I wake up with the disappointing feeling of a restful, apparition-free nights sleep. Maybe next time, ghosts, maybe next time. I rustle out of bed and stroll the grounds to check out the views by daylight. Right at 8 o’clock I venture into the ski shop and rent some Atomic Vantage 97s. There’s still an hour until the lifts open so I head back to the lodge for a bowl of yogurt & granola and a coffee. Checkout time is 11 AM and I inquire about a late checkout - they tell me they can do 2 o’clock and I mull it over. I devise a plan to ski till noon with a little après at the pool & hot tub. 2 o’clock will work just fine.

The slopes here are much different from the other mountains I’ve ripped. All the trails are groomed and not very steep. No worries, I could use a nice easy morning after my big day at Bachelor. There also is quite a bit of freestyle terrain, big jumps and such. There were some guys high flyin and doing some cool shit but that ain’t for me. I was mostly working on my carving.
The morning went by smoothly, just leisurely cruisin the groomies. On my last lift of the day I rode up with a nice gentleman named Bruce who has skied up here quite a few times. I asked him if he knew why the ski resort was on the south side of the mountain & he let me know you probably wouldn't want to ski the north side as it's pretty much straigt cliffs. Makes sense. He also lets me know that if I’m not pressed for time on my departure that I should take the gorge road around the east and north sides of the mountain. The views should be fantastic on a clear day like today. Sounds like a great idea.
I’m off the hill by noon and after dropping off my twigs at the rental shop I head up to the Ramshead bar to grab a drink. True to form, there is nobody behind the bar and I stand there waiting for someone to show up for a few minutes. A guy eventually shows up and doesn’t even acknowledge or apologize for making me wait. I honestly think more places should emulate the Timberline, we’ve been coddled by the hospitality industry into conflating any minor inconvenience into a travesty. Sure I had to stand up at an empty bar for a few minutes but who gives a shit. It didn’t ruin my day.
I order a Mt Hood Ice Axe IPA in a plastic cup to comply with poolside regulations and head to my room to throw on my trunks. In a few minutes I’m at the pool and I have the whole thing to myself. I dive right in and swim around for a few minutes; the pool is heated but still cool enough to be refreshing after a morning ski. I climb out and plop in the hot tub to enjoy my ale and the beautiful Mt. Hood sunshine. I pull up the weather report for Crystal Mountain in Washington, my next skiing destination, and to my dismay they have closed for the season. In fact every ski resort in Washington state is closed except for Mt. Baker. I look up the forecast for Baker and it calls for significant snow Saturday night. Fuckin right, let’s rip up Mt Baker.


I finish my beer and return to my room to shower and finish packing. I’m out of the hotel at 1:50 and set my course for the gorge road, which will take me around the mountain and dump me out at a town called Hood River. Then it’s a few hours of interstate driving to cousin Joanne’s place in Seattle.
On the Road Again
As I’m leaving the parking lot I see a guy with a snowboard over his shoulder thumbing a ride. I don’t realize until after I’ve blown past him that I really missed an opportunity for a great story. Who knows where he was from or where he was going. I could have pulled up and said “where ya headed brother?” How cool is that? Damnit. Well there’s another ski resort on the way around the mountain, maybe there will be another hitchhiker and I can redeem myself.
I pull out onto the highway at the base of the mountain headed for the gorge road. Sun's out, windows down, John Prine blasting.
I drive a few miles with Mt Hood's majestic crest peeking over the trees to my left and I am vibin. I come around a bend and just as America's gift to songwriting is belting out the second chorus of "That's the Way the World Goes Round" I see someone on the side of the road. I get closer and it's a guy with a backpack, climbing gear, and an outstretched thumb. I have to pull over.
“Where ya headed brother?”
Kevin
In crawls a mid-30s dude named Kevin who is headed around the other side of the mountain, towards Hood River. Right on my way. Kevin, by his best recollection, has been in the area for around 8 years. He was cagey about where he grew up and seemed to be more focused on the present. Fair enough. He lets me know he summers in Alaska, working as a fly fishing guide for half the year & living the other half out of his van, skiing, climbing, and doing other outdoorsman shit.
My new acquaintance was on the side of the road relying on the kindness of strangers because he climbed Cooper Spur up the north side of Mt Hood and realized once he summited that the snow was too soft to go back down from whence he came. One slip and you’re a goner. So he was forced to come around the more modest terrain of the south side, which left him high and dry transportation-wise. When I ask him if it’s a popular climbing route he responds in the negative and nonchalantly informs me that it’s the deadliest route in the area. Kevin, you are a maniac.
When he threw his pack in the backseat he remarked at the mountain of dirty clothes back there. I laugh and tell him that my roommate recently heard a comedian joke that men pack way too much underwear for a trip because we must subconsciously think we're going to shit our pants twice a day on the journey. He laughs and casually tells me that he shit his pants twice last year.
Kevin!
What an animal. I press him for details and the first incident happened on a camping trip with some friends. He had just procured a new campfire coffee maker and wanted to show off the new rig. He brewed up two pots of coffee and was rebuffed by all others when he offered the tasty brew. So Kevin being Kevin threw back 2 liters of joe before heading off on a hike. Well it didn’t take long for coffee to do what coffee does and while striding over a rock the floodgates opened. Yikes. The second time happened when he was in some town and tried to find the best Chinese restaurant. You can guess how that went.
The rest of the conversation was not nearly as memorable. It’s about 10 minutes to the turnoff and another 5 up a windy mountain road to Kevin’s van. He thanks me and drops a \$10 bill on the front seat and tells me to use it to buy a beer when I get to Hood River. I think I’ll do just that.
As I pull out of the lot I get a brief moment of panic when I see my gas gauge sitting precariously close to E. I have 27 miles to Hood River and the car says I have a range of 33 miles. Let’s hope it’s accurate. I descend the mountain road and pull back out onto the highway. A few minutes later I see a clearing and pull off to get a photo of Mt. Hood. It really is stunning from this side - thanks for the tip Bruce. I can also see the route that Kevin took up the mountain, and it looks treacherous. Goodness gracious. I hop back in and about 20 minutes later I’m in Hood River, gas gauge showing a range of 27 miles. Glad that whole stretch was downhill.


