Mad River Valley Memories

The 1973 ski season melted out before Easter, then a monster noreaster dumped over 30" on the valley floor in early April.
It was sunny and cold in the gondola line, I overheard two patrollers say there was over five feet on top.
The ride up was amazing, deep untracked everywhere.I knew right where to go. Paradice.
The ridgeline drifts were ten feet high when I turned right and dropped into the main pitch.
It was so deep that the only way ski was fall line flying.
Deepest day in my life up to then.

I know that ridgeline and drifts so well. I wish I got a chance to ski up there before the triples went in. Top to bottom glory. Amazing. Did the mountain close and then reopen? I seriously don't care if this is made up at this point I just want more stories. Did you ski with Sigi? Henri? Royboy? Rocking nights at the common man?

I'm with ML on this one. I want to hear more. And I think we need a thread dedicated to a way-back machine  here. With the mix of young, old and very old here, there's gotta be a deep well of good stories.

Like button.

But Warp Daddy said that no one cares about the glory days so maybe we could hear some going to school to get a real job stories.

Biggest mistake I ever made was not ski bumming with my buddies for a year after high school.  I had never skied, they hadn't either but went to Steamboat to ski, wait tables and sleep in piles of pizza boxes.  My parents put the screws to me, said that if I went I was on my own paying for college.  

As it worked out I didn't try skiing for another 20 years.  I mean life is good, but I can't help thinking I'd be a much better skier if I started at 20 vs 40.

Sorry for the drift, I guess I won't be able to add much to this, or an oldies thread.

This may be a repeat post here, I'm not sure but this is my most favorite ski bum shot that I have. This is me in 1997. After Steamboat closed Crested Butte was still up and running for spring skiing. In the 90's the Butte was a super hip place that birthed the freeskiing comp scene and they had a free week of skiing in both the early season and the closing week. The last day is a huge party that likely also birthed the last day naked ski tradition that we now have at a lot of ski areas.

Eager for more adventure and to get some more days in my friend Joe and I decided to get to the Butte but neither of us had a car. Without hesitation we packed our bags and headed out onto the road but to make things more interesting our lady friend Lisa handed us each a huge handful of magic mushrooms which we consumed for the entire journey. 24 hours later and 6 or so rides (one of which we were happy to survive) we were in Crested Butte surfing couches and smashing slush.

This kind of freedom is by far the most amazing thing that I have ever felt my entire life. I sometimes miss being a gypsy but I also feel very content having had those experiences.

Nice picture RA. I loved to hitch back when,  the unknown was so much fun.
Summer of 1971 a local ski shop sponcered a dry land training day at Birch Hill, NY.
I was still about 10 miles away when silver / blue Porshe 911 stopped.
Case of Olympia in the back, Spyder Sabich at the wheel.
The # 1 Pro ski racer in 1971.
On the short ride he made me feel like a new friend.
At the hill he gathered the others and ran straight up the 250 vertical,down and around
that small ski area,then he said how lucky we were to have such a great place to train.
I really took that to heart.

Rad story 2k old skier!

Is Spyder clothing related to Spyder the racer in some way?

I have done some hitchin but I never got a ride in a Porsche. I used to love the adventure in it but I must be getting old because now it just seems dangerous or it sure seems like that here in Arizona. In mountain towns it's a little different.

Great pic RA. You got me curious about Sabich so I looked him up; not the guy with the jackets but quite a character. He came to an early end unfortunately but not in a skiing accident. His girlfriend shot him in his bathroom in 1976.
That really sucks.
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spider_Sabich

Claudine Longet was a cute starlet, said it was an accident, but the evidence was against her.  Authorities blew it and much of the evidence was thrown out. She got 30 days in jail.

I got picked up hitching by a guy in a Ferrari once. He was only famous in his own mind, known for picking up hitch hikers to show off his car.  If you are over 5'6" the passenger side of a ferrari is very uncomfortable.  I guess it is only for average sized women.

That story is crazy! She got 30 days and a small fine for murdering Spyder? Dang.

2000yearoldskier wrote

Nice picture RA. I loved to hitch back when,  the unknown was so much fun.
Summer of 1971 a local ski shop sponcered a dry land training day at Birch Hill, NY.
I was still about 10 miles away when silver / blue Porshe 911 stopped.
Case of Olympia in the back, Spyder Sabich at the wheel.
The # 1 Pro ski racer in 1971.
On the short ride he made me feel like a new friend.
At the hill he gathered the others and ran straight up the 250 vertical,down and around
that small ski area,then he said how lucky we were to have such a great place to train.
I really took that to heart.

Another great story, and one that captures the spirit of this blog, I think.

2k....you shoulda offered to buy him some egg rolls at the Ming Hoy after the session!  Loved me some egg rolls after practice.  Or was it still the Birch Hill Inn at that point?

I thought that was Harkin Banks in the picture for a second!  Bet you had a Sunny and a Sylvia on that one....

JTG4eva! wrote

I thought that was Harkin Banks in the picture for a second!  Bet you had a Sunny and a Sylvia on that one....

Haha! "How do you say? I had Sunny side up, I had Sunny side down, and I had Sunny side all zee way around!"

Jk.

