I have a variety of thoughts as I buzz along. It is the middle of May. It is the mud season. I pass by nearly perfect, Mt. Perfect, with its empty chairs on the closed-for-the-season ski lifts swinging gently in the morning breeze. The nine feet of snow that still covers all of the runs would be terrific skiing for anyone who would drive up from the city and climb the mountain.

There are, unfortunately, three generations of skiers who have been educated to begin skiing in early November on nine inches of snow that has blown in between the eleven-inch high rocks and stumps.

Now, during the mud season when the snow is still great up on the mountain, skiers head for the beach so they can get a head start on their tan. And the beach is cold, foggy, and windy. What if the skier just kept skiing and everyone showed up on the beach the first of June? Makes sense to me.

Just ahead of me is a pickup truck that belongs to a fellow I know. He has four kids, a wife who drinks too much, and they are living in a heavily mortgaged, double-wide trailer. He has all of the basics of mountain living in his pickup. A black Lab with a red scarf around his neck, a rack in the rear window, a carpenter's level, a trout rod, and a deer rifle with a scope. There is a broom sticking up out of the back of the truck, and he has a long ponytail and a winter long beard. He won't be heading down to the city.

I stop for gas. Next to me pumping gas into a car headed up the mountain, is a young, trust-fund lady in a brand new, four-wheel Suburban. This lady obviously has it all together, but she doesn't know where she is going or what she will do when she gets there. On the roof of her car are a kayak, a mountain bike, and a snowboard. Everything is brand new without a single scratch.

My guess is that the only thing she has to worry about is where to have her checks forwarded. She will probably spend a month or so looking around for a lovely summer job, while she enjoys the comfort of her family's four bedroom, five-and-a-half bath, ski in, ski out condominium. She might even get a part time job as a hostess in a restaurant. Tough life. I am a bit envious.

While I was inside paying for my gas, I ran into my old friend and ski lift loader, Obie. He is from Ober Untergurgle, Austria. He's about forty-five years old, six foot three, handsome, crew cut, a great skier, and penniless. He introduced me to Jenny. I had met her a week or so before at a cocktail party and learned that she was the ex-wife of a Beverly Hills cosmetic surgeon.

She was very lucky that her ex-husband did that tummy tuck, the eyelid lift, the liposuction, and a couple of other cosmetic things on her before their divorce. After sundown she can still pass for being under forty years old.

One thing Jenny really has going for herself is a very large monthly alimony payment from her ex-husband. She will never get married again, because if she did, the alimony checks would quit coming. The manager of her condo has instructions about where to forward the alimony checks as long as she and Obie are together traveling. This could last a long time unless they up and go to Austria.

While Obie is penniless, I believe he is smart enough to keep Jenny away from Ober Untergurgle so they won't run into Gretchen, who is Obie's wife and the mother of his three teen-age children.

I get back in my car and head on down the hill thinking: everyone has a story.

Editor's Note: This is one in a Tahoetopia series written by Warren Miller, legendary ski cinematographer. For other columns by Warren, click on Warren Miller. Also visit www.tahoetv.com for informative videos on the Tahoe Region.


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