I park on the main drag and walk around a few blocks. It’s a nice, buzzy downtown area, complete with shops, restaurants, bars, and the occasional weird office for a lawyer or accountant. I wander around and see signs for Full Sail Brewing. Wait a second, they are based out of tiny ass Hood River, Oregon? I look it up and indeed, they are based out of tiny ass Hood River, Oregon. Who woulda thought. I walk over to the brewery and to my chagrin they aren’t open on Wednesdays. Damn, Deschutes and now this? You hate to see it.
Luckily Double Mountain Brewing is across the street and I find an outdoor table in the shade. I order a Hop Lava Northwest IPA and some pretzel bites to tide me over until I get to Joanne’s. The pretzels make me thirsty and I slurp down the draft beer in good order. I remember the \$10 Kevin gave me for the beer but the pretzels put my tab over that threshold. I charge the tab to my card and give the waitress the Kevin’s \$10 as a tip. I hope she spends it on something ridiculous.
Emerald City Bound
I’m back on the road and doubly glad Bruce told me this route because this section of I-84 it hugs the Columbia River and the views are incredible. The river is an absolute unit, flowing through a valley flanked by high cliffs on either side. I later learn some fun facts about the waterway: it’s the 4th largest river in the US by volume, it has the greatest flow of any North American river entering the Pacific, and it’s drainage basin is the size of France. I honestly don’t know if France is a good size for a drainage basin but it sounds big.
Other than a bit of traffic on the northern outskirts of Portland the drive went smoothly and a few hours later I pull into the Hertz rental location at the King County International Airport. I am greeted by Joanne and her husband Greg and then spend the next 10 minutes stuffing the aforementioned dirty laundry into my bags and rounding up my ski gear. The drive to their house is about 30 minutes and we spend the ride catching up on family business.
On the way they suggest a joint for supper near their house that has a great beer list and burgers fashioned after all the PAC-12 teams. Beer and a burger sounds great. We pull into downtown Kirkland (which I'm assuming is the namesake for the Costco brand as the Costco headquarters are just down the road), a busy downtown square with a nice assortment of restaurants, shops, and bars. Their house is walking distance from here, which was a big selling point - they spent the last 10 years on the outskirts of LA, where absolutely nothing was walking distance.
We head into The Lodge Sports Grille and I order a Silver City Tropic Haze IPA and a UCLA Bruin Bleu burger. The burger was delicious and the ale so tasty I decide I better have another. We finish up dinner and head up the hill through a sleepy neighborhood of houses that would be right at home on the beach. Joanne insists that Greg eschew the garage and drop us off out front because guests need to come in the front door to get the full experience.
The house is an unassuming shingle and board & batten two story home with a nice yard, a porch, and small second story balcony. When we walk in the front door I can’t believe how spacious it is. The floorplan is wide open and the ceilings are quite high. I think the kitchen island is the size of my grad school apartment. Joanne lets the family dog, Charlie, out of her crate and I give her a full complement of pets and scratches for being a good girl. Greg and Joanne give me the grand tour of the house, including the apartment above the garage with the beer fridge. Greg loads up a cooler and we head back to the big house.

We stand around the kitchen island drinking Ranier beer and telling stories of god knows what. I do remember at some point telling Joanne that the Amazon initiative she mentioned was corporate bullshit. She disagrees and explains why it’s not corporate bullshit but I stand my ground. Eventually I realize she’s right but I’ve been drinking for a few hours and can’t bring myself to admit my misjudgment.
As one beer turns into 3 I tell myself this will be my last one because I need to get to bed. Greg has other ideas and pulls another cold one out of the fridge and I can’t possibly decline his generosity. I kind of wish I had though because we continue to pull cold ones out of the fridge and when I finally look at the time it’s 3 AM. Mind you it’s Wednesday and Joanne has work in the morning but she’s still up with us, sluggin back brewskis. Once a Nichols always a Nichols.
We collectively decide it’s way past our bedtime and after getting situated in one of the rooms upstairs, finally lay my head to rest. Let’s see what Seattle’s all about in the morning.