Reno Rendezvous 2010 - Day 5

Our first full day in the mountains was dedicated to mountainy stuff. After a rudimentary breakfast at the condo we loaded up and headed down the hill to the lake and Stateline where Nevada and California collide with all their cultural seismology. Its amusing to note how the casinos and saloons that line the lakeshore drive on the Nevada side come to a screeching halt right at the California line. They even designed the buildings to follow the oblique angle the border makes with the road. We dropped Mimi and Grampy off at Harrahs to learn lessons in probability theory the hard way and then headed to the base camp of the Heavenly Ski Resort across the semipermeable California line. At the resort base we researched our options and decided to fork out the not-insignificant sum to take the gondola up the mountain. None of us were prepared to go skiing, but there were places at the ski area at the top where the kids could rent sleds and go sledding. Knowing that mountain-top snow-bunny food would be out of our price range, we made a quick dogleg over to Subway before hitting the slopes.

You may recall from previous blog entries that Stacy does not well abide the seat-of-your-pants world of ski lifts. She was somewhat mollified that our ferry to the mountain top was a fully enclosed gondola rather than one of those oops-I-dropped-my-shoe, open-air, bench-on-a-wire jobs. But even with 360º of metal, plastic and graffiti around her, she still was a little spooked and her voice entered the soprano range whenever L or N would shift in their seat, or heaven forbid, attempt to stand up. (My suggestion to the kids that we try to get the gondola rocking was particularly poorly received.) Fortunately the awesome views of the mountain, the lake and the quickly retreating casinos of Stateline lent enough majestic tranquility to offset the rise in blood pressure, so even Stacy had to admit it was a great ride up.

Yes, that is anxiety you see in those eyes.

The gondolas go about two thirds of the way up the mountain and hit an intermediate landing where you can get out and walk around. It is the best place to catch the Lake Tahoe scenery because once you get back on the gondola and continue the ride the rest of the way, you go up and over a ridge and lose sight of the lake. We got out at the landing and took in the sights, pulling out our formerly hot meatball sandwiches for an al fresco patio lunch.

N, evidently tracking satellites.

Soon we were back on the gondola and gaining elevation. I'm not a skier myself -- on the contrary, gravity and I have a fairly adversarial relationship. And since I can't do it, I can't imagine why anyone else would want to; I am always a little mystified, yet intrigued by the folks who inhabit the ski world and its environs. It is a culture I could never join, don't quite understand, and yet find strangely enjoyable to watch and study. I admit to being baffled that people could devote so much passion to sliding down a mountainside at great speed, hoping to avoid death-by-splatting. But I dedicate great passion to driving to work on the 405 each day, so who am I to talk.










We found the kiddie sledding slopes, paid another not-too-insignificant sum and purchased the rights to two brightly colored plastic discs and a 15º incline. Both the kids were a little apprehensive at first, but quickly took to barrelling down the hill at great speed with great passion, leading me to believe that my ski-reticence probably isn't genetic, or if it is, that my particular ski genes got avalanched by Stacy's. (Generally a good thing, we've both come to agree.) A young kid was assigned to umpire the two mini-sled slopes. (Suddenly any one under 30 is a kid.) I don't know what this poor guy did to get relegated to essentially being a lifeguard at a kiddie pool, but I'm figuring he must have ticked his boss off somehow. I think he was desperate. He noticed my Bar Harbor sweatshirt and struck up a conversation. Evidently he had worked as a counsellor at a camp in Acadia National Park a year or two ago. (What? When he was five?!?) It was fun to chat with the guy on the joys of Maine and I took some small measure of satisfaction in knowing I probably helped keep the guy from succumbing to the unbearable boredom and despair and slitting his wrists and staining all that pretty white snow.

Ouch!

The hour took its time passing, but eventually it did, and much to the kids' chagrin they had to turn in their brightly plastic disc. (N had swapped his out about seven times in that hour, deciding that different colors would go faster.) As we made our way back toward the gondolas we found a suitable patch of still-soft snow and had to pause for some angelic activity. Probably not a good idea in the long term, because now we had tired kids, at altitude, with hats, jackets and pants now soaking wet. Mini-meltdowns accompanied us back to the ski-lift and on down the mountain.

Somewhat recovered.

Once we got to terra-warma we paid the not-too-insignifacant fee to get our car out of the parking garage, swung by a local grocery store to pick up some stuff for dinner, swung by a local casino to pick up some newly impoverished grandparents, and headed back up the Kingsbury Grade to our condo. Dinner was followed by a movie (Up, quite a nice film, actually), which was followed by bed for the kids - top bunk, of course. Stacy, Mimi and Grampy and I then finished off the evening with a rousing game of Progressive Rummy, where Stacy, evidently emboldened by the mountain air, skunked us all.