Everyone else is doing it

Okay. There's like somehow like all this hubbub about the Look Pivot? Like, I don't really get it, but, like, here goes. 

The basic design of the Pivot was finalised in the late 60s.  If this is good, bad, indifferent, maybe just interesting, I don't rightly know.  The Nevada N17 doesn't have the name recognition of, say, the Rossi FKS, but both heels have a giant heel lock like an overgrown cow magnet floating on two small arms that connect to a turntable/Lazy Susan thingie that now also holds the brake but didn't back in the olden days***.  I'm not sure when brakes started appearing on bindings in general, but companies didn't settle on their current position under the heel until the late 70s or early 80s.  I imagine the toe position both complicated the toe's release and the anti-friction device (with it's much cooler sounding acronym, AFD) and caused/allowed/was disabled by icing.

Toe pieces were, and still are, different throughout the binding line.  Today there are three options, from an 11-din heap of plastic to the 15- and 18-din all-metal, single pivot, rotary release toes that are shared with Look's race bindings.  For a minute back in the 90s there was this cool wing-release toe that looked like a futuristic football stadium at the front.

Futuristic football stadium. You choose what kind.

I have thoughts on binding toes. Rotary-release toe pieces tend to have longer elastic travel, which all the pundits and all the freeride bros in the liftline yammer about incessantly as though that's the measure of not only a binding, but a skier.  It's like the dropper post, um, drop that all the endurbros yammer about incessantly in the coffee store in Hyde Park.  "How much drop you got?" "240 mil." "Yeah? I GOT 75 MIL IN THE TOE." Something like that.  More important to me, the skier who never leaves the ground but has a good bit o' that ol' kinetic energy goin mach stupid at 265 el bees, the release is very smooth.

Wing-release toes do the job, but with a little more fuss and a little less comfortably.  There's usually a lot of plastic, although that is a function more of price-point than structural necessity, and in, say, an old Salomon 912 from back in the day, there was a good bit of plastic even in a rotary toe.  

At any rate, though there has been a good 30 years and more of R&D into bindings and the cost of rotary toes should therefore not be prohibitive or even high, even Salomon has quit that shit.  It makes me sad.  There are only two readily available in the retail market today, and they are not coincidentally the 15- and 18-din Pivot/SPX Race toes.  Why does this matter, if Bob St Pierre says he likes the new Strive 16, with its awkwardly low toe and knockoff 747 "colourway"?  Because I said so.

Been around a minute.

The Pivot challenges the modern gear frenzy.  Everyone goes on and on about new this, new that, and the upper tier of the Pivot family has with minimal exaggeration only changed to meet the fashion of the day.  The big news last year was the new Pivot 2.0, with a new heel and unchanged toe. The refinements boil down to some reinforcement on the sides of the cow magnet where all the young kids are scraping the paint off cos they ain't got that good mid-Aughts steez like I do, a little extra magic oomph of some kind in the pole-box for a less disfiguring release, and a small--7mm, give or take--increase in forward pressure adjustment.  The Pivot is touted as the new hotness every year by online mags and whatnot. It just isn't, though, and that makes me happy.  The new changes, those small and easily overlooked things, are welcome.  They do not improve the experience all that much, but they do signal that Look isn't *ahem* looking to drop the binding any time soon.  (Speaking of which, if you have a line on any mid-Aughts Salomon 916, 914, STH 16, or STH 14 bindings, I want em.  Especially if the brakes are wide or if they're in any wild non-North American colours.)

I realised I don't have any good close-ups of these bindings and for that I blame Tim Cook just like I blame him for how wildly poorly typed my text messages are and for why I sent my friend Jake a picture of literally nothing while trying to ax im a question about literally something well anyway it's cos I got a new phone and counldn't figure out how to sync up the photos and HEY TIM GO SOAK YOUR HEAD.

I think about ability a lot.  Having it, not having it in certain circumstances, being good enough at something, say, baseball, to enjoy it, but not good enough to keep playing it beyond high school.  Or the mountain bike, on which I can confidently ride a lot of trail, until things get weird.  Then I just get scared and lock up.  On skis, the point of locking up is much further into the deep end, not quite in over my head.  

I occupy two fairly rarified worlds, both in skiing where sometimes not metaphorically I am the best skier on the mountain, and in bikes, where I have 21 years worth of career experience and see so many skilled riders who cook their gear each year.  There is a stark lack of context.  This is visible in multiple ways, but for my purpose here it is in the choice of gear.  Esoteric and--importantly--really expensive choices are made, justified by some imagined need.  I can see it happen all around me, folks "needing" XTR cranks at {checks Shimano for retail} over $300 without chainring, or an XO1 cassette at $530, when as the kids are saying, we have cranks and cassettes at home.  Only in this meme, the crank is $125 WITH chainring, and the cassette is $220, and both serve their purpose with the same exact functionality.  Only folks with top-tier ability will know the difference.

This top-tier ability, coupled with the theory of the aspirational product, supports this almost arcane buying habit.  If my wording is sounding circular, bear with me.  We are surrounded by folks at or above our ability and financial levels.  We exist in a space largely populated by like-minded folks, at least when it comes to gear and experiences.  There is a much, much larger populace who indulge in the same activities, about whom we feel not so much more superior than, but entirely separate from.  And this, especially in the 18-din version, is where the Pivot 2.0 comes in.  Everybody else is doing it, so why can't we?  All the guys on the FWT are slammin Pivots on their 120mm freeride skis, jackin the din to 45, and gettin free RedBull for life, that must be the ticket.  New criticism, this abjectly is not.  Nor is it original, or rarely repeated.  This is Marketing 102.  (101 must be how to weaponise languistic incorrectness.)

