The high, the buzz, the abject thrill of Natural Selection Day 1 has finally worn off and life at the Jackson Hole Mountain Resort has returned to a semblance of normal. Snow falling lightly outside, Saturday lift lines stretching far too long, grown men from Tennessee on a “boys trip” filling them out.
Professional snowboarders either getting massages, resting their legs or out on the mountain with Shaun White and his opalescent puffy jacket, making turns, having easy fun.
Day 2 will happen Monday, I believe, or maybe it’s Tuesday and then spirits will soar again, hearts will race, emotions will fire but, today, conserving energy is important.
My young daughter, understanding days off implicitly and being forced to endure a long bar session, stretching deep into the prior night with snowboard journalist Stan Leveille whose Christian name is not actually Stan, was happy for the rest and an early lunch.
I discovered Stan’s Christian name is not “Stan” by digging through his wallet when he left the high top table. Surf journalism is a cutthroat business and I don’t know if snowboard journalists are as hardened or dirty. His name is Kyle, I believe, or maybe it’s Gregory.
In any case, my young daughter was tired and happy to only do one quick pow run then play with her new young friends who happen to belong to Ken Block, the world’s greatest car driver, on the mountain too.
You have certainly seen his smash-hit Gymkhana videos or maybe even caught one of his rally races.
This surf journalist, still enthralled with fluff and jive immediately returned to those long lift lines after lunch, leaving her with the Blocks, and now I have not seen her for hours. Their theoretical plans included hot tubbing and ice-skating but I fear they may have commandeered a Ford F-150 RaptorTrax and are burning hot laps through the Teton Village.
Really ripping one.
I have absolutely no grounding in moto culture. No ability whatsoever. I recently replaced the windshield wipers of my simple Toyota Tacoma and left the plastic coverings on them for an entire 2000+ mile previous journey to Jackson Hole through rain, sleet and snow, cursing their ineffectiveness.
If my young daughter enters this moto life, I will be of no value to her.
I head to the same bar, same table, as the prior night to wait. Worry building. Nothing on my phone. Not a text or call from the Blocks.
Did they get their hands on the Ford Mustang Hoonicorn RTR V2? The star of Gymkhana 5 Ford Fiesta ST RX43?
How can I find her?
The iconic Jamie Anderson sits at the adjacent booth and I consider asking her for help but then remember she is as directionally-challenged as me.
Have I lost my young daughter to a degenerate life of motorsports?
More as the story develops.