Subtle Rituals

From here, forward, is a story of dust, snow, and coffee.

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My personal policy is to always have my next road trip lined up before I reach home from my last road trip. 

Right now, three days home from my last trip, which was to Key West, I find myself in a predicament. 

Morning Porch, Elizabeth Street

For the first time in years, I don’t actually have my next trip Planned.  In the proper sense, that is.

Which leads me to my next personal policy, which specifically applies only to the period of time between when ski resorts open in Tahoe and when they close.  And it goes like this: snowboard when the snow is fresh, and great, and soft and there are about 12 to 18 inches of powder between the trees.

That’s just how I like it.  Whether you are a meteorologist or not, you know that you cannot Plan a trip based on those conditions.  So, I know that I am going on a road trip, probably in the next ten days, I just don’t know exactly which day that will be.  And, really, I have to credit Wunderground for equipping me to operate snowboarding trips in this extremely targeted manner.

This next road trip will involve lots of snow.  Which is ironic because until I tried snowboarding seven years ago, I had absolutely zero love for snow.  I grew up in New England, I had plenty of snow, more than enough for a lifetime.  I prefer the California perspective on snow, which is that snow is more of a Place than a meteorological event.  You go to it, and when you are done you go home.



Snow, now that it is a choice six months of the year, is fun.  Really fun.  And, because I fall a lot when I snowboard, I've developed a special appreciation for the powdery kind of snow, beyond just how it looks.  Aside from those really fantastic runs down the mountain when I am channeling the Olympics, I find some of the happiest moments snowboarding right after I’ve fallen in powder, at that moment between when the momentum of the fall has stopped, and the next move is to get up. 

Lake Tahoe, from Northstar

Sometimes, I choose to collapse, and breathe the air, and enjoy that completely isolated surreal alone time with nature connecting with the trees, the mountains, the sky, and the snow.  Every May, June, July, August, September, and October, I daydream about those pauses.

They are Ritual.