In my rarified worlds, even absent the RedBull-type circuits, not only is the large recreational populace who also participate in our sports ignored, the gear they use is as well.  The building is 7 floors high, but we always take the elevator to the 5th and act like that's the basement.  A $125 crank that's as expensive as many bikes people ride is "entry-level". A 14-din binding that's above most skiers' heads is similarly "just barely enough".  We're exposed to really, really expensive gear early and often, and I think that inures us to our shelling out serious, usually hard-earned ducats.

Gratuitous shot of my tracks made on skis that may or may not have a Pivot 15 masquerading as a Rossignol Race 155 from '003.  I cannot confirm that they help me get solid edge pressure before the apex, nor can I deny it.  I can confirm to the internet commentators that they do not hinder said carving, that indeed it is you, internet commentators, that cannot generate adequate edge pressure before the apex in a carve.  What's the apex, ask all you internet commentators? It's the part where your skis are parallel to the fall line, above and below which I have almost symmetrical pressure.  Now go take on the day.

Sometimes this circular reasoning, this ignorance of the function of something as theoretically simple as a ski binding, goes above mere marketing susceptibility.  Look doesn't really advertise in any memorable way.  They don't need to.  They are one of 4 main binding companies out there, and due to the realities of our late-stage capitalism, they are supported by a gigantic holding corp of one variety or other while simultaneously being required equipment on the bulk of skis sold by this same holding corp.  The Rossignol Group of which Look is an integral part is not unique or insidious.  This is just business, as they say.  You can agree or not.

Nobody skiing resorts in between "work from home" shifts at the local coffee store needs an 18-din binding.  I, and they, don't need a 15-din kit, or even 14.  I'm a stocky dude, aggressive, skilled, skiing three days a week, and I'm a 9.5 on the holy sheet.  The highest I've ever charted a customer was a dude who at like 6'6", 250 el bees, with a not-crazy long foot, and he was a 12.  I could barely test his toes with our Vermont Safety cos the correct torque was like eleventy-fortyleven moon units or whatever.  He skied daily, pro patroller that he was.  What these medium-build cats who've never stood atop a no-fall zone in 13" of Cascade, um, "powder" think they need with a knee-killing 14-din setting on a Pivot 15, let alone 18, is beyond me.  Ours not to reason why, I guess.

The Pivot, separate of its corporate genesis, is THE binding of the moment.  There have been others, like the mythical green spring--don't ask me cos I don't know--Salomons of the late 90s and early 000s, or the Marker MRR Turntable of the mid 80s, or, poetically, the Pivot-lineage Look Forza circa the page turning year of 1990.  Look doesn't have to advertise because any marketing collateral is good money thrown after bad.  There is nothing so powerful in marketing as out and out lust, and when you can have your cake and eat it, too, you do.

It do look nice.

So, how does it ski, you ask?  I need more experience with the binding mounted on other skis, but my first impression is that it skis like any other good binding.  It disappears under your foot, letting the boot talk directly to the ski while the ski talks directly to the snow.  It releases as it should, doesn't over-damp the snow feel like a plastic Marker from their venerated--but not really all that great--Royal Family does, and looks good doing it.*  Yeah, I said it.  My favourite binding, the 900s Equipe of the late 90s, is definitely form-follows-function in its appearance.  Its replacement, the 914, had a little more elegance, but still didn't rise visually too high above the rabble.  I find this æsthetic comforting, sometimes even pleasing, but I do like me a little steez.

So, where do we go from here, you ask?  My hope is that Salomon sees the continued success of the Pivot lineage and brings the old 747 family back.  I don't see any reason why they would, other than sheer cussedness, and they aren't Sámi.  Not much incentive there.  Basically, where I go is I scour the ski swap every November, check the internet periodically, and try to have a few loose sawbucks on hand specifically for that 997, or that STH14, should I or you come across one.

These would be nice. Rare J-Spec, all three of my favourite 997 colours represented.  Keep them eyes peeled, if you would.  And if you are a person of substance at Salomon, get me these back on the market in 10, 12, 14, and 16. I'd even settle for 10, 13, and 16.  Just frickin do it.  Stat.

In the end, I hear endless justification, fluffed-up statements of need, or comparisons to friends who totally ski every week at Mt Shredly, but I almost never hear the only two legitimate reasons for buying a Pivot 18 or 15.  The first, stated a little less succinctly over our time together at the old shop by Ryan (the Owner) than I'll type out here, is if a given skier is aggressive beyond his or her own skill, preferably if that given skill set is still rich and deep like Ryan's.  If you have the ability to get yourself into that sketchy situation and the willingness to schralp yer way on down, crashing and injury possibilities be damned, then maybe the elastic travel and superior retention is for you.  Otherwise, all I can say for myself is "I just want one".  There is no need to justify yourself.  If you have the--uff da--DAMN NEAR $500 for this kit, by all means.  Send it.  Them new "colourways" is right.  Otherwise, why do we need new bindings when we have bindings at home?!  (I have three pairs, jetzt, heute, and two of them are even full sets.)  Or if you don't, Evo's got a Salomon Strive 12 on sale for like a buck sixty.  It's good enough for all of us.  Yes, even me, that most refined of consumers.**

-

 Title is from the seminal 90s Gen X identifier record Everyone Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We? by the Cranberries.  But you knew that.

*  Well, there's a few recent "colourways" that Look could have skipped.  The Forza re-release didn't cut any mustard, let alone THE mustard, for an example.

