Alas, winter in Piedmont and we all know what that means. Tahoe. It's the mountain escape dearest to our hearts. Ever faithful to it's glacial temperatures and alpenglow charms, we make the pilgrimage..usually just after Christmas. Prior to Christmas we find ourselves consumed with the stress and anxiety of overspending, over eating and over committing to holiday festivities. But, once the gifts are opened and the wrapping paper is crammed into the recycling bin, we load up the roof rack and head for the hills...mountains, in this case. A long standing tradition among Piedmonters. Other winter wonderlands may tempt with news of fancy shops and hotels, heated chairlift seats and celebrity sightings but, Tahoe in winter is the lover to whom Piedmont old-timers remain faithful. Devotion to camp is often spotted; Stanford: classic white turtleneck under the red and white snowflake sweater, Levi's seemingly starched and belted just a titch too high, the latest in mountain footwear. Cal: Cal knitted cap, Cal sweatshirt, Go Bears license plate, blue and gold blankets of every variety and a giant Cal flag which is promptly hung out front upon arrival. Something in the call of the winter wild that brings out the collegiate spirit. And so, with Christmas wreaths attached to the grills and absurd amounts of food and alcohol in stowage, Piedmont vehicles power their way over the pass and into beautiful Lake Tahoe. Cabins, heirloom or rented, are descended upon and made cozy with a crackling fire and all manner of snack and libation. As if possessed, we're suddenly drawn to the idea of fondue and hot drinks with butter in them..something we'd hardly consider back at home. But, we're not at home. We're in Tahoe and everything is different here. Take, for instance, your skin. Manageable at home with a bit of lotion, despite the ravages of time, now requires a base layer of Vaseline topped with extra virgin olive oil and sealed with what you suspect is bear grease stored in a tub in the cabin bathroom. For heaven's sake, the Sahara isn't this dry! Once you have that under control, the real fun begins. But, as the fun begins, please remember to show a little compassion when dear old dad becomes an unbearable lunatic? Cut him some slack, guys. These little mountain getaways cost a fortune! With the price of lift tickets skyrocketing and fancy lakeside dining a must-do, a guy can get cranky with all those dollars signs floating by. Throw in a couple of unemployed relatives and few teenage friends and poor old dad imagines kissing the nest egg goodbye! (please don''t send me angry "woman power" emails. I know women are often the bread winners but, this column isn't a study of household economics/dominant male/female roles...it's a column of jest...sheesh!) On to the slopes! To fully enjoy the skiing experience requires racing to the mountain before the lifts open. With relentless urging, the troops finally rally, bundle-up, down a bowl of cold cereal and pack into the ice-box of a vehicle. The defroster finally works just as you reach the ski resort, everyone in the vehicle is cramped and fussy due to the three layers of wool which are now blazing hot and scratchy. Except, of course, for the one annoying optimist in the group, dressed in running gear and carrying only a tofu sandwich, no skis, prefers snow-shoeing..figures. After much clamor of skis and poles, obscenities flying hither and yon, everyone marches to the lift like slow motion action figures..prepared to conquer the mountain. The "conquest" usually ends six hours later with several of the elder statesmen on a heating pad and a few others a little green around the gills on account of the "chili bread bowl" from the resort cafeteria. Still in all, a day well spent. Glistening snow on the ground and the glorious mountain air on your face...cue the bear grease again.
Safely back at the cabin, feeling accomplished and worthy of a hearty meal and a heartier cocktail, we tend to our wounds and snuggle in for the night. Dinner is followed by an assortment of B movies found in the cabin's dusty entertainment center and several rowdy games of Scrabble...of course, Mr. Snowshoe-Tofu-Sandwich continues to annoy with words like lalochezia..good Lord...who invited him?? Re-apply the Vaseline/bear grease combo and it's off to bed. We'll wake up bright and early tomorrow morning and do it all over again.
All the hub-bub and ritual aside, the Sierra Nevada is a stunning thing. Skier or no, one need only to experience the view just East of Donner Pass to appreciate forever the wondrous sight. The magnum opus of the tectonic plates.
