Sunset over the Utah desert

A road trip doesn’t quite become an adventure until things start going wrong. From Colorado to California and almost all the way back again, our trio of ski bums has managed to avoid the pitfalls of any potential mishaps. We’ve traversed the ‘Loneliest Highway’ in the States, avoiding car trouble like lost gas caps and overheating in the middle of the desert. Our timing was perfect in meeting our good friend, and consummate ski bum, Sonja Lercher at the Reno Airport; she didn’t have to wait longer than ten minutes after her flight from Seattle had arrived until we rallyed up to the curbside waiting area. Even the gas bill has been much lower than the mileage the TatsVan could ever compete with; Jacqui’s Subaru wagon negotiates those nasty desert sidewinds with nary a shudder. But even a happy ski bum’s luck can run out.

After a much celebrated crossing of the state border into Colorado, a quick stop for gas had Jacqui looking for her wallet in order to fill up one last time.

I love road trips!

A frenzied search of the car turned up nothing but some loose change and more questions. Where did we stop last? Who was driving when? Did I use it at the grocery store this afternoon? The barrage of self-doubt weighed heavy, as she tried racking her brain for the last time she saw the reddish brown leather fold. Ashley and I were helpless beyond some itinerant searches of our own, which again turned up nothing but a misplaced water bottle.

So, being the road-dogger that she is, Jacqui put on her game face and pulled the last shift into the dark night, her thoughts spinning. I’m sure she’s thinking about having to cancel her credit cards and order a replacement driver’s license, but at least the car is speeding safely home and life will go on.

Jacqui has had that wallet forever; the familiar touch of smooth, worn leather bears the marks of many good stories. This is just another of the countless tales of which only a wallet could ever tell. Although the cash inside may not make the journey, there’s still a glimmering chance that some kind soul will find the wallet and return it.

Jacqui Edgerly, the consummate driver

Alas, the open road has claimed another souvenir of a grizzled drive across its open expanse. At least it was the worst of our troubles.

Ashley, taking a break from a long driving shift

Waking up in the dark this morning, I found myself fumbling around various parts of my girlfriend’s apartment looking for the last items for my trip to Tahoe. DROID phone? Check. Toothbrush? Check. PB&Honey sandwiches? Check. And, as is always the case with road trips of any sort, I forgot some things and brought way too much of others. It’s ok, a cheap pair of sunglasses at the next gas station will do just fine, but two paddleboards in the desert? Not much of an opportunity to use those!

Really though, I hopped into Jacqui Edgerly’s Subaru with Ashley Magnuson to make the 950 mile trip to Lake Tahoe so we can attend the memorial service for our good friend and skier, Arne Backstrom. Just following the posts on Twitter and Facebook, it seems as though a mass pilgrimage is in effect as people from every corner of the ski world are Tahoe bound to pay their respects to a fallen friend. I’m not quite sure what to expect, as memorial services tend to conjure up all sorts of heavy imagery. But, Arne’s life wasn’t ordinary, and it would be foolish to expect any different from a gathering of his family, closest friends, ski buddies, and travel partners. Squaw Valley, Arne’s most recent hometown, has seen its share of tragedy recently, and one can only think that these sorts of gatherings are becoming all too frequent.

But, I am not heading out there to mourn the loss of a friend’s life. Nay, this trip is of a different sort; the three of us are trekking across the desert West to join alongside a group of like-minded, outdoor oriented individuals to celebrate the passing of one of our own. We all know the risks of living the lifestyles we so unabashedly invest ourselves in; climbing mountains, scoping exotic surf breaks, thrashing bikes down singletrack trails, these are the moments which we have allowed to define our reality. To mourn the death of someone pursuing this unfettered reality is to exact an injustice to the raw, pure energy they poured into their craft. Celebration, then becomes the vessel through which that energy can be passed on to the next adventurer. It is then our charge to go and live life to its fullest potential.

So, what do I hope to take away from this trip, this voyage across barren oceans of sand to the alpine paradise which constitutes the Tahoe area? Well, I hope to hear all of those stories shared by people who spent time with this person of influence. Arne had an effect on everyone he came into contact with, and the collective story of his life told over the next few days will find root in inspiring us all to go out and seek our own next challenge, only to look it square in the eye and give it that wry smile Arne made so famous.

Ready for a Stillwater Preserver Mission

Well, it seems that the last six or so weeks of my life have existed in that place between ‘holy shit, that was awesome!’ and ‘wait, what just happened?’, leaving me in a fluttering state of mind.  Going into it, I knew my time in Canada would pass quickly, but ninety days flashed right on by.  The last few weeks were chock full of new experiences and wild stories.  I had a chance to ski from the summit of Mt. McKenzie and cross Arrow Lake on an inland ferry with my van in the same day.  I drank a boilermaker shot with some Canadian Legion members and skinny-dipped with fellow ski bums Leah Evans and Dersh later that evening.  I swam in hot springs – commercial and natural, with tunnels and diving boards, hot and cold dips – all around the Kootenays , from Ainsworth to Fairmont, Halcyon to Radium.