**  Granted, you will hafta put a, like, 6 mil gas pedal under that shit, but, like, that's why I'm here.

***Always looking for an excuse to post Eben Weiss' masterpiece, The Dachshund of Time.

Never was a world

Learning to tele, like really learning, took a lot of patience, repetition, and rain gear.  I crashed fell over at slow speed so many times that first full winter, and I learned really quick that the best way for me to stay at least sort of dry was a rain jacket, good Gore-tex bibs, and insulated leather gloves from Hardware Sales in the Iowa district.  You know the ones.  They don't need publicity anymore, having Henry Winklered the shit out of that water skiing stunt years ago.

Anyway, the gloves were easy to remove, with a cuff wide enough to hold onto my jacket sleeves, which both kept some snow out and allowed me to easily yank the glove off to shake the snow that inevitably did end up inside back onto the snowpack where it belonged.  They also dried easily on the rack above the propane stove in the shack at the bottom of 5.  I'd tumble, again, maybe the third or forth time in a run, grumble a little, get up, whip the snow out of my sleeves and gloves, and keep going.  I was 19 at the time, and determined that this, this fall right here, would be my last ever.  It would take years to accept that, different from the cheesy sticker that was all over gear and cars at the turn of this century, to free the heel is to free the body to fall.  I don't think my mind really followed, either, come to think of it.

Sure.  Okay.  I believe you believe that.

Below the top of what is now the Northway Chair* at Crystal is a nice southeasterly pitch.  Not super long, not crazy steep, just good open turns.  It's a lot bumpier now that that merger-era Unistar drive sits atop it.  At the turn of the century, it was smooth and creamy in the warm March sun.  Good terrain, then, to find a rhythm.  

I didn't learn to tele from the bottom up like the PSIA says you should.  I was dropping the knee on what Colorado folk think are black runs by the third day on freeheels.  (A little more than two years later I'd straightline the moguls here, skiers' left side of Green Valley, and have what is to this day my scariest crash.  Could've been so much worse than the broken nose and ganked neck and disapperated glasses I went home with.)  I tried a drill that day, one I came up with myself.  I sat all the way onto my trailing heel to feel what the foot and knee and hip and quad needed to feel like, to understand the shapes I'd need and how the turn progressed without needing to know how to actually do it.  I told myself it was only that run, and then I needed to be able to do it correctly.  It took a few moderate tweaks over the years, but by the bottom of the Valley I was what John Becker and Sam Lobet of P-A, WA called, with seeming affection, a telewhacker. 

The next day out, maybe a week later, I made some turns with a handful of fellow freeheelers, and it really clicked.  That wide open ramp under Northway Peak was quiet, and I watched three or four go, and then just made the shapes with my legs and torso that they made with theirs.  I found a rhythm, one I never really lost until my arthritis and tendinopathy took it away.  Looking up, I couldn't distinguish our tracks from some unevenness or poor turn shape I might have made, only that one set ended at my skis.  Somebody casually mentioned that I looked pretty experienced, and I had to hide my smirk when I said it was my fourth day.

If you're doing it right, people who don't know won't be able to tell.

For a long time, I skied in Atlas gloves whenever I could.  They aren't super practical if it's cold or wet, but when it's sunny and the bumps on Upper Nash get suitably big, they breathe well enough and are dextrous and waterproof in the palm and fingers and they smell a certain way in the sun and, I don't know, the smell still reminds of that one time in the ticket office at White Salmon when I was getting a buddy pass and I'd just plumb blowed up the thumb ligament in my right hand and couldn't really grasp the old sticky wicket tickets well on account of the thumb brace I had wrapped over the Atlas glove and this really nice, utterly intimidating lady walked over and said "here, let me do that for you," and I was smitten for at least 5 minutes.  I was 18 and I never got her name and certainly don't even remember her, really, just that brief moment.

I will admit to certain conceits with regard to skiing, especially to tele.  I tried to ski in Carharrts or Dickies as often as possible, along with the Atlas, and later, other types of work gloves.  I had a couple thrift store button-down shirts to wear when I wasn't feeling my usual flannel.  I think I wanted to project a casual disregard for the possibility of actually falling, and to distinguish myself from the bougier elements in our little world with my grease-stained duck workpants and emotional distance.  To belie the existence of any fear or misgiving.  I'd worked so hard to overcome that first year of non-stop tumbles.  I wanted folks who knew to really know.  (There's that guy.  Y'know, Two-turn Eino.  He never falls.)  Also, I found it comfortable and thought myself stylish.  I still really like Atlas gloves. 

See?

About the third time the heel cable on my old Pitbull 2 broke, I caved.  Some idiot volleyball patroller on Nose Dive who stopped the heavily used Black Diamond touring ski with the nice mountainy topsheet and de rigueur Canadian flag sticker it was on told me I'd never lose my ski if I used G3 bindings like he did, despite his not recognising that I'd kicked the ski and not fallen out of the binding. He'd put me off of upgrading the part of telemark skiing that both ties the room together and necessarily needs to be in the background for too long.  It took a minute, but a month or so later a pro patroller named Andrew was selling some Igneous skis with a G3 Targa on it and I bit.  It was the first ski I bought for the binding, the first in a loooooong and still continuous line.  I'd told myself I wanted the ski, but at 197, made of like two full-height maples, and with a less-than-okay top sheet--a pic of Anna Nicole Smith, with a blatant heroin reference as a "pro model"--the ski and I never really jived.  The binding and I did, and I skied it probly another 300 days before I and the Cascadian humidity wore the retention springs out.

