Driving to a ski area before the break of dawn, you realize that you share the road with a different breed of the human species. Normal people do not wake up at 5:00 A.M. on a Saturday and gleefully pack their cars in below freezing temperatures. Normal people do not embark on two hour crusades to remote far off mountains that are cold and covered with snow.
Normal people do not know the feeling of trying to earn first tracks on a powder day.
Once on the highway, you pass a Chrysler Minivan with two blurry eyed parents in the front seat, two kids zonked out in the back. You get passed by some college kids in a 1988 Subaru Wagon with bumper stickers that read “Mad River Glen, Ski It If You Can” and “Cannon – It’s A Blast!” Roof racks adorn the many SUVs driven by yuppies that can barely suppress their shit eating grins knowing that they will soon be devouring powder in a few short hours. These are a few examples of the rare form of the human species known as “Skiers,” and together we all drive far and wide to earn turns after a foot and a half of fluff gets dumped on central Vermont and New Hampshire.