded of why we find ourselves leaving the concerns of society to the cities and escape to where the mountains are capped by the sky.

I’m sitting here in a hotel room with some good friends listening to the musical manifestation of pure rock and skiing stoke, waiting to fill my soul with good food and even better conversation.  I hope you, the reader, understands that winter will always happen, and the mountains will forever be home for those who seek their truth and reverence.