The cable wasn't the only thing I broke, just the most annoying.  I broke both ankle straps on my first bumblebee T1 in two winters at Baker, and my humerus on a particularly funky morning, far skiers' left of Gabl's.  It'd rained about halfway up 5 the day before, and then cooled fairly quickly and continued on with the precip for a while before clearing off completely for an absolute North Cascades stunner of a day.  The top of Gabl's was fluff on butter, just real creamy and fast, but right about the Chute 4 bench it locked down under the confectioner's sugar.  I was hittin it full steam, and got knocked off line by the frozen whatevers sitting four or five inches under the surface.  My left ski caught something and stopped hard, and I went down on my left arm.  I lay on the ground for a minute, then couldn't get myself situated to stand up because the arm was completely dead.  It took a while for it to shake out.  When I got to the bottom of 5 to bump chairs, Paul the mechanic asked if it was snowing still, despite all that blue sky and dry air.  I still haven't forgiven that fu    

Anyway, that Sunday night after work I drove to Enumclaw, 170 miles away.  If you haven't driven a manual with a dead left arm, I don't recommend it.  Not as bad as if your right arm was broken, but still.  No fun.  I got in to see Luther, the family doc, and after an x-ray and some poking slash prodding, he told me to take it easy.  I took that to mean borrow my brother's alpine skis, and otherwise go about my business.  Turns out I tore about two inches of deltoid and chipped a piece off the humeral head.  I still feel the muscle, over twenty years later.  Coincidentally, it's right about where the nurse jabs you with the tetanus goop.

When I called home to chat a few weeks later, Ma said Luther asked her to scold me for shoveling snow and trying to hide when he came through my line at the bottom of 5.  170 miles from home and it's still a small town.

Bend the knees to bend the skis.

In addition to the shoulder destruction and the countless slow-speed tumbles, there were a few truly hard crashes in the learning process.

My EMT instructor, whose name escapes my just now, said that some folks see "tracers" when they have a mild head injury.  I had no idea what he was talking about, and assumed it was just a folk tale.  I mean, in all the old comic strips, folks who'd just got a concussion had birds flying about their heads.  The second time I hit something hard enough my skis stopped, after a nice somersault I could never accomplish on purpose, I sat and watched the thousand points of light race each other in very messy circles, their light trailing behind, playing havoc with my sanity.  I described what I was seeing to Stina and she just said "tracers." 

The twisting lights slowly faded as I sat, motionless and concerned about all the trauma I was certain I'd inflicted, but aside from seeing these same stars a little bit easier now in my forties, nothing really ever came of it. I can still remember well the entire run, the hike to the top of the King, breaking trail for Stina and her buddy Mary and them giving me first tracks down the Appliances Chute as a thank you, the straightline and subsequent wallop, the tracers, and the much mellower run to the bottom of DFF, turning and turning and turning, wondering if I'd ever feel normal again. I'm 43 now, and I still wonder.  I still see not only the tracers that show up here and there, but the blood in the snow and all of each tomohawk way back in '001 at the bottom of the Valley and, later, on the frontside of the Queen this time, how the the world looked when I realised I'd stopped, tails tucked into the snow, as though I was poured onto a chair made just for me, without any understanding of why I wasn't still skiing.  That pivotal moment alone is just missing.

It's probly an old timber feller.  Checkin in, sayin hi.

There are things I miss about making that turn.  Real and quantifiable, or ethereal and mearly mystical.  I was almost a cliché, making hay while the sun shone brightly, knowing that--without knowing when--the ride would end.  My legs aren't as strong and I'm not as fond of steeps these days.  Skiing is still paramount for me, but I haven't stepped into a tele binding in a long time.  In point of fact, I just handed my last binding over to my brother when he bopped on through BoyCee in November.  The last real day of making the freeheels was the day my former employee who became my boss took the photos on this page in the Spring of '016.  These photographs hurt a little, just looking.  Things gained and then lost, skills developed and then forgotten. 

So many turns, steeps or flats, crashing hard or pinning it top to bottom, solid, fast, controlled.  I could turn both ways and stop, in damn near any condition, on damn near any pitch.  I'd step into those bindings, and every time the feelings would flood my arteries.  Memories of people and places and times gone by.  Playing a show for 400 college kids in Tacoma or hiking alone at Chinook Pass.

The day I first stepped into those tele boots was the day my maternal grandfather passed away in February of 2000.  The phone rang early in the morning, 6 or so. I heard Ma cry out and go quiet, and I knew.  Grandpa Kelly had been languishing; a stroke had laid him low and there wasn't much to be done. He was 85 and a quiet fighter, a man who could outlast the hard times.  He could fall asleep when all of us grandkids were running around screaming, 41 of us by the time the youngest came along.  

Noël had wanted to ski with me again, or more acurately wanted me to follow her on the hill and chat while riding the chair.  There wasn't much for me to do at the funeral home, nor much room for all of us, so Ma said to keep my plans.  I rented gear, and that was that.  For the next sixteen years I felt like I belonged to something, that I wasn't just sliding along like all the other folks.  Sixteen years of feeling a connection to my paternal grandfather who passed away in '62, nineteen years before I came along.  He was a freeheeler back in the day, leather boots and leather strap bindings, Sámi muscles kicking around far northern Sverige's beautiful and low-slung mountains before moving to the states and meeting my grandmother in the UP, up around Calumet somewhere.  I think of him every time I see a raven on the wind, or hear one calling in the deep Doug fir in the rain.

-

Title from Jonatha Brooke's Landmine, which she released on her first fully-solo record, 1997's 10¢ Wings.  Rock may have sucked in the late 90s, mainstream country as well, but there were some really good artists doing other things who went largely unnoticed because, well, there wasn't a a funky beat you could bug out to or catchy, yet misogynistic rap lyrics written by white dudes who should probly have been cleaning toilets instead.  I listened to that album over and over and over again in my little '81 Tercel driving back and forth to Crystal and GRCC in '000.

*Bonus points if you can spot me.

You've got answers? We've got questions.