My time at Smuggs:

Every night was a Friday night and every day was a Saturday. That's the only way I can explain it other than we partied out balls off for 4 years.

I lived in a shit hole house with 7 other ski instructors. We ate ramen noodles, mac-n-cheese, and potatoes, that's about it. The only responsibility any of us had was to be at the mountain ready to ski by 8:30AM ---- on POW days we were all there at 7AM for milk run

On weekends we skied all over VT ---- we drove whatever car, truck, or van that would happen to start that day. Had to hitch back on more than one occasion.

Going out to dinner consisted of hooking up with some UVM chick at Rasputin's or the Chicken Bone and getting them to buy us a slice.

We had a ski school party at the Top of the Notch one moon lit night ---- we ate a bunch of mushrooms ----- skiing down by the light of the moon was the best thing ever.

This was in 1980 something

There was also this really groovy bar band in Burlington floating around, turns out the were a bunch of UVM guys. They called themselves Phish ---- those dudes always had really good weed.

Way back when, my friends and I had a habit of leaving late Friday night or early Saturday morning to drive all night to a resort...check out how packed the mountain is on Saturday...drink all day until we passed out then woke up early to ski a nearby area on Sunday and then to take advantage of the lack of crowds at the resort Monday and Tuesday then drive home after skiing Tuesday.  It had to be right around 1980 (=/- a year or two) we drove my tank (1966 Olds Cutlass F85) up and over rt 17 in a blinding snowstorm(yes rear wheel drive...when people used to know how to drive in the snow) and arrived at Sugarbush about 10am.  The mountain was mobbed so we enjoyed the bar for a bit then went to check out Mad River Glen (never skied here before).  We agreed this would be our Sunday choice...turned out to be Monday and Tuesday as well.  We stayed on Sugarbush but never skied it.  36" of bottomless at MRG day 1 and about 6 or so inches each of the next two days to fill in...turned me into a lifer.  I have only skied Sugarbush a handful of times since and MRG, well now my vehicle won't go beyond the hairpin turn at the MRG parking lot.
I hate this time of year...but I vowed to hike and bike more this summer

I felt it coming on Christmas eve.  By Christmas Day I was flat out on Grandma's couch.  A nasty flu crushed me, the doc offered me a note to stay out of work.  I said I am on vacation and he said well that's fortunate for you...  Not really.  Not at all.  A monster northeaster was blowing up the coast.  I had a place to crash in stowe and a house rented with friends for New Year's in Jay!

I got up the day after Christmas slumped into my truck and headed north.  I kept ahead of the storm most of the way up Route 100 and was sick as a dog.  Miserable, I arrived in Stowe to a hallmark moment.  A good snow pack.  The storm caught me back just north of Waitsfield. Glorious, big, beautiful flakes were descending down upon a Norman Rockwell landscape.  People were strolling past lit up store fronts on sidewalks with snow banks hip high.  The town was alive with the Christmas spirit and anticipation of powder.  I, grinch like, continued north past 108 about two miles up the road to my bro's place.  Absolutely no chance for any Christmas revelry - as much as I wanted to partake.

I arrived to a snowed in driveway at Sprak's A-frame.  The view of Mansfield was lost in the now raging blizzard!  The A-frame was buried in snow with roof avy debris piled up on all sides.  I trudged through knee deep snow and went inside shutting out the howling wind and snow.  Warmth engulfed - good old fashion wood stove warmth!   To my surprised the place wasn't totally filthy.  Happy with that I stacked my gear and stoked up a rager.  Heated up mom's chicken rice soup which I brought along and filled my belly with goodness.  

Despite the invite left on Trap Family Lodge stationary to meet up after Sprak's shift,  I feebly went upstairs, covered the well used couch (Spraks was a slob) with my sleeping bag and crashed hard.

I awoke hacking, my lungs burned and it wasn't from VT's finest KGB.  Spraks, who still hadn't been to sleep, made coffee, a killer frittata and some wicked tasty bacon.  Internally, I felt a glimmer of strength.  During breakfast Spraks boosted of his evening's exploits.  The town was off the hook with skiers partying well into the wee hours as the blizzard delivered.  He had a great night, a well deserved fun night.  One I was sad to have missed....  As Spraks stumbled off to bed, I checked the weather.  

Winds were fierce and summit reports claimed 38 inches of fresh and still coming down sideways.  Stage was set for "All Time" but my legs were noodles.  This was torture.  I left not knowing how I was gonna manage.  Quietly I booted up in the main lodge, climbed the stairs with my head down and caught about the 17th quad up.  I tried to respond in kind with my quad mates but I was just thinking the whole time up there was no way, I was too sick...  One run and done...  As we ascended the wind howled and it was readily apparent how deep it was down there!  The round house at the end of the line came into view and I knew this was it.  Had to suck it up...  Time to go powder skiing...

My skis touched down, I slid off the ramp and cautiously went left onto haystack or whatever the trail is that leads to star and goat.  It was wicked deep, blower stuff.  I clung skiers right in the deepest drifts - first turn into second turn something clicked, the adrenaline kicked in and I was skiing!  Waist deep then chest deep over the lip onto a buried star - no ice headwall into faceshots all the way down!  My heart skipped, somehow I had the strength - it was on!  Powder Day!