Anyone even passingly familiar with European history knows all too well how our glorious sport of skiing came to be. With that, I’ll spare all 6 people reading this a detailed account of the events that ultimately culminated in Leif Erikson chopping down a tree with his bare hands and fabricating the first pair of gnar-sticks with no tools save telekinesis and stem cells.
Within hours after completing the first descent of K2—switch, mind you—Leif was pouring the tears of his close friend, Baby Jesus, henceforth from the Holy Grail all over Cleopatra in what is believed to be the first wet t-shirt contest ever held.*
Those divine tears that did rush over Cleo’s supple, supple bosom that fateful day were later mopped up by a lowly bar back by the name of Sir Shane McConkey. In what is inarguably the second most important step in the evolution of ski culture (the first being the development of a reliable treatment for syphilis), Shane combined BJT (Baby Jesus Tears) with Hi-C’s Ectocooler to give birth to what we have come to know as “PBR”, or Pabst Blue Ribbon. While the naming of this heavenly mixture was curious to say the least, Shane had, in a single stroke, concocted the official refreshment of skiers the world over.
![hipster pbr]( "hipster pbr")
This photo (used w/o permission) unwittingly illustrates everything Chris is about to say.
Fast forward 12 short years, and our once beloved beverage has been boorishly burglarized by bearded beleaguered bohemians. Admittedly, there’s a bit of an overlap between skiers and hipsters, and to the casual observer at least, each group’s affinity for facial hair of the ironic variety and flannel can make distinguishing one from the other rather difficult. However, shredding the gnar and moped-ing to the vegan bar are not on par, not by….umm….a substantial distance. While I’ve no doubts about which group is superior, or more likely to win an arm-wrestling match, Apple’s relentless tech-takeover and the emergence of the Wal-mart skinny jean has made the snarky, sarcastic, verbose writing on the wall very clear; the Hipsters have won…and won big.
It is with this then, that I, on behalf of the ski community, offer a solemn—yet dignified—resignation of our once upon a time life’s blood. While we’ll miss it, I can’t help but feel we’re leaving it in good, fingerless-gloved hands. Let’s take a moment and reflect.
Please feel free to recall your fondest PBR memories in the comment section should you be feeling particularly nostalgic.
Fear not though friends, because—just as acroskiing rose like a glorious phoenix from the ashes of rigid and monotonous slopestyle contests—a new black-out bequeathing barley based brew has revealed itself to me as the new, sure-to-be beer of choice for all of my fellow ski bums:
Sean Pettit taps can at this past week’s Caldera Head Rush.
Yes. Soak it in. It is beautiful. It is Ashland, Oregon’s own Caldera IPA. At a respectable 6.1% ALC/VOL, I’ve no doubt that it, like its predecessor, will cause otherwise reasonable and respectable men(women)-children to behave like flaming assholes on(and ultimately underneath) bar stools from Whistler to the make believe land of Chamonix. And, though it’s totally irrelevant, it tastes really good.
Whereas we’ve mindlessly aped the trends and styles of our action sport brethren over the last decade or so, let us for once be the trend-setters. Let us claim this as our very own, and let those other silly adults who fling themselves at metal objects at high speeds with assorted types of equipment on or about their feet follow us for a change.
… And, before the bitching begins, YES this beer is a tad pricey, but if your bourgeoise ass can afford that sweet TREW setup, those Bentchetlers, and an Epic Pass, you can afford an extra buck for a brew, you cheap bastard, so shut it.
Go skiing, indeed!
The can truly speaks for itself, so I’ll shutup now.
But before I do, I must plead with you—my friends—to do your part to ensure that this painful, albeit necessary, transition goes as smoothly as possible. Please demand that your local watering holes boycott PBR, may that their taps overfloweth with pale malt deliciousness! Consume often, and consume recklessly, and may your hangover accompanied first chair or gondola or tracks be aplenty!
(* NOTE: First wet t-shirt contest held in Squaw Valley. I thought this obvious, but I can’t assume that everyone is as learned as I am.)