 Apparently Jonathan Ellsworth of Blister Gear Review and Cody Townsend of Cody Townsend have a podcast.  I feel like these podcast things are popular.  Anyway, they asked for ski town relationship questions, and Amy and I had some, but really I'd rather ax some other types of questions instead:

1) When I was 20, I could tele 7 days a week.  It's only been 21 years, why can't I still tele 7 days a week?

I blame the push-broom on The Place That Shall Not Be Named.  But hey, limber pine!

2) How do I build a time machine?  I need to go back and salvage those two pairs of red purple aubergine Salomon S914s from the skis that weren't worthy of the bindings before selling the skis.

3) Why doesn't Mayor Lauren (or any of her predecessors) allow it to snow more in BoyCee? 75 inches in town and 450 at the hill doesn't seem like too much to ask. Baker gets like almost 1800 inches or whatever.  I may have hit the wrong unit-toggle on their snow report.

4) Why does everything hurt? We're both only in our earliest 40s.

5) How do I get people to pay me to ski while I provide nothing at all of value to them? I feel like there should be positions at ski areas for that.

"And that's when I realised that if you can ski Yawgoons, you can ski anywhere."

6) I want access to a binding bench and an open-stone bow grinder, but I don't want to change jobs.  Help!

7) Why is Vail?

8) I want my Forester to act like my ol' GL wagon most of the time except when it needs to be fancy like warm seats and lots of cupholders and modern airgoonoomics and that 6 speed (well, 4 and 2 halves).  Can you go tell Subaru to do that for me? Thanks.  Remind them that ABS is great when you are actually braking, but not when you're just turning corners with vim and vigor and it's snowing and the person in front of you is, um, scared, and I'll just goose er a little and HOLY SHIT WHY IS MY CAR TRYNA SHAKE ITSELF TO DEATH I SAID OFF NOT SLIGHTLY LESS ON

9) All the mainstream skis I like are expensive and instead I want custom that's more o no I broke

10) Salomon made the 747 back in like '87 and nothing since has really improved on it in any meaningful, life changing way.  Maybe since you guys know people, you could have them make a run in that sexy mid 90s 997 Equipe red for me.  I'm an N-9.5, but I like the symmetry of a 10, so tell them to make it 5-15 (I think the OG was 6-14, which is totally fine, but, like, FIFTEEN) so I's right in the middle, please and thanks.  Also, make sure the toe is 1-2mm higher than the heel.  Enough of this needing to modify bindings to do em right.

This one.  Right here.  Like, all the time.  Yes, I can have an emotional connection with a binding I've only skied once, on my oldest brother's 204 Pre SmpnROther on Kemper's** in 1996.

11) Or they could do it in that rad 90s Tyrolia FreeFlex 14 purple.  You know the one.  It had the gull wing brakes.  Yeah.  Totally.

12) Y'know what, I also want a ornj 'n green pair.

13) One of my favourite Christmas records from growing up isn't on Spotify.  How can you help?

14) Dave Matthews wrote some decent songs 25+ years ago.  What happened?

15) What's better? 20" blower on boiler plate or 6" of day-old consolidated?

16) Yer both wrong.  It's July at Chinook with some tourists wondering just what in the heck yer doin.

This isn't July.  But you get it.

17) How do I get to Quebec when I don't have a passport or know how to travel or can't cos money?

18) Howcome ain't Idaho don't gots Orca?

19) Mont Sutton.

Smpn smpn OH SHIT I FORGOT THE LATKES

20) Why all them internet recipe sites got life stories 'fore you find the ingredients.

21) I don't believe in Alaska?

22) I bet you don't know how to say sauna in Svenska.*

22) Why skeening so spensive!

23) Do you like apples?

I like apples.  How you like them apples?  This one's a Sugar Bee.  I miss The State of Apples.

24) Is Vermont just New Hampshire without Chris Sununununununununu?

25) How do I go back to Winter Solstice in 1999 cos it was rad there was a biiiiiiiig moon also cold and my wipers didn't work cos inversion cold and why was I alone and was that actually a chupacabra I thought they only liked the desert not 60 inches a year Enumclaw OH NO RUUUUUN NO WAIT YER IN THE TERCEL GIVER PEEL OUT DOUGHNUTS YEAH

26) Pa says Garmish-Partenkirchen is real but I've never seen it...is The Zugspitze also real?

27) Good thing that one guy from Rossi NW gave me this apron LATKES ARE AWSUM HOLY SHIT I EXCITED GIMME GIMME GIMME

28) What's the better ski town rig, Toyotacoma or Outback?

Mine never got stuck.  How bout yours? (Photo: Ben Hsu)

29) Is skiing really worth never seeing your out-of-state family over the Holidays?

30) How do you stay humble when you actually are the best skier on the mountain?

31) My trainee is faster on the race course than me and all, but I'm still better, right? Right?!

31) Why do nieces and nephews grow up so fast?

32) Why isn't good opportunity and good skiing in the same place?

33) I don't believe in Alterra.

Bring back the Riblets and that sweet flattop and those coveralls and enough of this bougie corporate bul HEY LOOKIT EAST PEAK IS FILLED IN 

(Photo vis Flickr, courtesy of the Forest Service NW division.)

34) Wait.  Hannah's got an Audi?

35) How is it 9.00 already?

36) Why did it rain all over our snow?

37) When do I get to skate on the roads?

38) HOW WE OLD

39) Man, I really liked that Karhu Jak.

Karhu

*Joke's on you, it's bastu!

**I swear I've never poached, Uwe.  NEVER.

Yes, that's a 90s Radio Shack ad we're referencing. And, if we're being honest, the best ski bum rig has got to be that funky mid-to-late 80s 4wd Tercel wagon.  Just drop that tyre pressure and you might even make it up Austin in 4 Low.

