Parking Lot Thoughts
Before dawn, snowcat drivers line the hills with corduroy. I’ve just arrived at the ski area, but they’ve been working all night, slowly grooming and manicuring the ski slope with the precision of jewelers. Though it’s still dark and cold, those twinkling lights on the mountainside are paving and shaping the way to gravity-fed happiness.
The sun crests over the mountains just before 8 o’clock in the morning, bringing a long shadow across the parking lot. I’ve been standing out here for an hour already, parking cars and taking slow bites from the cup of oatmeal in the pocket of my orange utility vest. It’s midseason on a Monday…
Everything is slower here. We still use those sticky wicket tickets with the metal wire that slides through a zipper pull. There’s no cell service, and the Wi-Fi is shoddy. The lodge was last remodeled in 1970. Slow-moving double chairs are the only way up, unless you want to hike.
Cars tire-track geometric patterns crisscross the snow-covered asphalt. As the sun rises higher, the snowcat drivers park their grumbling machines in the oversized garage, exchanging jangly rings of keys for skis, poles and boots. They make their way across the lot, pale-faced and grizzled, with long, dark beards but wedding day smiles. The ground glows blueish white from the emerging light. Having worked through the early morning, the drivers head toward the chairlift for first tracks…