How to Win the Ski Swap

By Amy Post and Eino Holm

Tl;dr: buy skis at the swap, not boots.  Look for other stuff too.

Advice for buyers:

1) Make a list beforehand.  Then forget it on the kitchen counter.

2) Arrive at the swap as early as possible.  At some swaps people start lining up super early in the morning the day the swap opens.  I’ve even heard tell of folks camping out the night before, like it was.  But then again, I did show up to a swap once with some friends and we were an hour early, but there was no one in line and it was raining so we went to Starbucks, contemplated going to Hot Topic in the mall (we were all solidly in our 30s), but went back to the swap instead.  I feel like I kinda missed out in that instance, choosing the swap over Hot Topic, even though we had fun.

3) Actually, volunteer or work at the swap if you can.  Swaps are often run by the local race team, ski club, or pro shop, and they often need extra help.  The really good stuff gets snagged before the doors even open by folks who are working.

4) Plan to spend more money than you want, if you want something relatively new.  Last year’s skis for $100 are either a myth or a trap (i.e. broken).  When pricing their gear, most folks ask for more than it is worth, and then pad for the cut that the organizers take. Finding last year’s skis, mildly used, at 25% off retail is a good deal.

5) You might find last year’s gear, unused.  If you are prepared to pay close to retail price, there’s no reason not to buy them.  But you are at the swap for deals, so you’ll probably want to move on.

Our local ski swap, happening THIS WEEKEND OMG!

6) Skis will probably be sorted by length, but all the different skis in that length will be jumbled together.  Know your size and go straight to that section.  Now you have to figure out what the skis you find are designed for.  Google them by brand and ski name (e.g. Nordica Girish); you might find a review or at least some marketing copy that tells you the skis’ intended audience and use (all-mountain, intermediate, park, race, etc.), its strengths and weaknesses, release year, and hopefully, its original retail price.

7) It may take some guess-and-check on Google image search to figure out how old the gear is.  Skis depreciate in value immediately.  If it’s three to five years old and well cared for, 50% off the retail price is a pretty good deal.  We’re talking $300 to $600.  Caveat emptor: we did some experimenting and found that Google’s reverse image search results are poor to incorrect.

8) Old rental gear can be a good deal for beginners and intermediates.  Try to find stuff that the shops just retired, rather than 10-year-old rentals.

9) All ski companies make good products.  They all make different kinds of skis for different skiers (beginners to expert, on-piste to powder skis), so don’t trust a product just because of the brand name.  I personally dislike certain brands and gravitate towards others, but I’ve sold plenty of skis from the brands that I dislike because they seemed to be the right fit for the customer.

10) Look for breaks in edges (on the parts of the ski that touch the ground), thin bases (you can see different colors or sometimes metal peeking through), bent skis (do the skis match in profile?).  Don’t buy these, as these probably can’t be fixed and might be dangerous to use.

11) Gouges in the base are super visible, so people are often worried about buying a ski with them.  But gouges really aren’t that big of a deal, and can be fixed.  Unless the back half of the base is missing.  That’s different.

12) If people are watching you inspect a ski, make sure you flex it, pout and nod your head.  It tells you nothing about the ski but you look like you know what you’re doing.

13) Get the right gear for your kids and significant other.  Don’t get stuff that kids will “grow into” because they won’t be able to use it until they grow into it, making the time in between miserable.  And don’t buy boots too big with the intention of wearing lots of socks; that doesn’t work and just gives you blisters.

14) Don’t get talked into buying a race ski from a race coach who knows nothing about non-race skis.  (Ahem, I say that because I may have been that guy in the past.)  There will be a broad range of knowledgeable folks working at the swap; they may be brand reps or store employees who know a lot about the products, or they might be somebody’s dad who doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about but likes to talk.  It could also be somebody’s mom who knows all sorta stuff and could get you to the perfect deal.  Which leads me to…

15) If someone sounds like they know what they’re talking about, ask some more questions.  Ask around for the people who know what they’re talking about.  Be skeptical if someone seems like they’re full of it; trust your gut.  It’s rude to bring your knowledgeable friend into a shop to help you choose gear, but it totally flies at a swap.  

16) Check to see if the bindings work for you.  Your DIN (Deutsches Institut für Normung, currently known as release value, if we’re being legally correct) setting should fall in the middle of the range of the binding.  Swaps should have DIN charts available to help you estimate yours if you don’t know it.  

17) Check for drill holes where you can.  A ski starts to loose integrity after they’ve been drilled 3 or 4 times, or if the holes are closer than 10mm to each other.  Re-drilling a ski once or twice is no big deal.  It’s OK to buy a ski with a binding you’ll need to replace, but remember to factor this into the the cost of the equipment, as well as the bindings adjustment and test (about $25), and/or a binding remount  ($50+) at your local shop.

18) After the swap, bring your skis to a shop to get the bindings adjusted (refitted to your boot) and tested.  Do not try to adjust your bindings yourself (unless you’re a certified binding mechanic who works at a shop, like Enore).  They have the knowledge to set them correctly and the really expensive machine to test them.  It can be the difference between correct and incorrect binding function, which in turn can mean the difference between walking away from a crash and injury.  Also, learn about indemnification, which basically means old bindings can’t be serviced, so they may not be safe.

19) Don’t trust the internet to tell you your ski boot size; boot sizes do not translate directly to US shoe sizes because they’re different units altogether and you need your ski boots to fit differently than your shoes.  When people fit their own boots, they often get it wrong.  Temperature affects a boot’s flex and fit, so what feels comfortable in a showroom will probably be too big (and maybe too stiff) on the snow.  So, do you just buy a boot that’s uncomfortably tight and hope it gets more comfortable?  Also not a great idea because they could just be uncomfortably tight.  Well heck, what do you do?

20) I can’t really give advice on how to find a boot at a ski swap because it’s really hard to do unless you know your size and exactly what you want.  You can read reviews, and get an idea of what you want, but there is no substitute for visiting a good bootfitter, who can usually only be found in a ski shop or their own studio.  They not only assess your size correctly, but also take into account the shape of your foot, heel, ankle and calf, as well as what kind of skier you are, to find a boot that fits your size, shape, and style.  Then, after you buy a boot, they can tweak the fit.  

21) If you can find a good bootfitter at a swap, pester them until you’ve found something good, or better yet, just go visit them at the shop where they have access to a good range of boots and the time to give you the attention you deserve. 

22) So, should you go see a bootfitter before the swap to figure out what you want?  Well, no, because it’s rude to take someone’s time and not pay for it.  Emily, for example, is literally getting paid for her experience and expertise, both of which are many.  If a bootfitter takes the time to fit you properly and make recommendations, you will not regret buying your boots from them.  They can help you avoid the head and body aches of being in a boot that’s too big, too small, the right size but pokes and pinches, too stiff, too soft, overflexed, underflexed, over- or under-canted or canted the wrong way, among other issues.  In doing so, you won’t have to learn about the annoying challenges any of the aforementioned problems can cause because your boots will fit and they will work for you.

23) That said, it is ok to ask a shop employee if you can step on the Brannock device (aka the boot sizer-thingy) to figure out your size.  Again, remember their time is valuable and don’t be a jerk.

24) Do not buy a used helmet.  You have no idea if someone has crashed in it, or left it in the sun, or how old it really is.  Helmets break down after 3 to 5 years and need to be replaced, and they are only good for one impact.  That’s not just a marketing lie to get you to buy a new helmet; it’s been independently tested by multiple organizations.  It’s not “better than nothing” to wear an old, worn-out helmet.  It’s actually probably worse because it’ll give you a false sense of security and keep you from buying a new one that’ll actually work when you need it.  Always buy your helmet new. You can sometimes find new helmets at the swap (often sold by local shops, in their original packaging).  Buying a year-old helmet is fine, as long as it isn’t used and is in that original packaging; just know you’ll have to replace it one year sooner.  Shelf life isn’t technically as destructive as life in the wild, but the closed-cell foam used in helmets off-gases and degrades no matter what.

25) Swaps are great places to get your soft goods: goggles, gloves, outerwear, layers, etc.

26) Swaps are also good places to find fun, random stuff.  I’ve found roller skates, snowshoes and numerous edgie-wedgies at swaps, and sold my old ice skates and heated socks.

27) Swaps are also good places to find fun.

Advice for sellers:

1) Price low if you want to sell it.  Below half of retail for anything 3+ years old, assuming it’s in top-notch condition.  Then knock $50 off.  Remember the swap organizers are taking a cut, so add a bit back on.

2) Decide how much you want to sell your stuff for before you get to the swap.  Folks there may give you advice, but there is no standard and everyone’s opinions vary wildly.

3) Learn about indemnification.  In order to find out if a binding is indemnified, Google "[Binding manufacturer name (e.g Tyrolia)] indemnified bindings" and look to see if your binding is on the list.  Sometimes you can find a consolidated list online, but the ultimate source for indemnification is the brand itself, and they'll list their indemnified bindings on their website.  There’s no use arguing about this because it’s a legal/liability thing. (Enore skis on 24-year-old bindings, but he had access to a nice Speedtronic to test them off the clock.  Few people do.)  Plus, do you really want someone to get hurt on your crappy old stuff?  I’ll answer for you: NO.

4) If you want to get a really good price for your stuff, you’re probably not ready to sell it.  You do get some value walking past it in the garage and reminiscing about the great turns you make on those skis.

5) Regret is a part of life.  Those FreeFlex 14s may have developed the Tyrolia Twist, but the Völkl they were bolted to will still make that one jerk below the Women’s Start mad when you got the line he intended to film for his Instagram Story.  Should’ve kept those Kendos.

6)    Don't forget to pick up your unsold items at the end of the swap.  Unless you don't want them back.  Cleaning out the closet is good for the soul.

7) Forget that you sold stuff at the swap, so when your check shows up 4-6 weeks later, it’s a nice bonus!

Have I lived through the best times?

By Eino Holm

I had to turn on my Egbert Country mix for this one.  If I drank hard A or chewed, I'd have a dip and a whiskey.  I don't, but I want you to have that image.  Also, it isn't important to know who Egbert is or what sorta country he likes.

I searched far and wide on the flappy internet box and couldn't find any current reviews of my favourite alpine binding, the Salomon 900S Equipe.  It's a 14 din binding with rotary-release, adjustable-wing toe and a cam-release heel piece on a stainless steel track.  It does everything it should, with a little forgivable fidget.  If you don't mind readjusting once or twice a winter, it is what a binding should be, what Hjalmar Hvam might have hoped his invention would become.  This particular binding is in the middle of a long line of similar bindings, all of which are interchangeable with regards to this review, starting somewhere back in the 80s around the time of the 747 when they switched from the dual-wing release toe of the 737 and finishing up around 2015 with the introduction of the STH2 and the downgraded plastic heel track.

Downgraded heel track on skiers' left.  Pumpkin for scale.

Many bindings today use a healthy dose of plastic, and the 900S is not immune.  It does, however, have that stainless steel heel track that allows for smooth rearward elastic travel.  Some modern bindings technically have more of what Cody Townshend claims is utterly important for carving (while using skis that aren't designed to carve and don't need to cos they're like 109mm or whatever underfoot and have like all the rockers); the downside is that plastic is not especially slick, so you have what feels like a mildly sticky damper on your old Fox 36 TALAS, and instead of smooth extension and rebound at the heel, you get small fits and starts.  Not so the 900S.  One dives into a turn, and the binding disappears.  Extension and rebound are smooth, nicely limited so the centre of the ski remains stiff and ready to recoil out of the turn.

At one point Fischer laid their boots up with a little bit of duck foot.  They called it "Somatec" and it seemed to me simultaneously genius and hokey.  As I age, and as I realise where my feet and joints are not aligned and where that misalignment has caused actual problems like patellar irritation and getting really out of shape and feeling fat.  Well, for sure the actual structural issues.  My fitness is another issue.  At any rate, enter again the Salomon 900S Equipe.  For a long time, I wondered as I tested the release function of customers' bindings why one would seek out or design a binding with independently adjustable toe wings.  Sounds either hokey or unnecessary, yes? Nerdy at the very least.  Being a nerd with janky feet and knees, I'd beg to differ.  Much like the later-arriving Somatec, one can set the bindings such that if you are duckfoot like most of us, or pigeon-toed, you can achieve a slightly more neutral stance.  This does make the ski left- or right-specific, but that's okay.  If one is in something truly high-last like a custom DaleBoot at, say, 112mm, there is, on narrower skis anyway, the possibility of boot-out.  Fear not, for few are called to the widest end of the spectrum; it's a concern I would be remiss in not mentioning.

I have skied multiple versions of this binding over the years, as Salomon hadn't until the Warden MNC built anything truly different from before, opting instead for minimal tweaks for style or fashion, such as adding independent wing adjustment, and removing it by tying the wings to a single adjustment, and adding it back again.  My first was in I think '92, a 12 DIN version that had a cool pattern like granite, a kind of gray-on-gray spackle that some designers used to offset the schreddy neons they were employing in great quantity.  My favourite so far is the 997 Equipe in a purple colourway.  My brother John found it at Copper or Cooper or some other storied Central CO joint on a ski I can't remember.  The heel tested two dins high after I mounted them, and I need about 10mm of gas pedal for even a level boot, let alone the +2 or 3 mm I prefer, but given they were built in that same early 90s timeframe, I'd say that's a win.  At any rate, PURPLE. 

Sorry.  Got a little off-radius.  There are literally squirrels in the attic of the breezeway between our house and Tom the Neighbour's.  So noisy.  The 900S, along with its predecessors and successors, is a fairly simple binding.  It has a rotary-release toe and a cam-release heel.  Release-related elastic travel on the toe and heel are middling, not as wild as a Look Forza/Pivot or PX/SPX, but enough.  Look has always touted their elastic travel as some sorta panacea, but with balance and skill, no such panacea is ever needed.  With ass emphatically over teakettle, one would hope to be sans those four giant blades of steel unless there is some sort of balletic good fortune that ends in an upright, two-point landing and with much skiing off into the sunset.  In my many years flogging this binding as THE BEST, better than the acceptable and Instagrammable Pivot, better than the great-at-first, but ultimately toe-twisty FreeFlex, better by far than the Royal Family or any other non-race Marker, I have never stayed in when I wanted out, and never lost a ski that should have stayed with me.  The same cannot be said for all things.  

The toe is the obvious touchstone for Salomon bindings, starting with that red and white 747 and continuing still with the STH2.  The heel is the sleeper agent here.  It is easy to step into and out of, much lighter in action than its French cousin over at Look.  Stepping out with your ski doesn't cause any issues with base damage like a Pivot or SPX.  I know, use your pole, whatever; I've spent enough time at joints where the best lines are reached via complex mixes of skating and booting and I long ago found efficiency to outweigh other concerns.  Step on that 900S heel, and, free of concern, you're easily out and onto other things.

Salomon, again, until the new toes and heels, used the same drill pattern from somewhere in the 80s all the way up until the current Warden and STH2.  Like the Tyrolia 92 jig, except that the 92 jig is still relevant, and I wish I liked Tyrolia bindings more just because of that.  A handful of offerings had a five hole heel, like the original STH and the old 997 I love, that also required a slightly different brake, but besides that, roughly 30 years of binding would fit without a second drilling.  This is exciting to me always as a mechanic, but especially now when I need a binding for my 186 Orange Monsters and I just happen to have that '93 997 Equipe in Purple Colourway sitting in wait on an old red P40 that just never spoke to me in '016 like the Orange one did in '000 when I was bumping chairs at Baker and skiing 13 days a week.  Ryan (the Owner) found the Monsters on Craigslist just after Christmas in '018, and they came with an STH 16 I've since moved to newer skis.  Now that my surgery knee is solid, I want to ski the Monsters again, so, PURPLE.

To some, bindings are an afterthought, an annoyance on the way to the slopes.  To me, a good binding is delightfully forgettable, like a nice glass of water or a skilled bassist in rock and roll music.  I have, strangely, had some of my only dramatic arguments with customers over bindings, usually when I'd made it clear that, no, that 1987 Marker M36, despite the word "titanium" on the toe, is not indemnified and also, most certainly is scary and dangerous.  It's a toss-up whether your now yellow Nordica 727 or that M36 will crack first.  Not if, when.  And yet, indignance and disbelief.  (Not dissimilar to some of the current anti-science rhetoric out there.)  The 900S, and its family, will not crack first.  They may need you to snug up the toe wings periodically, and Greenwood's won't mount em for you, and Salomon won't pay your medical bills if they prerelease at speed, but you won't prerelease at speed and some small shops will set them by function test and have you sign a nice waiver and BOOM, you'll be as cool as me with your vintage bindings.

The binding in question.  Pumpkin for scale.

Title from the Desert Rose Band's "In Another Lifetime"